Every one who notices the stars at all,—and who that thinks and can see does not?—must have observed during the autumn of 1877 two bright stars in the southern heavens. One of these shone with a lustre which but for its ruddy hue would have caused the star to be taken for the planet Jupiter; the other shone with a somewhat yellowish light, and was much fainter, though surpassing most of the fixed stars in brightness. The former was the planet Mars, the latter the ringed planet Saturn. The motions of these two stars with respect to each other and to the neighbouring stars were sufficiently conspicuous to attract attention. During October these stars attracted still more attention, because they drew nearer and nearer together, to all appearance, until on November 4th they were at their nearest, when the distance separating them was about one-third the apparent diameter of the moon, so that in a telescope showing at one view the whole disc of the moon, Mars and Saturn on the night of November 4th appeared like a splendid double star, the primary a fine red orb, the companion a smaller body, but attended by a splendid ring system and companion moons.

It was strange when we looked at these two stars, the yellow one apparently much smaller than the brighter, and the pair seemingly close together, to consider how thoroughly the reality differed from these appearances. The fainter and seemingly the smaller of the two stars was in reality some four thousand times larger than the brighter, and had, among eight orbs attending upon it, one nearly as large as the ruddy planet which as actually seen so completely outshone Saturn himself. Again, instead of being near each other, those two bodies were in reality separated by a distance exceeding some sixteen times that which separated us from the nearer of the two.

I propose now to consider some of the more interesting characteristics of these two planets, presenting specially those features which mark Saturn as the representative of one family of bodies, and Mars as the representative of another and an entirely different family.

It will be well to consider Mars first; for although, as will presently be seen, Saturn came earlier of the two to the portion of his path where he was most favourably seen, there was nothing specially remarkable about the approach of Saturn on that occasion, whereas Mars in the year 1877 made a nearer approach to the earth than he has for thirty-two years past, or will for some forty-seven years to come.

In the first place, let us note the apparent paths on which the two planets have been and are now travelling.

Fig. 16 presents that part of the zodiac along which lay the apparent paths of Mars and Saturn in 1877. The stars marked with Greek letters belong to the constellation Aquarius, or the Water-Bearer (his jar is formed by the stars in the upper right-hand corner of the picture),—with a single exception, the star marked ?, which, with those close to it not lettered, belongs to the constellation Pisces, or the Fishes. Thus the loops traversed by the two planets in 1877 both fell in the constellation of the Water-Bearer; but, as will be seen from the symbols on the ecliptic, these loops lie in the zodiacal sign Pisces, which begins at ? and ends at ?. The signs have long since passed away, in fact, from the constellations to which they originally belonged.

It will be noticed that Mars described a wide loop ranging to a considerable distance from the ecliptic (or sun's track). Saturn, on the other hand, travelled on a narrow and shorter loop lying much nearer to the ecliptic, his whole track, except just where he was turning,—his stationary points,—lying nearly parallel to the ecliptic. It may be well to mention the reason of this well-marked difference. Mars does not in reality range even quite so widely from the plane of the ecliptic as Saturn does. Nay, his path is even less inclined to the ecliptic. (This may sound like repetition, but the inclination of a planet's path to the ecliptic is one thing, the range of the planet north and south of the ecliptic, in miles, is another. Mercury, for example, has of all planets the path most inclined to the ecliptic, but Mercury never attains anything like the same distance from the plane of the ecliptic which is attained by the remote planet Uranus, whose path is of all others the least inclined to the plane of the ecliptic. In fact, none of the planets, except Venus and Mars, have so small a range from the ecliptic in actual distance as Mercury has.) The reason why the range of Mars from the ecliptic appeared so much greater than that of Saturn, in 1877, is similar to the reason why Mars, though much smaller than Saturn, largely outshone him. Mars looked larger because he was nearer, his loop looked larger because his real path was nearer. For the same reason that a hut close by seems to stand higher above the horizon than a palace at a distance, or a mountain yet further away, so the displacement of Mars from the ecliptic plane appeared greater than that of Saturn, though in reality much less.

Let us consider how the paths of these planets are really situated. I know of no better way of showing this than by drawing the paths of the two families of planets separately. It is in fact utterly impossible to give an accurate yet clear view of the solar system in a single picture; and the student may take it for granted that every drawing or plate in which this has ever been attempted is from one cause or another misleading.

