I have told you about the four lesser worlds of which our earth is one, and you know that beyond Mars, the last of them, there lies a vast space, in which are found the asteroids, those strange small planets circling near to each other, like a swarm of bees. After this there comes Jupiter, who is so enormous, so superb in size compared with us, that he might well serve as the sun of a little system of his own. You remember that we represented him by a football, while the earth was only a greengage plum. But Jupiter himself is far less in comparison with the sun than we are in comparison with him. He differs from the planets we have heard about up to the present in that he seems to glow with some heat that he does not receive from the sun. The illumination which makes him appear as a star to us is, of course, merely reflected sunlight, and what we see is the external covering, his envelope of cloud.

There is every reason to believe that the great bulk of Jupiter is still at a high temperature. We know that in the depths of the earth there is still plenty of heat, which every now and then makes its presence felt by bursting up through the vents we call volcanoes, the weak spots in the earth's crust; but our surface long ago cooled, for the outside of any body gets cool before the inside, as you may have found if ever you were trying to eat hot porridge, and circled round the edge of the plate with a spoon. A large body cools more slowly than a small one, and it is possible that Jupiter, being so much larger than we are, has taken longer to cool. One reason we have for thinking this is that he is so very light compared with his size—in other words, his density is so small that it is not possible he could be made of materials such as the earth is made of.

As I said, when we study him through telescopes we see just the exterior, the outer envelope of cloud, and as we should expect, this changes continually, and appears as a series of belts, owing to the rotation of the planet. Jupiter's rotation is very rapid; though he is so much greater than the earth, he takes less than half the time the earth does to turn round—that is to say, only ten hours. His days and nights of five hours each seem short to us, accustomed to measure things by our own estimates. But we must remember that everything is relative; that is to say, there is really no such thing as fast or slow; it is all by comparison. A spider runs fast compared with a snail, but either is terribly slow compared with an express train; and the speed of an express train itself is nothing to the velocity of light.

In the same way there is nothing absolutely great or small; it is all by comparison. We say how marvellous it is that a little insect has all the mechanism of life in its body when it is so tiny, but if we imagine that insect magnified by a powerful microscope until it appears quite large, the marvel ceases. Again, imagine a man walking on the surface of the earth as seen from a great distance through a telescope: he would seem less than an insect, and we might ask how could the mechanism of life be compressed into anything so small? Thus, when we say enormous or tiny we must always remember we are only speaking by the measurements of our own standards.

There is nothing very striking about Jupiter's orbit. He takes between eleven and twelve of our years to get round the sun, so you see, though his day is shorter, his year is longer than ours. And this is not only because his path is much larger, but because by the law of gravity the more distant a planet is from the sun the more slowly it travels, so that while the earth speeds over eighteen miles Jupiter has only done eight. Of course, we must be careful to remember the difference between rotation and revolution. Jupiter rotates much quicker than the earth—that is to say, he turns round more quickly—but he actually gets over the ground more slowly. The sun appears much smaller to him than it does to us, and he receives considerably less light and heat. There are various spots on his surface, and one remarkable feature is a dark mark, which is called the 'great red spot.' If as we suppose what we see of the planet is merely the cloudy upper atmosphere, we should not expect to find anything permanent there, for the markings would change from day to day, and this they do with this exception—that this spot, dark red in colour, has been seen for many years, turning as the planet turned. It was first noticed in 1878, and was supposed to be some great mountain or excrescence peeping up through the clouds. It grew stronger and darker for several years, and then seemed to fade, and was not so easily seen, and though still remaining it is now pale. But, most startling to say, it has shifted its position a little—that is, it takes a few seconds longer to get round the planet than it did at first. A few seconds, you will say, but that is nothing! It does not seem much, but it shows how marvellously accurate astronomers are. Discoveries of vast importance have been made from observing a few seconds' discrepancy in the time the heavenly bodies take in their journeys, and the fact that this spot takes a little longer in its rotation than it did at first shows that it cannot be attached to the body of the planet. It is impossible for it to be the summit of a mountain or anything of that sort. What can it be? No one has yet answered that question.

