THE TELESCOPE—HISTORICAL

The claim of priority in the invention of this wonderful instrument, which has so enlarged our ideas of the scale and variety of the universe, has been warmly asserted on behalf of a number of individuals. Holland maintains the rights of Jansen, Lippershey, and Metius; while our own country produces evidence that Roger Bacon had, in the thirteenth century, 'arrived at theoretical proof of the possibility of constructing a telescope and a microscope' and that Leonard Digges 'had a method of discovering, by perspective glasses set at due angles, all objects pretty far distant that the sun shone on, which lay in the country round about.'

All these claims, however, whether well or ill founded, are very little to the point. The man to whom the human race owes a debt of gratitude in connection with any great invention is not necessarily he who, perhaps by mere accident, may stumble on the principle of it, but he who takes up the raw material of the invention and shows the full powers and possibilities which are latent in it. In the present case there is one such man to whom, beyond all question, we owe the telescope as a practical astronomical instrument, and that man is Galileo Galilei. He himself admits that it was only after hearing, in 1609, that a Dutchman had succeeded in making such an instrument, that he set himself to investigate the matter, and produced telescopes ranging from one magnifying but three diameters up to the one with a power of thirty-three with which he made his famous discoveries; but this fact cannot deprive the great Italian of the credit which is undoubtedly his due. Others may have anticipated him in theory, or even to a small extent in practice, but Galileo first gave to the world the telescope as an instrument of real value in research.

The telescope with which he made his great discoveries was constructed on a principle which, except in the case of binoculars, is now discarded. It consisted of a double convex lens converging the rays of light from a distant object, and of a double concave lens, intercepting the convergent rays before they reach a focus, and rendering them parallel again (Fig. 1). His largest instrument, as already mentioned, had a power of only thirty-three diameters, and the field of view was very small. A more powerful one can now be obtained for a few shillings, or constructed, one might almost say, for a few pence; yet, as Proctor has observed: 'If we regard the absolute importance of the discoveries effected by different telescopes, few, perhaps, will rank higher than the little tube now lying in the Tribune of Galileo at Florence.'

The latter part of the seventeenth century witnessed the introduction of telescopes on this principle of the most amazing length, the increase in length being designed to minimize the imperfections which a simple lens exhibits both in definition and in colour. Huygens constructed one such telescope of 123 feet focal length, which he presented to the Royal Society of London; Cassini, at Paris, used instruments of 100 and 136 feet; while Bradley, in 1722, measured the diameter of Venus with a glass whose focal length was 212¼ feet. Auzout is said to have made glasses of lengths varying from 300 to 600 feet, but, as might have been expected, there is no record of any useful observations having ever been made with these monstrosities. Of course, these instruments differed widely from the compact and handy telescopes with which we are now familiar. They were entirely without tubes. The object-glass was fastened to a tall pole or to some high building, and was painfully manoeuvred into line with the eye-piece, which was placed on a support near the ground, by means of an arrangement of cords. The difficulties of observation with these unwieldy monsters must have been of the most exasperating type, while their magnifying power did not exceed that of an ordinary modern achromatic of, perhaps, 36 inches focal length. Cassini, for instance, seems never to have gone beyond a power of 150 diameters, which might be quite usefully employed on a good modern 3-inch refractor in good air. Yet with such tools he was able to discover four of the satellites of Saturn and that division in Saturn's ring which still bears his name. Such facts speak volumes for the quality of the observer. Those who are the most accustomed to use the almost perfect products of modern optical skill will have the best conception of, and the profoundest admiration for, the limitless patience and the wonderful ability which enabled him to achieve such results with the very imperfect means at his disposal.

The clumsiness and unmanageableness of these aerial telescopes quickly reached a point which made it evident that nothing more was to be expected of them; and attempts were made to find a method of combining lenses, which might result in an instrument capable of bearing equal or greater magnifying powers on a much shorter length. The chief hindrance to the efficiency of the refracting telescope lies in the fact that the rays of different colours which collectively compose white light cannot be brought to one focus by any single lens. The red rays, for example, have a different focal length from the blue, and so any lens which brings the one set to a focus leaves a fringe of the other outstanding around any bright object.

In 1729 Mr. Chester Moor Hall discovered a means of conquering this difficulty, but his results were not followed up, and it was left for the optician John Dollond to rediscover the principle some twenty-five years later. By making the object-glass of the telescope double, the one lens being of crown and the other of flint glass, he succeeded in obtaining a telescope which gave a virtually colourless image.