In figs. 17 and 18 the shape and position of the planetary paths are correctly shown. Very little description is necessary, but it may be mentioned that on each orbit the point nearest to the sun is indicated by the initial letter of the planet, while the point farthest from the sun is indicated by the same letter accented. The places where each path crosses the plane of the earth's—which is supposed to be the plane of the paper—are marked ? and ?, the former sign marking where the planet in travelling round in the direction shown by the arrows crosses the plane of the earth's path from below upwards, while the latter marks the place where the planet in travelling round crosses the plane of the earth's path from above downwards.

Fig. 17 shows the paths of the inner family of planets of which our earth is a member. Fig. 18 shows the outer family of planets, and inside of it the ring of small planets called asteroids. Inside that ring, again, we see the paths of the inner family of planets; but they appear on a very small scale indeed. In fact, the scales appended to the two figures show that a length which represents 50,000,000 miles in fig. 17, represents 1,000,000,000 miles in fig. 18; or, in other words, the scale of fig. 18 is only one-twentieth of the scale of fig. 17. On the scale of fig. 17 the sun would be fairly represented by an ordinary pin-hole; on the scale of fig. 18 the sun would be scarcely visible. The dots round the orbits show the planets' places at intervals of 10 days in fig. 17, and of 1000 days in fig. 18, starting always from the left side of orbit (on horizontal line through sun).

Now looking at fig. 18 and noting how small is the distance of the path of Mars from the earth's path, compared with the distance of Saturn's path, we understand why Saturn, despite his far superior size, shines far less brightly in our skies than Mars does. In fact, in October, 1877, the Earth and Mars were on the parts of their tracks which lay nearest together, that is, the parts occupying the lower right-hand corner of fig. 17; and turning to fig. 18, we perceive that the distance separating the two paths here is very small indeed compared with Saturn's distance.

So that, when we looked at Mars and Saturn as they shone in conjoined splendour in our skies, in 1877, we saw in the bright orb of Mars the planet whose track lies nearest to us in that direction, whereas in looking at Saturn the range of view passed athwart the track of Mars, through the ring of asteroids, and past the orbit of Jupiter, before entering the wide and barren region which separates the orbits of the two giant members of the solar system.

We study Mars under much more favourable conditions than either Jupiter or Saturn. And yet, at a first view, the telescopic aspect of this interesting planet is exceedingly disappointing. Galileo, who quite easily discovered the moons of Jupiter with his largest telescope, could barely detect with it the fact that Mars is not quite round at all times, but is seen sometimes in the shape of the moon two or three days before or after full. "I dare not affirm," he wrote on December 30, 1610, to his friend Castelli, "that I can observe the phases of Mars; yet, unless I mistake, I think I already perceive that he is not perfectly round." But even in a large telescope one can see very little except under very favourable conditions. It has only been by long and careful study, and piecing together the information obtained at various times, that astronomers have obtained a knowledge of the facts which appear in our text-books of astronomy. The possessor of a telescope who should expect, on turning the instrument towards Mars, to perceive what he has read in descriptions of the planet, would be considerably disappointed.

First noticed among the features of the planet were two white spots of light occupying the northern and southern parts of his disc. These are now known to be regions of snow and ice, like those which surround the poles of our own earth. But how different the reality must be from what we seem to see in the telescope! These two tiny white specks represent hundreds of thousands of square miles covered over with great masses of snow and ice, which doubtless are moved by disturbing forces similar to those which make our arctic regions for the most part impassable even for the most daring of our seamen.

The snow-caps of Mars change in size as the planet circuits round the sun, completing his year of seasons (which lasts 687 of our days). They are largest in the winter of Mars, smallest in the Martian summer; so that, as it is winter for one hemisphere when it is summer for the other, one of the snow-caps is larger than the other at the winter and summer seasons. In the same way, our arctic snows extend more widely during our winter, while the antarctic snows then retreat; whereas, during our summer, when it is winter in the southern hemisphere, the antarctic snows advance and our arctic snows retreat.

But we have still to learn why these white spots are known to be masses of snow. They might well from analogy be considered to be snows, since they behave like the snows of our polar regions. Yet that would be very different from proving them to be snow masses. I shall now show how this has been done, and afterwards describe the lands and seas of the planet, and give a short account of the recent interesting discovery of two moons attending on the planet which Tennyson had called the "moonless Mars."

