Our solar system is set by itself in the midst of a great space, and so far as we have learnt about it in this book everything in it seems orderly: the planets go round the sun and the satellites go round the planets, in orbits more or less regular; there seems no place for anything else. But when we have considered the planets and the satellites, we have not exhausted all the bodies which own allegiance to the sun. There is another class, made up of strange and weird members, which flash in and out of the system, coming and going in all directions and at all times—sometimes appearing without warning, sometimes returning with a certain regularity, sometimes retiring to infinite depths of space, where no human eye will ever see them more. These strange visitors are called comets, and are of all shapes and sizes and never twice alike. Even as we watch them they grow and change, and then diminish in splendour. Some are so vast that men see them as flaming signs in the sky, and regard them with awe and wonder; some cannot be seen at all without the help of the telescope. From the very earliest ages those that were large enough to be seen without glasses have been regarded with astonishment. Men used to think that they were signs from heaven foretelling great events in the world. Timid people predicted that the end of the world would come by collision with one of them. Others, again, fancifully likened them to fishes in that sea of space in which we swim—fishes gigantic and terrifying, endowed with sense and will.

It is perhaps unnecessary to say that comets are no more alive than is our own earth, and as for causing the end of the world by collision, there is every reason to believe the earth has been more than once right through a comet's tail, and yet no one except scientific men even discovered it. These mysterious visitors from the outer regions of space were called comets from a Greek word signifying hair, for they often leave a long luminous trail behind, which resembles the filaments of a woman's hair. It is not often that one appears large and bright enough to be seen by the naked eye, and when it does it is not likely to be soon forgotten. In the year 1910 such a comet is expected, a comet which at its former appearance compelled universal attention by its brilliancy and strangeness. At the time of the Norman Conquest of England a comet believed to be the very same one was stretching its glorious tail half across the sky, and the Normans seeing it, took it as a good omen, fancying that it foretold their success. The history of the Norman Conquest was worked in tapestry—that is to say, in what we should call crewels on a strip of linen—and in this record the comet duly appears. Look at him in the picture as the Normans fancied him. He has a red head with blue flames starting from it, and several tails. The little group of men on the left are pointing and chattering about him. We can judge what an impression this comet must have made to be recorded in such an important piece of work.

But we are getting on too fast. We have yet to learn how anyone can know that the comet which appeared at the time of the Norman Conquest is the same as that which has come back again at different times, and above all, how anyone can tell that it will come again in the year 1910. All this involves a long story.

Before the invention of telescopes of course only those comets could be seen which were of great size and fine appearance. In those days men did not realize that our world was but one of a number and of no great importance except to ourselves, and they always took these blazing appearances in the heavens as a particular warning to the human race. But when astronomers, by the aid of the telescope, found that for one comet seen by the eye there were hundreds which no mortal eye unaided could see, this idea seemed, to say the least of it, unlikely. Yet even then comets were looked upon as capricious visitors from outer space; odd creatures drawn into our system by the attraction of the sun, who disappeared, never to return. It was Newton, the same genius who disclosed to us the laws of gravity, who first declared that comets moved in orbits, only that these orbits were far more erratic than any of those followed by the planets.

So far we have supposed that the planets were all on what we should call a level—that is to say, we have regarded them as if they were floating in a sea of water around the sun; but this is only approximately correct, for the orbits of the planets are not all at one level. If you had a number of slender hoops or rings to represent the planetary orbits, you would have to tilt one a little this way and another a little that way, only never so far but that a line through the centre of the hoop from one side to another could pass through the sun. The way in which the planetary orbits are tilted is slight in comparison with that of the orbits of comets, for these are at all sorts of angles—some turned almost sideways, and others slanting, and all of them are ellipses long drawn out and much more irregular than the planetary orbits; but erratic as they are, in every case a line drawn through the sun and extended both ways would touch each side of the orbits.

A great astronomer called Halley, who was born in the time of the Commonwealth, was lucky enough to see a very brilliant comet, and the sight interested him so much that he made all the calculations necessary to find out just in what direction it was travelling in the heavens. He found out that it followed an ellipse which brought it very near to the sun at one part of its journey, and carried it far beyond the orbit of the earth, right out to that of Neptune, at the other. Then he began to search the records for other comets which had been observed before his time. He found that two particularly bright ones had been carefully noted—one about seventy-five years before that which he had seen, and the other seventy-five years before that again. Both these comets had been watched so scientifically that the paths in which they had travelled could be computed. A brilliant inspiration came to Halley. He believed that instead of these three, his own and the other two, being different comets, they were the same one, which returned to the sun about every seventy-five years. This could be proved, for if this idea were correct, of course the comet would return again in another seventy-five years, unless something unforeseen occurred. But Halley was in the prime of life: he could not hope to live to see his forecast verified. The only thing he could do was to note down exact particulars, by means of which others who lived after him might recognize his comet. And so when the time came for its return, though Halley was in his grave, numbers of astronomers were watching eagerly to see the fulfilment of his prediction. The comet did indeed appear, and since then it has been seen once again, and now we expect it to come back in the year 1910, when you and I may see it for ourselves. When the identity of the comet was fully established men began to search further back still, to compare the records of other previous brilliant comets, and found that this one had been noticed many times before, and once as I said, at the time of the Norman Conquest. Halley's comet is peculiar in many ways. For instance, it is unusual that so large and interesting a comet should return within a comparatively limited time. It is the smaller comets, those that can only be seen telescopically, that usually run in small orbits. The smallest orbits take about three and a half years to traverse, and some of the largest orbits known require a period of one hundred and ten thousand years. Between these two limits lies every possible variety of period. One comet, seen about the time Napoleon was born, was calculated to take two thousand years to complete its journey, and another, a very brilliant one seen in 1882, must journey for eight hundred years before it again comes near to the sun. But we never know what might happen, for at any moment a comet which has traversed a long solitary pathway in outer darkness may flash suddenly into our ken, and be for the first time noted and recorded, before flying off at an angle which must take it for ever further and further from the sun.