When we get to the chapter on the sun, we shall find curiosities respecting the spots there as well.

Jupiter has seven moons, and four of these are comparatively large. They have the honour of having been the first heavenly bodies ever actually discovered, for the six large planets nearest the sun have been known so long that there is no record of their first discovery, and of course our own moon has always been known. Galileo, who invented the telescope, turned it on to the sky in 1610, when our King Charles I. was on the throne, and he saw these curious bodies which at first he could not believe to be moons. The four which he saw vary in size from two thousand one hundred miles in diameter to nearly three thousand six hundred. You remember our own moon is two thousand miles across, so even the smallest is larger than she. They go round at about the same level as the planet's Equator, and therefore they cross right in front of him, and go behind him once in every revolution. Since then the other three have been discovered in the band of Jupiter's satellites—one a small moon closer to him than any of the first set, and two others further out. It was by observation of the first four, however, that very interesting results were obtained. Mathematicians calculated the time that these satellites ought to disappear behind Jupiter and reappear again, but they found that this did not happen exactly at the time predicted; sometimes the moons disappeared sooner than they should have done, and sometimes later. Then this was discovered to have some relation to the distance of our earth from Jupiter. When he was at the far side of his immense orbit he was much more distant from us than when he was on the nearer side—in fact, the difference may amount to more than three hundred millions of miles. And it occurred to some clever man that the irregularities in time we noticed in the eclipses of the satellites corresponded with the distance of Jupiter from us. The further he drew away from us, the later were the eclipses, and as he came nearer they grew earlier. By a brilliant inspiration, this was attributed to the time light took to travel from them to us, and this was the first time anyone had been able to measure the velocity or speed of light. For all practical purposes, on the earth's surface we hold light to be instantaneous, and well we may, for light could travel more than eight times round the world in one second. It makes one's brain reel to think of such a thing. Then think how far Jupiter must be away from us at the furthest, when you hear that sometimes these eclipses were delayed seventeen minutes—minutes, not seconds—because it took that time for light to cross the gulf to us!

Sound is very slow compared with light, and that is why, if you watch a man hammering at a distance, the stroke he gives the nail does not coincide with the bang that reaches you, for light gets to you practically at once, and the sound comes after it. No sound can travel without air, as we have heard, therefore no sound reaches us across space. If the moon were to blow up into a million pieces we should see the amazing spectacle, but should hear nothing of it. Light travels everywhere throughout the universe, and by the use of this universal carrier we have learnt all that we know about the stars and planets. When the time that light takes to travel had been ascertained by means of Jupiter's satellites, a still more important problem could be solved—that was our own distance from the sun, which before had only been known approximately, and this was calculated to be ninety-two millions seven hundred thousand miles, though sometimes we are a little nearer and sometimes a little further away.

Jupiter is marvellous, but beyond him lies the most wonderful body in the whole solar system. We have found curiosities on our way out: we have studied the problem of the asteroids, of the little moon that goes round Mars in less time than Mars himself rotates; we have considered the 'great red spot' on Jupiter, which apparently moves independently of the planet; but nothing have we found as yet to compare with the rings of Saturn. May you see this amazing sight through a telescope one day!

Look at the picture of this wonderful system, and think what it would be like if the earth were surrounded with similar rings! The first question which occurs to all of us is what must the sky look like from Saturn? What must it be to look up overhead and see several great hoops or arches extending from one horizon to another, reflecting light in different degrees of intensity? It would be as if we saw several immense rainbows, far larger than any earthly rainbow, and of pure light, not split into colours, extending permanently across the sky, and now and then broken by the black shadow of the planet itself as it came between them and the sun. However, we must begin at the beginning, and find out about Saturn himself before we puzzle ourselves over his rings. Saturn is not a very great deal less than Jupiter, though, so small are the other planets in comparison, that if Saturn and all the rest were rolled together, they would not make one mass so bulky as Jupiter! Saturn is so light—in other words, his density is so small—that he is actually lighter than water. He is the lightest, in comparison with his size, of any of the planets. Therefore he cannot be made largely of solid land, as our earth is, but must be to a great extent, composed of air and gaseous vapour, like his mighty neighbour. He approaches at times as near to Jupiter as Jupiter does to us, and on these occasions he must present a splendid spectacle to Jupiter. He takes no less than twenty-nine and a half of our years to complete his stately march around the sun, and his axis is a little more bent than ours; but, of course, at his great distance from the sun, this cannot have the same effect on the seasons that it does with us. Saturn turns fast on his axis, but not so fast as Jupiter, and in turning his face, or what we call his surface, presents much the same appearance to us that we might expect, for it changes very frequently and looks like cloud belts.