Even before the poles of Mars had been discovered, observers had perceived that the planet has marks upon its surface. Cassini, in 1666, at Paris, found by observing these spots that the planet turns on its axis once in about twenty-four hours forty minutes. In the same year Dr. Hooke observed Mars. He was in doubt whether the planet turned once round or twice round in about twenty-four hours; for with his imperfect telescope two opposite faces of the planet seemed so much alike that he was doubtful whether they really were two different faces or the same. Fortunately he published two pictures of the planet, taken on the same night in March, 1666, and we have been able to keep such good count of Mars's turning on his axis, that we know exactly how many times he has turned since that distant time. However, at present, we need not further consider the turning motion of Mars, but rather what the telescope has shown us about him. Only, let it be remembered that he has a day of about twenty-four hours thirty-seven minutes, and is in this respect much like our earth.

Maraldi, Cassini's nephew, early in the last century observed several spots on Mars, and, in particular, one somewhat triangular dark spot, which was one of Hooke's markings, but more clearly seen by Maraldi. About this time it was seen that the darker markings have a somewhat greenish colour; and towards the end of last century, or, more exactly, about a hundred years ago, the idea was maintained by Sir W. Herschel that the dark-greenish markings are seas, while the lighter parts of Mars, to which the planet owes its somewhat ruddy colour, are lands. Sir W. Herschel also was the first to show that Mars, like our earth, has seasons. It had been supposed by Cassini, Maraldi, and others, that the axis of Mars is upright to the level of the path in which he travels. Of course, if this were so, the light of the sun would always fall on the planet in the same way; for the sun is in that level. But the axis, like that of our own earth, is bowed considerably from uprightness; so that at one part of his year the sun's rays fall more fully on his northern regions, and his southern regions are correspondingly turned away from the sun; then it is summer in his northern regions, winter in his southern. At the opposite season the reverse holds, and then winter prevails over his northern and summer over his southern regions. Midway between these two seasons, the sun's rays are equably distributed over both hemispheres of Mars, and then the days and nights are equal, and it is spring in that hemisphere which is passing from winter to summer, and autumn in the other hemisphere which is passing from summer to winter. All these changes are precisely like those which take place in the case of our own earth. Only, the year of Mars, and therefore his seasons, are longer. He takes 687 days in travelling round the sun, giving nearly 172 days, or more than five and a half of our months, for each season.

Figs. 19, 20, and 21 are three views of Mars, drawn by Mr. Nathaniel Green, an excellent observer, who has paid special attention to this planet. Fig. 19 shows a faintly-marked sea running north and south (the upper part of the picture being the south, because that is the way in which the telescope used by astronomers inverts objects.) This is one of the markings which deceived Hooke. This picture was drawn on May 30, 1873, at half-past seven in the evening. The second picture was drawn two days earlier, at eight in the evening; but it shows the planet as it would have looked on May 30 at about a quarter past nine in the evening, by which time the sea running north and south had been carried over to the right and lost to view. But another north and south sea had come into view on the right. The third picture shows a view taken three hours later, or at eleven on May 28, when the planet appeared precisely as he would have appeared at a quarter past eleven in the early morning of May 31, had weather then permitted Mr. Green to continue his observations. You see in it the great north and south sea which Maraldi had noticed, the other of those two which had deceived Hooke.

It will be seen from these drawings, which, be it remembered, were taken at the telescope, that it is possible from a great number of such drawings to make a chart of Mars, showing its lands and seas not as they are seen in the telescope, but as they might be laid down by inhabitants of Mars in a map or planisphere. This has been done, with gradually increasing accuracy,—first by Sir W. Herschel, next by Beer and MÄdler, then by Phillips, and lastly by myself. (In claiming for my own chart greater accuracy, I am simply asserting the superior completeness of the list of telescopic drawings which I was able to consult.) The result is shown in the accompanying chart (fig. 22), which presents the whole surface of Mars divided into lands and seas and polar snows, with the names attached of various observers who have at sundry times contributed to our knowledge of the planet's features.