This great discovery of the achromatic form of construction at once revolutionized the art of telescope-making. It was found that instruments of not more than 5 feet focal length could be constructed, which infinitely surpassed in efficiency, as well as in handiness, the cumbrous tools which Cassini had used; and Dollond's 5-foot achromatics, generally with object-glasses of 3¾ inches diameter, represented for a considerable time the acme of optical excellence. Since the time of Dollond, the record of the achromatic refractor has been one of continual, and, latterly, of very rapid progress. For a time much hindrance was experienced from the fact that it proved exceedingly difficult to obtain glass discs of any size whose purity and uniformity were sufficient to enable them to pass the stringent test of optical performance. In the latter part of the eighteenth century, a 6-inch glass was considered with feelings of admiration, somewhat similar to those with which we regard the Yerkes 40-inch to-day; and when, in 1823, the Dorpat refractor of 9⁶/10 inches was mounted (Fig. 3), the astronomical world seemed to have the idea that something very like finality had been reached. The Dorpat telescope proved, however, to be only a milestone on the path of progress. Before very long it was surpassed by a glass of 12 inches diameter, which Sir James South obtained from Cauchoix of Paris, and which is now mounted in the Dunsink Observatory, Dublin. This, in its turn, had to give place to the fine instruments of 14·9 inches which were figured by Merz of Munich for the Pulkowa and Cambridge (U.S.A.) Observatories; and then there came a pause of a few years, which was broken by Alvan Clark's completion of an 18½-inch, an instrument which earned its diploma, before ever it left the workshop of its constructor, by the discovery of the companion to Sirius.

The next step was made on our side of the Atlantic, and proved to be a long and notable one, in a sense definitely marking out the boundary line of the modern era of giant refractors. This was the completion, by Thomas Cooke, of York, of a 25-inch instrument for the late Mr. Newall. It did not retain for long its pride of place. The palm was speedily taken back to America by Alvan Clark's construction of the 26-inch of the Washington Naval Observatory, with which Professor Asaph Hall discovered in 1877 the two satellites of Mars. Then came Grubb's 27-inch for Vienna; the pair of 30-inch instruments, by Clark and Henry respectively, for Pulkowa (Fig. 4) and Nice; and at last the instrument which has for a number of years been regarded as the finest example of optical skill in the world, the 36-inch Clark refractor of the Lick Observatory, California. Placed at an elevation of over 4,000 feet, and in a climate exceptionally well suited for astronomical work, this fine instrument has had the advantage of being handled by a very remarkable succession of brilliant observers, and has, since its completion, been looked to as a sort of court of final appeal in disputed questions. But America has not been satisfied even with such an instrument, and the 40-inch Clark refractor of the Yerkes Observatory is at present the last word of optical skill so far as achromatics are concerned (Frontispiece). It is not improbable that it may also be the last word so far as size goes, for the late Professor Keeler's report upon its performance implies that in this splendid telescope the limit of practicable size for object-glasses is being approached. The star images formed by the great lens show indications of slight flexure of the glass under its own weight as it is turned from one part of the sky to another. It would be rash, however, to say that even this difficulty will not be overcome. So many obstacles, seemingly insuperable, have vanished before the astronomer's imperious demand for 'more light,' and so many great telescopes, believed in their day to represent the absolute culmination of the optical art, are now mere commoners in the ranks where once they were supreme, that it may quite conceivably prove that the great Yerkes refractor, like so many of its predecessors, represents only a stage and not the end of the journey.

Meanwhile, Sir Isaac Newton, considering, wrongly as the sequel showed, that 'the case of the refractor was desperate,' set about the attempt to find out whether the reflection of light by means of suitably-shaped mirrors might not afford a substitute for the refractor. In this attempt he was successful, and in 1671 presented to the Royal Society the first specimen, constructed by his own hands, of that form of reflecting telescope which has since borne his name. The principle of the Newtonian reflector will be easily grasped from Fig. 5. The rays of light from the object under inspection enter the open mouth of the instrument, and passing down the tube are converged by the concave mirror AA towards a focus, before reaching which they are intercepted by the small flat mirror BB, placed at an angle of 45 degrees to the axis of the tube, and are by it reflected into the eye-piece E which is placed at the side of the instrument. In this construction, therefore, the observer actually looks in a direction at right angles to that of the object which he is viewing, a condition which seems strange to the uninitiated, but which presents no difficulties in practice, and is found to have several advantages, chief among them the fact that there is no breaking of one's neck in the attempt to observe objects near the zenith, the line of vision being always horizontal, no matter what may be the altitude of the object under inspection. Other forms of reflector have been devised, and go by the names of the Gregorian, the Cassegrain, and the Herschelian; but the Newtonian has proved itself the superior, and has practically driven its rivals out of the field, though the Cassegrain form has been revived in a few instances of late years, and is particularly suited to certain forms of research.

At first the mirrors of reflecting telescopes were made of an alloy known as speculum metal, which consisted of practically 4 parts of copper to 1 of tin; but during the last half-century this metal has been entirely superseded by mirrors made of glass ground to the proper figure, and then polished and silvered on the face by a chemical process. To the reflecting form of construction belong some of the largest telescopes in the world, such as the Rosse 6-foot (metal mirrors), Fig. 6, the Common 5-foot (silver on glass), the Melbourne 4-foot (metal mirrors, Cassegrain form), and the 5-foot constructed by Mr. Ritchey for the Yerkes Observatory. Probably the most celebrated, as it was also the first of these monsters, was the 4-foot telescope of Sir William Herschel, made by himself on the principle which goes by his name. It was used by him to some extent in the discoveries which have made his name famous, and nearly everyone who has ever opened an astronomical book is familiar with the engraving of the huge 40-foot tube, with its cumbrous staging, which Oliver Wendell Holmes has so quaintly celebrated in 'The Poet at the Breakfast Table' (Fig. 7).