The marvellous feature about Saturn is, of course, the rings. There are three of these, lying one within the other, and separated by a fine line from each other. The middle one is much the broadest, probably about ten thousand miles in width, and the inner one, which is the darkest, was not discovered until some time after the others. As the planet swings in his orbit the rings naturally appear very different to us at different times. Sometimes we can only see them edgewise, and then even in the largest telescope they are only like a streak of light, and this shows that they cannot be more than fifty or sixty miles in thickness. The one which is nearest to Saturn's surface does not approach him within ten thousand miles. Saturn has no less than ten satellites, in addition to the rings, so that his midnight sky must present a magnificent spectacle. The rings, which do not shine by their own light but by reflected sunlight, are solid enough to throw a shadow on the body of the planet, and themselves receive his shadow. Sometimes for days together a large part of Saturn must suffer eclipse beneath the encircling rings, but at other times, at night, when the rings are clear of the planet's body, so that the light is not cut off from them, they must appear as radiant arches of glory spanning the sky.

The subject of these rings is so complicated by the variety of their changes that it is difficult for us even to think about it. It is one of the most marvellous of all the features of our planetary system. What are these rings? what are they made of? It has been positively proved that they cannot be made of continuous matter, either liquid or solid, for the force of gravity acting on them from the planet would tear them to pieces. What, then, can they be? It is now pretty generally believed that they are composed of multitudes of tiny bodies, each separate, and circling separately round the great planet, as the asteroids circle round the sun. As each one is detached from its neighbour and obeys its own impulses, there is none of the strain and wrench there would be were they all connected. According to the laws which govern planetary bodies, those which are nearest to the planet will travel more quickly than those which are further away. Of course, as we look at them from so great a distance, and as they are moving, they appear to us to be continuous. It is conjectured that the comparative darkness of the inside ring is caused by the fact that there are fewer of the bodies there to reflect the sunlight. Then, in addition to the rings, enough themselves to distinguish him from all other planets, there are the ten moons of richly-endowed Saturn to be considered. It is difficult to gather much about these moons, on account of our great distance from them. The largest is probably twice the diameter of our own moon. One of them seems to be much brighter—that is to say, of higher reflecting power—on one side than the other, and by distinguishing the sides and watching carefully, astronomers have come to the conclusion that it presents always the same face to Saturn in the same way as our own moon does to us; in fact, there is reason to think that all the moons of large planets do this.

All the moons lie outside the rings, and some at a very great distance from Saturn, so that they can only appear small as seen from him. Yet at the worst they must be brighter than ordinary stars, and add greatly to the variations in the sky scenery of this beautiful planet. In connection with Saturn's moons there is another of those astonishing facts that are continually cropping up to remind us that, however much we know, there is such a vast deal of which we are still ignorant. So far in dealing with all the planets and moons in the solar system we have made no remark on the way they rotate or revolve, because they all go in the same direction, and that direction is called counter-clockwise, which means that if you stand facing a clock and turn your hand slowly round the opposite direction to that in which the hands go, you will be turning it in the same way that the earth rotates on its axis and revolves in its orbit. It is, perhaps, just as well to give here a word of caution. Rotating of course means a planet's turning on its own axis, revolving means its course in its orbit round the sun. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, and all their moons, as well as Saturn himself, rotate on their axes in this one direction—counter-clockwise—and revolve in the same direction as they rotate. Even the queer little moon of Mars, which runs round him quicker than he rotates, obeys this same rule. Nine of Saturn's moons follow this example, but one independent little one, which has been named Phoebe, and is far out from the planet, actually revolves in the opposite way. We cannot see how it rotates, but if, as we said just now, it turns the same face always to Saturn, then of course it rotates the wrong way too. A theory has been suggested to account for this curious fact, but it could not be made intelligible to anyone who has not studied rather high mathematics, so there we must just leave it, and put it in the cabinet of curiosities we have already collected on our way out to Saturn.