But now it will be asked by the thoughtful reader, how can any one possibly be sure that the regions called continents and seas do really consist of land and water? At any rate, the doubt might well be entertained respecting the water. For land is a wide term, including all kinds of rock surface, sand, earthy soil, and so forth; but it may seem to require proof that the substance we call water really exists out yonder in space, either in the form of snow and ice at the Martian poles, or as flowing water in the Martian seas, or in the vaporous form in the planet's air.

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Very strange, then, at first must the statement seem, that we are as sure of the existence of water in all these forms on Mars as if we had sent some messenger to the planet who had brought back for study by our chemists a block of Martian ice, a vessel full of Martian water, and a flask of Martian air saturated with aqueous vapour. Indeed, I do not know of any discovery effected by man which more strikingly displays the power of human ingenuity in mastering difficulties which, at a first view, seem altogether insuperable. When we know that a mass of ice as large as Great Britain would appear at the distance of Mars a mere bright point; that a sea as large as the Mediterranean would appear like a faint, greenish-blue, streak; and that cloud masses such as would cover the whole of Europe would only present the appearance of a whitish glare, how hopeless seems the task of attempting to determine what is the real chemical constitution of objects thus seen! It might well be thought that no possible explanation of the method used by astronomers could serve to establish its validity. Yet nothing can be simpler than the principle of the method, or more satisfactory than its application in this special case.

First, let the reader rid his mind of the difficulty arising from the enormous distance of the celestial bodies. To do this let him note that there are some things which a body close by can tell us no more certainly than a remote body. For instance, we are just as certain that Mars is a body capable of reflecting sunlight as we are that a cricket-ball is. We know as certainly, too, that the quality of Mars is such that more of the red of the sun's light is sent to us than of the other colours. For we perceive that Mars is a ruddy planet. Since distance in no way interferes with our perception of these general facts, and others like them, we need not necessarily find in mere distance any difficulty in the way of recognising some other facts. All that we require to be shown before admitting the validity of the evidence is, that it is of such a kind that distance does not affect its quality, however much distance may and must affect the quantity of evidence.

Now there is a means of taking the light which comes from a body shining either with its own or with reflected light, and analyzing it into its component colours. The spectroscope is the instrument by which this is accomplished. I do not propose to describe here the nature of this instrument, or the details of the various methods in which it is employed. I note only that it separates the rays of different colour coming from an object, and lays them side by side for us,—the red rays by themselves, the orange rays by themselves, and so with the yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. And not only are the rays of these colours set by themselves, but the red rays are sorted in order, from the deepest brown-red[11] to a tint of red (the lightest) which must almost be called orange; the orange in order, from orange which must almost be called red to a tint (the lightest orange) which must almost be called yellow; the yellow, from an almost orange yellow to a yellow just beginning to be tinged with green; the green, from an almost yellow green (the lightest) to a green which may almost be called blue (the darkest); the blue, from this tint to the beginning of the indigo; the indigo, from this tint to the first rays of the violet; and lastly the violet, through all the tints of this beautiful colour to a blackish-brown violet, where the visible spectrum ends. All these tints are sorted in order by the spectroscope, just as a skilful colourist might range in due sequence a myriad tints of colour. But this is only true of really white light, such light as comes from a glowing mass of metal burning at a white heat. In other cases (even when the light may seem white to the eye) some of the tints are found, when the spectroscope spreads out the colours for us, to be missing. And we know that this may be caused in two ways. Either the source of light never gave out those missing tints; or, the source of light gave them out, but some absorbing medium stopped them on their way before they reached the spectroscope with which we examine them. There may be cases where we cannot tell very easily which of these is the true cause. But sometimes we can, as the instances I have now to deal with will show you.

The sun's own light shows under this method of spectroscopic analysis millions of tints, in fact I might say millions of red tints, and so forth, right through the spectral list of colours. But also many thousands of tints are wanting. Imagine a rainbow-coloured ribbon, the colours ranged along its length, so that the ribbon is black at both ends, and that from the black of one end the colour merges into very deep red, and thence by insensible gradations through orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet, into the black of the other end. Then suppose that tens of thousands of the fine threads which run athwart the ribbon—i.e., the short cross threads—are drawn out. Then the ribbon, laid on a dark background showing through the spaces where the threads were drawn out, would represent the solar spectrum. We know then that the light of the sun's glowing mass either wants particular tints originally, or shines through vapours which prevent the free passage of rays of those colours. Both causes might be at work, not one only. At present we are not concerned with this particular point; but I only mention that, in reality, no tints are actually wanting, though some are very much enfeebled.