Everything connected with comets is mysterious and most fascinating. From out of the icy regions of space a body appears; what it is we know not, but it is seen at first as a hairy or softly-glowing star, and it was thus that Herschel mistook Uranus for a comet when he first discovered it. As it draws nearer the comet sends out some fan-like projections toward the sun, enclosing its nucleus in filmy wrappings like a cocoon of light, and it travels faster and faster. From its head shoots out a tail—it may be more than one—growing in splendour and width, and always pointing away from the sun. So enormous are some of these tails that when the comet's head is close to the sun the tail extends far beyond the orbit of the earth. Faster still and faster flies the comet, for as we have seen it is a consequence of the law of gravitation that the nearer planets are to the sun the faster they move in their orbits, and the same rule applies to comets too. As the comet dashes up to the sun his pace becomes something indescribable; it has been reckoned for some comets at three hundred miles a second! But behold, as the head flies round the sun the tail is always projected outwards. The nucleus or head may be so near to the sun that the heat it receives would be sufficient to reduce molten iron to vapour; but this does not seem to affect it: only the tail expands. Sometimes it becomes two or more tails, and as it sweeps round behind the head it has to cover a much greater space in the same time, and therefore it must travel even faster than the head. The pace is such that no calculations can account for it, if the tail is composed of matter in any sense as we know it. Then when the sun is passed the comet sinks away again, and as it goes the tail dies down and finally disappears. The comet itself dwindles to a hairy star once more and goes—whither? Into space so remote that we cannot even dream of it—far away into cold more appalling than anything we could measure, the cold of absolute space. More and more slowly it travels, always away and away, until the sun, a short time back a huge furnace covering all the sky, is now but a faint star. Thus on its lonely journey unseen and unknown the comet goes.

This comet which we have taken as an illustration is a typical one, but all are not the same. Some have no tails at all, and never develop any; some change utterly even as they are watched. The same comet is so different at different times that the only possible way of identifying it is by knowing its path, and even this is not a certain method, for some comets appear to travel at intervals along the same path!

Now we come to the question that must have been in the mind of everyone from the beginning of this chapter, What are comets? This question no one can answer definitely, for there are many things so puzzling about these strange appearances that it is difficult even to suggest an explanation. Yet a good deal is known. In the first place, we are certain that comets have very little density—that is to say, they are indescribably thin, thinner than the thinnest kind of gas; and air, which we always think so thin, would be almost like a blanket compared with the material of comets. This we judge because they exercise no sort of influence on any of the planetary bodies they draw near to, which they certainly would do if they were made of any kind of solid matter. They come sometimes very close to some of the planets. A comet was so near to Jupiter that it was actually in among his moons. The comet was violently agitated; he was pulled in fact right out of his old path, and has been going on a new one ever since; but he did not exercise the smallest effect on Jupiter, or even on the moons. And, as I said earlier in this chapter, we on the earth have been actually in the folds of a comet's tail. This astonishing fact happened in June, 1861. One evening after the sun had set a golden-yellow disc, surrounded with filmy wrappings, appeared in the sky. The sun's light, diffused throughout our atmosphere, had prevented its being seen sooner. This was apparently the comet's head. It is described as 'though a number of light, hazy clouds were floating around a miniature full moon.' From this a cone of light extended far up into the sky, and when the head disappeared below the horizon this tail was seen to reach to the zenith. But that was not all. Strange shafts of light seemed to hang right overhead, and could only be accounted for by supposing that they were caused by another tail hanging straight above us, so that we looked up at it foreshortened by perspective. The comet's head lay between the earth and the sun, and its tail, which extended over many millions of miles, stretched out behind in such a way that the earth must have gone right through it. The fact that the comet exercised no perceptible influence on the earth at all, and that there were not even any unaccountable magnetic storms or displays of electricity, may reassure us so that if ever we do again come in contact with one of these extremely fine, thin bodies, we need not be afraid.