For ages past men have known and watched the planets lying within the orbit of Saturn, and they had made up their minds that this was the limit of our system. But in 1781 a great astronomer named Herschel was watching the heavens through a telescope when he noticed one strange object that he was certain was no star. The vast distance of the stars prevents their having any definite outline, or what is called a disc. The rays dart out from them in all directions and there is no 'edge' to them, but in the case of the planets it is possible to see a disc with a telescope, and this object which attracted Herschel's attention had certainly a disc. He did not imagine he had discovered a new planet, because at that time the asteroids had not been found, and no one thought that there could be any more planets. Yet Herschel knew that this was not a star, so he called it a comet! He was actually the first who discovered it, for he knew it was not a fixed star, but it was after his announcement of this fact that some one else, observing it carefully, found it to be a real planet with an orbit lying outside that of Saturn, then the furthest boundary of the solar system. Herschel suggested calling it Georgius Sidus, in honour of George III., then King; but luckily this ponderous name was not adopted, and as the other planets had been called after the Olympian deities, and Uranus was the father of Saturn, it was called Uranus. It was subsequently found that this new planet had already been observed by other astronomers and catalogued as a star no less than seventeen times, but until Herschel's clear sight had detected the difference between it and the fixed stars no one had paid any attention to it. Uranus is very far away from the sun, and can only sometimes be seen as a small star by people who know exactly where to look for him. In fact, his distance from the sun is nineteen times that of the earth.

Yet to show at all he must be of great size, and that size has actually been found out by the most delicate experiments. If we go back to our former comparison, we shall remember that if the earth were like a greengage plum, then Uranus would be in comparison about the size of one of those coloured balloons children play with; therefore he is much larger than the earth.

In this far distant orbit the huge planet takes eighty-four of our years to complete one of his own. A man on the earth will have grown from babyhood to boyhood, from boyhood to the prime of life, and lived longer than most men, while Uranus has only once circled in his path.

But in dealing with Uranus we come to another of those startling problems of which astronomy is full. So far we have dealt with planets which are more or less upright, which rotate with a rotation like that of a top. Now take a top and lay it on one side on the table, with one of its poles pointing toward the great lamp we used for the sun and the other pointing away. That is the way Uranus gets round his path, on his side! He rotates the wrong way round compared with the planets we have already spoken of, but he revolves the same way round the sun that all the others do. It seems wonderful that even so much can be found out about a body so far from us, but we know more: we have discovered that Uranus is made of lighter material than the earth; his density is less. How can that be known? Well, you remember every body attracts every other body in proportion to the atoms it contains. If, therefore, there were any bodies near to Uranus, it could be calculated by his influence on them what was his own mass, which, as you remember, is the word we use to express what would be weight were it at the earth's surface; and far away as Uranus is, the bodies from which such calculations may be made have been discovered, for he has no less than four satellites, or moons. Considering now the peculiar position of the planet, we might expect to find these moons revolving in a very different way from others, and this is indeed the case. They turn round the planet at about its Equator—that is to say, if you hold the top representing Uranus as was suggested just now, these moons would go above and below the planet in passing round it. Only we must remember there is really no such thing as above and below absolutely. We who are on one side of the world point up to the sky and down to the earth, while the people on the other side of the earth, say at New Zealand, also point up to the sky and down to the earth, but their pointings are directly the opposite of ours. So when we speak of moons going above and below that is only because, for the moment, we are representing Uranus as a top we hold in our hands, and so we speak of above and below as they are to us.