The sun's light falling on any opaque object is reflected. If the object is white, the light gives exactly the same spectrum, only fainter. Thus, I take a piece of white paper on which the sun's rays are falling, and examine its light with one of Browning's spectroscopes. I get the ordinary solar spectrum. The cold white paper gives me in fact a spectrum which speaks of a heat so intense that the most stubborn metals are not merely melted but vaporized in it. But this heat resides in the sun, not in the paper.

Now, speaking generally, Mars also sends us sunlight, so that when we spread out with the spectroscope the rays coming from this planet, we get the solar spectrum, only of course very much enfeebled. But close examination shows that other tints besides those missing from the solar spectrum are missing from the spectrum of Mars. He reflects to us the sunlight, almost as it reaches him, but he abstracts from it a few tints on his own account.

When we inquire what these tints are, we find that they are tints which are sometimes wanting even from direct sunlight. When the sun sinks very low and looks like a great red ball through the moisture-laden air, his spectrum is not the same exactly as that of the sun shining high in the mid heaven. It shows other gaps than those corresponding to the ordinary myriads of missing tints. Its red colour shows indeed that some thing has happened to the sunlight; but, oddly enough (at first sight at least), the gaps are chiefly in the red part of the spectrum, just what one would expect if the sun's light showed a want instead of an excess of ruddy light. The fact is, however, that the violet, indigo, and blue are weakened altogether, not by the mere abstraction of tints here and there. The red suffers under a few abstractions of tint, but remains on the whole little weakened. Now the same gaps which at such times appear in the spectrum of the sun are found (generally, if not always) in the spectrum of the planet Mars, even when he is shining high in the heavens, so that his light is not at the time absorbed by the denser portions of our air. In fact the gaps have been seen in the spectrum of Mars when the planet has been shining higher in the heavens than the moon, whose spectrum was found on trial (at the time) not to show the same gaps,—as of course it must have done, and even more markedly, if the missing tints had been abstracted by our own air.

No doubt can remain, then, that the sun's light, which reaches us after falling on Mars, has suffered at Mars the same absorption which our own air produces on the rays of the sun when he is low down. But we know what it is in our air which causes this absorption. It is the aqueous vapour. We know this from several independent series of researches. It was proved first by an American physicist, Professor Cooke of Harvard, who found that these lines in the red are always darker when the air is moister. Then by Janssen, who observed the spectrum of great bonfires lit at a distance of many miles, on the Swiss mountains, finding these same lines in the spectrum of the fire-light when the air was heavily laden with moisture. Wherefore we know that the air of Mars must also contain the same substance—the vapour of water—which, in our own air, produces these dark lines. We can, indeed, understand that the ruddy colour of Mars is in part due to this moisture, which, precisely as in our own air it makes the sun and moon look red, would, in the air of a planet, make the planet itself look red.

But how much follows from the discovery that there is moisture in the air of Mars! This moisture can only come from water in sufficient quantities. There must, therefore, be seas on Mars. We should be sure of this from the spectroscopic evidence, even without the evidence given by the telescope. We cannot doubt for a moment, however, knowing as we do how the telescope shows greenish markings on Mars, that these really are the seas and oceans of the planet. And again, the white spots at the poles of Mars can no longer be regarded doubtfully. If we could not see them, but knew only, from the spectroscopic evidence, that Mars must have large seas, we should be sure that his polar regions must be covered with everlasting ice and snow, varying with the seasons, but always surrounding, in enormous masses, the poles themselves. Seeing that the telescope presents spots to our view which, long before the spectroscopic evidence had been obtained or hoped for, had been regarded as analogues of our polar snows, we can now entertain no manner of doubt that they really are so.

But again, recognising the presence of enormous masses of snow and ice around the poles of Mars, and knowing that not only are there wide oceans, seas, and lakes, but that there is an atmosphere capable of carrying mist and cloud, how many circumstances, corresponding to those which we associate with the wants of living creatures, present themselves to our consideration! It remains that I should now consider some of these points.