There is another way in which we can judge of the wonderful tenuity or thinness of comets—that is, that the smallest stars can be seen through their tails, even though those tails must be many thousands of miles in thickness. Now, if the tails were anything approaching the density of our own atmosphere, the stars when seen through them would appear to be moved out of their places. This sounds odd, and requires a word of explanation. The fact is that anything seen through any transparent medium like water or air is what is called refracted—that is to say, the rays coming from it look bent. Everyone is quite familiar with this in everyday life, though perhaps they may not have noticed it. You cannot thrust a stick into the water without seeing that it looks crooked. Air being less dense than water has not quite so strong a refracting power, but still it has some. We cannot prove it in just the same way, because we are all inside the atmosphere ourselves, and there is no possibility of thrusting a stick into it from the outside! The only way we know it is by looking at something which is 'outside' already, and we find plenty of objects in the sky. As a matter of fact, the stars are all a little pulled out of their places by being seen through the air, and though of course we do not notice this, astronomers know it and have to make allowance for it. The effect is most noticeable in the case of the sun when he is going down, for the atmosphere bends his rays up, and though we see him a great glowing red ball on the horizon, and watch him, as we think, drop gradually out of sight, we are really looking at him for the last moment or two when he has already gone, for the rays are bent up by the air and his image lingers when the real sun has disappeared.

Therefore in looking through the luminous stuff that forms a comet's tail astronomers might well expect to see the stars displaced, but not a sign of this appears. It is difficult to imagine, therefore, what the tail can be made of. The idea is that the sun exercises a sort of repulsive effect on certain elements found in the comet's head—that is to say, it pushes them away, and that as the head approaches the sun, these elements are driven out of it away from the sun in vapour. This action may have something to do with electricity, which is yet little understood; anyway, the effect is that, instead of attracting the matter toward itself, in which case we should see the comet's tails stretching toward the sun, the sun drives it away! In the chapter on the sun we had to imagine something of the same kind to account for the corona, and the corona and the comet's tails may be really akin to each other, and could perhaps be explained in the same way. Now we come to a stranger fact still. Some comets go right through the sun's corona, and yet do not seem to be influenced by it in the smallest degree. This may not seem very wonderful at first perhaps, but if you remember that a dash through anything so dense as our atmosphere, at a pace much less than that at which a comet goes, is enough to heat iron to a white heat, and then make it fly off in vapour, we get a glimpse of the extreme fineness of the materials which make the corona.

Here is Herschel's account of a comet that went very near the sun:

'The comet's distance from the sun's centre was about the 160th part of our distance from it. All the heat we enjoy on this earth comes from the sun. Imagine the heat we should have to endure if the sun were to approach us, or we the sun, to one 160th part of its present distance. It would not be merely as if 160 suns were shining on us all at once, but, 160 times 160, according to a rule which is well known to all who are conversant with such matters. Now, that is 25,600. Only imagine a glare 25,600 times fiercer than that of the equatorial sunshine at noon day with the sun vertical. In such a heat there is no substance we know of which would not run like water, boil, and be converted into smoke or vapour. No wonder the comet gave evidence of violent excitement, coming from the cold region outside the planetary system torpid and ice-bound. Already when arrived even in our temperate region it began to show signs of internal activity; the head had begun to develop, and the tail to elongate, till the comet was for a time lost sight of—not for days afterwards was it seen; and its tail, whose direction was reversed, and which could not possibly be the same tail it had before, had already lengthened to an extent of about ninety millions of miles, so that it must have been shot out with immense force in a direction away from the sun.'

We remember that comets have sometimes more than one tail, and a theory has been advanced to account for this too. It is supposed that perhaps different elements are thrust away by the sun at different angles, and one tail may be due to one element and another to another. But if the comet goes on tail-making to a large extent every time it returns to the sun, what happens eventually? Do the tails fall back again into the head when out of reach of the sun's action? Such an idea is inconceivable; but if not, then every time a comet approaches the sun he loses something, and that something is made up of the elements which were formerly in the head and have been violently ejected. If this be so we may well expect to see comets which have returned many times to the sun without tails at all, for all the tail-making stuff that was in the head will have been used up, and as this is exactly what we do see, the theory is probably true.

Where do the comets come from? That also is a very large question. It used to be supposed they were merely wanderers in space who happened to have been attracted by our sun and drawn into his system, but there are facts which go very strongly against this, and astronomers now generally believe that comets really belong to the solar system, that their proper orbits are ellipses, and that in the case of those which fly off at such an angle that they can never return they must at some time have been pulled out of their original orbit by the influence of one of the planets.

To get a good idea of a really fine comet, until we have the opportunity of seeing one for ourselves, we cannot do better than look at this picture of a comet photographed in 1901 at the Cape of Good Hope. It is only comparatively recently that photography has been applied to comets. When Halley's comet appeared last time such a thing was not thought of, but when he comes again numbers of cameras, fitted up with all the latest scientific appliances, will be waiting to get good impressions of him.