It was Herschel who discovered these satellites, as well as the planet, and for these great achievements he occupies one of the grandest places in the rÔle of names of which England is proud. But he did much more than this: his improvements in the construction of telescopes, and his devotion to astronomy in many other ways, would have caused him to be remembered without anything else.

Of Uranus's satellites one, the nearest, goes round in about two and a half days, and the one that is furthest away takes about thirteen and a half days, so both have a shorter period than our moon.

The discovery of Uranus filled the whole civilized world with wonder. The astronomers who had seen him, but missed finding out that he was a planet, must have felt bitterly mortified, and when he was discovered he was observed with the utmost accuracy and care. The calculations made to determine his path in the sky were the easier because he had been noted as a star in several catalogues previously, so that his position for some time past was known. Everybody who worked at astronomy began to observe him. From these facts mathematicians set to work, and, by abstruse calculations, worked out exactly the orbit in which he ought to move; then his movements were again watched, and behold he followed the path predicted for him; but there was a small difference here and there: he did not follow it exactly. Now, in the heavens there is a reason for everything, though we may not always be clever enough to find it out, and it was easily guessed that it was not by accident that Uranus did not precisely follow the path calculated for him. The planets all act and react on one another, as we know, according to their mass and their distance, and in the calculations the pull of Jupiter on Saturn and of Saturn on Uranus were known and allowed for. But Uranus was pulled by some unseen influence also.

A young Englishman named Adams, by some abstruse and difficult mathematical work far beyond the power of ordinary brains, found out not only the fact that there must be another planet nearly as large as Uranus in an orbit outside his, but actually predicted where such a planet might be seen if anyone would look for it. He gave his results to a professor of astronomy at Cambridge. Now, it seems an easy thing to say to anyone, 'Look out for a planet in such and such a part of the sky,' but in reality, when the telescope is turned to that part of the sky, stars are seen in such numbers that, without very careful comparison with a star chart, it is impossible to say which are fixed stars and which, if any, is an intruder. There happened to be no star chart of this kind for the particular part of the sky wanted, and thus a long time elapsed and the planet was not identified. Meantime a young Frenchman named Leverrier had also taken up the same investigation, and, without knowing anything of Adams' work, had come to the same conclusion. He sent his results to the Berlin Observatory, where a star chart such as was wanted was actually just being made. By the use of this the Berlin astronomers at once identified this new member of our system, and announced to the astonished world that another large planet, making eight altogether, had been discovered. Then the English astronomers remembered that they too held in their hands the means for making this wonderful discovery, but, by having allowed so much time to elapse, they had let the honour go to France. However, the names of Adams and Leverrier will always be coupled together as the discoverers of the new planet, which was called Neptune. The marvel is that by pure reasoning the mind of man could have achieved such results.

If the observation of Uranus is difficult, how much more that of Neptune, which is still further plunged in space! Yet by patience a few facts have been gleaned about him. He is not very different in size from Uranus. He also is of very slight density. His year includes one hundred and sixty-five of ours, so that since his discovery in 1846 he has only had time to get round less than a third of his path. His axis is even more tilted over than that of Uranus, so that if we compare Uranus to a top held horizontally, Neptune will be like a top with one end pointing downwards. He rotates in this extraordinary position, in the same manner as Uranus—namely, the other way over from all the other planets, but he revolves, as they all do, counter-clockwise.

Seen from Neptune the sun can only appear about as large as Venus appears to us at her best, and the light and heat received are but one nine-hundreth part of what he sends us. Yet so brilliant is sunshine that even then the light that falls on Neptune must be very considerable, much more than that which we receive from Venus, for the sun itself glows, and from Venus the light is only reflected. The sun, small as it must appear, will shine with the radiance of a glowing electric light. To get some idea of the brilliance of sunlight, sit near a screen of leaves on some sunny day when the sun is high overhead, and note the intense radiance of even the tiny rays which shine through the small holes in the leaves. The scintillating light is more glorious than any diamond, shooting out coloured rays in all directions. A small sun the apparent size of Venus would, therefore, give enough light for practical purposes to such a world as Neptune, even though to us a world so illuminated would seem to be condemned to a perpetual twilight.