We have seen that Mars has water in all its forms, solid, liquid, and vaporous. We perceive also that his polar regions do not extend very much farther towards his equator than do the polar ice and snows of our own earth. (Of course the former do not extend so far in actual distance; I refer to their extent compared with the globe they belong to.) It would appear then, at a first view, that the climate of Mars cannot be very unlike that of our earth. Yet this is scarcely possible. For Mars is so much farther than we are from the sun that he receives less than half as much light and heat from that luminary. And it is not easy to conceive that the deficiency can be compensated by any effects due to the nature of the Martian air. It is more likely by far that this air is much rarer than that it is much denser than ours. For not only can it be shown that with the same relative quantity of air a smaller planet would have a smaller quantity above each square mile of its surface than would a larger one,[12] but the gravity at the surface of the smaller planet being less, the air there is much less compressed by its own weight (having in fact much less weight), and is therefore rarer. Thus the probability is that the air of Mars is like that at (or even above) the summits of our highest mountains, where we know that an intense cold prevails. It is not that the sun's rays do not fall there with as much heating power as at the sea-level, for experiment shows that they fall with even greater power. But there is less air to be warmed and to retain the heat. The difference may be compared in fact to that between a well-watered country near the sea and an arid desert. The sun's rays fall as fiercely on one as on the other, but because there is no moisture in the desert to receive (after the fashion characteristic of water) the solar heat and retain it, the heat passes away so soon as the sun has set, and intense cold prevails, while over the well-watered region the temperature is much more uniform, and warm nights prevail. So is it at the summits of lofty mountains. The sun's rays are poured on them as hotly as elsewhere, but there is little air to retain the moisture, so that the heat passes away almost as quickly as it is received, and during the night as much fresh snow is formed as had been melted during the day. And so it would certainly be with Mars, if, other things being the same, the air were as rare as it is at the summits of our loftiest mountains. If, as seems probable, the air is still rarer than this, the cold would be still more intense.

It would seem, then, that either some important difference exists, by which the Martian air is enabled to retain the sun's heat even more effectively than our air does (for the climate as indicated by the limits of the polar snows seems the same, though the distance from the sun is greater); or else there is some mistake in the supposition that the same general state of things prevails on Mars as on our own earth.

I confess that though Professor Tyndall has shown clearly how the atmosphere of a more distant planet might make up for the deficient supply of solar heat, by more effectively retaining the heat, I know of nothing in either the telescopic or the spectroscopic evidence respecting any of the planets which tends to show, or even renders it likely, that any such arrangement exists,—excepting always the peculiarity in Mars's case which we are now endeavouring to explain. Insomuch that should any other explanation of the difficulty be suggested, and appear to have weight in its favour, I apprehend that the mere possibility of an atmospheric arrangement, such as has been suggested, should not prevent our admitting this other explanation.

I am inclined to think that there is such an explanation. It seems to me that there are good reasons for regarding Mars as a planet which has passed to a much later stage of planetary life than that through which our earth is now passing, and that in this circumstance some of the peculiarities of his appearance find their explanation. As a planet outside the earth, Mars must probably be regarded as one formed somewhat before the earth. As a much smaller planet, he would be not only less heated when first found (whatever theory of planetary formation we adopt), but would also have parted much more rapidly (relatively) with his heat, according to the same law which makes a small mass of metal cool more quickly than a large one. If he has a rarer atmosphere he would be a colder planet on that account also. Being also remoter from the sun, he receives less heat from that orb, and we thus have a fourth reason for regarding Mars as a much colder planet than our earth, both as to inherent heat and as to heat received from without. It seems to me that we may in this consideration find the real meaning of the comparatively limited extension of the Martian snows. It has been well pointed out by Professor Tyndall that for the formation of great glacial masses, not great cold only, but great heat also is required. The snows which fall on mountain slopes, to be compacted into ice and afterwards to form great glaciers, were raised into the air by the sun's heat. Every ice particle represents the action of that heat upon the particles of water at the surface of ocean, sea, or lake, or of wet soil. If the sun's heat suddenly died out, there would prevail an intense cold, and the snows and ice now existing would assuredly remain. The waters also of the earth would congeal. But no new snows would fall. The congealed seas viewed from some remote planet would appear unchanged. For they would not be covered with snow and broken ice, nor therefore white; but would consist of pure ice throughout, retaining the partial transparency and greenish colour of deep-sea water. No winds would disturb the surface of the frozen seas, for winds have their origin in heat, and with the death of the solar heat the winds would utterly die out also.

