By winter constellations I mean those you can see in winter at the pleasantest time—the early evening. And I want you to begin with the Northern Cross. I hope you can see this before Christmas, for, after that, it may be hidden by trees or buildings in the west and you may not see it again for a long while. This is because the stars seem to rise in the east and set in the west. To prove this, choose some brilliant star you can see at five or six o'clock; get it in line with some bush or other object over which you can just see it. Put a stake where you stand, and then go to the same spot about eight o'clock or just before you go to bed. You can tell at once how much the star seems to have moved westward.

Another thing, every star rises four minutes later every night, and therefore the sky looks a little different at the same hour every evening. The stars in the north set for a short time only, but when those toward the south set they are gone a long time. For instance, the brightest star of all is Sirius, the Dog Star, which really belongs to the southern hemisphere. There are only about three months in the year when children who go to bed by seven o'clock can see it—January, February, and March.

So now you understand why I am so eager that you should not miss the pleasure of seeing the famous Northern Cross. But although it is a big cross, and easy to find, after you know it, I have never yet known a boy who could show it to another boy simply by pointing at it. The surest and best way to find it is learn three bright stars first—Altair, Vega, and Deneb.

Altair is the brightest star in the Milky Way. It is just at the edge of the Milky Way, and you are to look for three stars in a straight line, with the middle one brightest. Those three stars make the constellation called "the Eagle." The body of the eagle is Altair, and the other two stars are the wings. I should say that Altair is about five degrees from each of his companions. It is worth half an hour's patient search to find the Eagle. Now these three stars in the Eagle point straight toward the brightest star in the northern part of the sky—Vega.

To make sure of it, notice four fainter stars near it which make a parallelogram—a sort of diamond. These stars are all part of a constellation called "the Lyre." If you try to trace out the old musical instrument, you will be disappointed; but here is a game worth while. Can you see a small triangle made by three stars, of which Vega is one? Well, one of those stars is double, and with an opera-glass you can see which it is. On very clear nights some people with very sharp eyes can see them lying close together, but I never could.

At last we are ready to find the celebrated Northern Cross. First draw a line from Altair to Vega. Then draw a line at right angles to this, until you come to another bright star—Deneb—which is about as far from Vega as Vega is from Altair. Now this beautiful star, Deneb, is the top of the Northern Cross. I can't tell you whether the Cross will be right or wrong side up when you see it, or on its side. For every constellation is likely to change its position during the night, as you know from watching the Dipper. But you can tell the Cross by these things. There are six stars in it. It is like a kite made of two sticks. There are three stars in the crosspiece and four in the long piece. Deneb, the brightest star in the cross, is at the top of the long stick.

But you mustn't expect to see a perfect cross. There is one star that is a little out of place, and sometimes my fingers fairly "itch to put it where it belongs." It is the one that ought to be where the long stick of your kite is tacked to the crosspiece. And one of the stars is provokingly faint, but you can see it. Counting straight down the long piece, it is the third one from Deneb that is faint. It is where it ought to be, but I should like to make it brighter. Have you the Cross now? If not, have patience. You can't be a "true sport" unless you are patient. You can't be a great ball-player, or hunter, or any thing else, without resisting, every day, that sudden impulse to "quit the game" when you lose. Be a "good loser," smile and try again. That is better than to give up, or to win by cheating or sharp practice.

This is the last thing I want you to see in the northern part of the sky; and if you have done a good job, let us celebrate by having a story.

Once upon a time a cross didn't mean so much to the world as it does now. That was before Christ was born. In those old times people did not think of the Northern Cross as a cross. They thought of it as a Swan, and you can see the Swan if you turn the Cross upside down. Deneb will then be in the tail of the Swan, and the two stars which used to be at the tips of the crosspiece now become the wings. Is that a true story? Yes. If we lived in Arabia the children there could tell us what Deneb means. It means "the tail."

Another story? Well, do you see the star in the beak of the Swan, or foot of the Cross? What color is it? White? Well, they say this white star is really made up of two stars—one yellow and the other blue. That is one reason I want to buy a telescope when I can afford it, for even the smallest telescope will show that. And Mr. Serviss says that even a strong field-glass will help any one see this wonder.

I can't tell you about all the winter constellations in one chapter. We have made friends of the northern ones. Now let's see the famous southern ones. And let's start a new chapter.