If we are to choose between these two explanations,—one that the snows and ice have not the great range we should expect, because the temperature is somehow raised despite Mars's greater distance to the same temperature which we experience, and the other that it is not heat but cold which diminishes the quantity of Martian snow, I conceive that there is every reason the case admits of for accepting the latter instead of the former explanation. As extreme cold would certainly prevent glacial masses from being very large and deep, simply because the stores whence the ice was gathered would be less, the snow caps of a very cold planet would vary as readily with varying seasons as those of a planet like our earth. For though less heat would be poured upon them with the returning summer, less heat would be required to melt away their outskirts.

I think we may fairly regard Mars as in all probability a somewhat old and decrepit planet. He is not absolutely dead, like our own moon, where we see neither seas nor clouds, neither snow nor ice, no effects, in fine, of either heat or cold. But I think he has passed far on the road towards planetary death,—that is, towards that stage of a planet's existence when at least the higher forms of life can no longer exist upon the planet's surface.

There is one peculiarity of the planet's appearance which seems strikingly to accord with this view that Mars holds a position intermediate between that of our earth and the moon,—as indeed we might fairly expect from his intermediate proportions. The seas of our earth cover nearly three-quarters of her entire globe. The moon has no visible water on her surface. If we examine the chart of Mars at page 167, we see that the seas and oceans of the planet are much smaller (relatively as well as actually) than are the seas of our own earth. I have carefully estimated their relative extent in the following simple but effective way. I drew a chart such as the above-mentioned, but on a projection of my own invention, in which equal surfaces on a globe are represented by equal surfaces on the planisphere. Then I cut out with a pair of scissors the parts representing land and the parts representing water (leaving the polar parts as doubtful), and carefully weighed these in a delicate balance. I found that they were almost exactly equal: whatever preponderance there was seemed to be in favour of the land. Thus, if we assume that, when in the same stage of planetary existence, Mars had as great a relative extent of water surface as our earth, or that about 72/100 of the surface of Mars were originally water, we should have to admit that the water had so far been withdrawn into the planet's interior as to diminish the water-surface by 22/100 (for there are now barely 50/100). At a very fair assumption as to the slopes of the Martian sea-bottoms, it would follow that more than half the Martian water originally existing above the surface had been withdrawn into the interior, as the planet's mass gradually cooled.

I am aware the assumption above mentioned is in itself somewhat daring, and is not supported by direct evidence. But, since we have very strong reasons for considering that the moon once had seas, which have been withdrawn in the way suggested, and since Mars unquestionably holds a position midway between the earth and moon as to size and presumably as to age,[13] it seems not unreasonable to find in the character of her seas,—less extended relatively than the earth's, but, unlike the moon's, still existing,—the evidence that she has gone partially through the process through which the moon has long since passed completely.

I think it very likely that the recent discovery of two Martian satellites will lead many to look with more disfavour than ever on the idea that Mars may not at present be the abode of life. For moons seem so manifestly convenient additions to a planet's surroundings, as light-givers, time-measurers, and tide-rulers, that many will regard the mere fact that these conveniences exist as proof positive that they are at this present time subserving the purposes which they are capable of subserving. I would point out, however, that our own moon must have existed for ages before any living creatures, far less any reasoning beings, could profit by her light, or by the regularity of her motions, or by her action in swaying the waters of ocean. And doubtless she will continue to exist for ages after all life shall have passed away from the earth. Again, there can be no question that our earth would present a most attractive scene if she were viewed from the moon, and would be a most useful ornament of the lunar skies. Yet we have every reason to believe that there is not a living creature on the moon at present to profit by her light. The case may well be the same (apart from the actual evidence that it is the same) with Mars. His satellites may long since have served most useful purposes to his inhabitants; but it by no means follows that because if there were inhabitants on Mars now the same purposes would still be subserved, therefore there are inhabitants there.

Let us, however, without considering the question whether the satellites of Mars serve such special purposes for creatures living on the planet, consider briefly the history of their discovery, their nature, and the laws of their motion around the planet.

Astronomers had long examined the neighbourhood of Mars with very powerful telescopes, in the hope of discovering Martian moons. But the hope had so thoroughly been abandoned for many years that the planet had come to be known as "moonless Mars." The construction, however, of the fine telescope which has been mounted at Washington, with an object-glass twenty-six inches in diameter, caused at least American astronomers to hope that after all a Martian moon or two might be discovered. Taking advantage of the exceptionally favourable opportunity presented during the planet's close approach to our earth in the autumn of 1877, Prof. Asaph Hall, of the Washington Observatory, paid special attention to the search for Martian moons. At last, on August 16, 1877, he detected close by the planet a faint point of light, which he was unable to examine further at the time (to see if it behaved as a satellite, or as one of the fixed stars). But on the 18th he saw it again, and determined its nature. He also saw another still fainter point of light closer to the planet; and subsequent observations shewed that this object also was a satellite. During the next few weeks both the moons were observed as closely as possible, in fact, whenever weather permitted, and the result is that we now know the true nature of their paths.

In fig. 23 these paths are shown as they appeared in 1877. Of course the paths themselves are not seen; but if the satellites left behind them a fine train or wake of light, the shape of this train would be as shown in fig. 23. The satellites themselves could not be shown at all in a picture on so small a scale—the diameter of either would certainly be less than the cross-breadth of the fine elliptical line representing its track. The size of the planet is correctly indicated, and the true pose of the planet in 1877 is shown in the figure, his southern pole being somewhat bowed towards the earth. This is the uppermost pole; for the figure represents the planet and his satellites' orbits as they would appear in an astronomical telescope, which inverts objects.

The outer satellite is probably not more than ten miles or so in diameter, the inner one, perhaps, the same; but neither can be measured. In the most powerful telescopes they appear as mere points of light. Nor is it easy to determine, from their lustre, or rather from their faintness, their true dimensions; for we cannot compare them directly in this respect with objects of known size, because their visibility is partly affected by the proximity of the planet, whose overpowering light dims their feeble rays. This remark applies with special force to the inner satellite.

The distance of the outer satellite from Mars's centre is about 14,300 miles, from Mars's surface about 12,000 miles. The inner travels at a distance of about 5,750 miles from the centre, and about 3,450 miles from the surface of Mars.

The motions of the satellites as seen from Mars must be very different from those of our own moon. Thus, our moon moves so slowly among the stars that she requires nearly an hour to traverse a distance equal to her own apparent diameter. The outer moon of Mars traverses a similar distance—that is, not her own apparent diameter, but an arc on the stellar heavens equal to our moon's apparent diameter—in about two and a half minutes, while the inner moon moves so rapidly as to traverse the same distance in about forty seconds. To both moons, therefore, but to the inner in particular, Job's description of our moon as "walking in brightness" would seem singularly applicable, so far at least as the rapidity of their motions is concerned. Their brightness, however, cannot be comparable to our moon's. For notwithstanding their much greater proximity, it is easily shown that they must present much smaller discs, and being illuminated by a more distant sun, their discs cannot shine so brightly as our moon's. That is, not only are the discs smaller, but their intrinsic brightness is less. Assuming the outer moon to be ten miles, the inner fifteen miles in diameter, it is easily shown that the two together, if full at the same time, can hardly give one-twelfth as much light to Martians as our moon gives to us.

Yet there can be no doubt that the Martian moons must be (or have been) most useful additions to the Martian skies. They do not give a useful measure of time intermediate in length between the day and the year, as our moon does; for the outer travels round the planet in about thirty and a quarter hours, the inner in about seven and a half hours. Nor can they exert an influence upon the Martian seas corresponding to that exerted by our own moon in generating the lunar tidal wave. But their motions must serve usefully to indicate the progress of time, both by night and by day, for they must be visible by day unless very close to the sun. They must be even more useful than our moon in indicating the longitude of ships at sea, seeing that the accuracy with which a moon indicates longitude is directly proportional to her velocity of motion among the stars.

I have said that there does not seem to be any valid reason for considering that now is the accepted time with these moons; their services may have been of immense value in long past ages, and now be valueless for want of any creatures to be benefited by them. But those who not only believe that no object in nature was made without some special purpose, but that we are able to assign to each object its original purpose, should be well satisfied if they find reason for believing that, during millions of years long, long ago, the moons lately discovered by our astronomers were measuring time for past races of Martians, swaying tides in wider seas than those which now lave the shores of Martian continents, and enabling Martian travellers to guide their course over the trackless ocean and arid desert with far greater safety than can our voyagers by sea and land despite all the advances of modern science.