I have never beheld the first indications of the rising of Orion without a peculiar feeling of awakened expectation, like that of one who sees the curtain rise upon a drama of absorbing interest. And certainly the magnificent company of the winter constellations, of which Orion is the chief, make their entrance upon the scene in a manner that may be described as almost dramatic. First in the east come the world-renowned Pleiades. At about the same time Capella, one of the most beautiful of stars, is seen flashing above the northeastern horizon. These are the sparkling ushers to the coming spectacle. In an hour the fiery gleam of Aldebaran appears at the edge of the dome below the Pleiades, a star noticeable among a thousand for its color alone, besides being one of the brightest of the heavenly host. The observer familiar with the constellations knows, when he sees this red star which marks the eye of the angry bull, Taurus, that just behind the horizon stands Orion with starry shield and upraised club to meet the charge of his gigantic enemy. With Aldebaran rises the beautiful V-shaped group of the Hyades. Presently the star-streams of Eridanus begin to appear in the east and southeast, the immediate precursors of the rising of Orion:

The first glimpse we get of the hero of the sky is the long bending row of little stars that glitter in the lion's skin which, according to mythology, serves him for a shield. The great constellation then advances majestically into sight. First of its principal stars appears Bellatrix in the left shoulder; then the little group forming the head, followed closely by the splendid Betelgeuse, "the martial star," flashing like a decoration upon the hero's right shoulder. Then come into view the equally beautiful Rigel in the left foot, and the striking row of three bright stars forming the Belt. Below these hangs another starry pendant marking the famous sword of Orion, and last of all appears Saiph in the right knee. There is no other constellation containing so many bright stars. It has two of the first magnitude, Betelgeuse and Rigel; the three stars in the Belt, and Bellatrix in the left shoulder, are all of the second magnitude; and besides these there are three stars of the third magnitude, more than a dozen of the fourth, and innumerable twinklers of smaller magnitudes, whose commingled scintillations form a celestial illumination of singular splendor.

By the time Orion has chased the Bull half-way up the eastern slope of the firmament, the peerless Dog-Star, Sirius, is flaming at the edge of the horizon, while farther north glitters Procyon, the little Dog-Star, and still higher are seen the twin stars in Gemini. When these constellations have advanced well toward the meridian, as shown in our circular map, their united radiance forms a scene never to be forgotten. Counting one of the stars in Gemini as of the first rank, there are no less than seven first-magnitude stars ranged around one another in a way that can not fail to attract the attention and the admiration of the most careless observer. Aldebaran, Capella, the Twins, Procyon, Sirius, and Rigel mark the angles of a huge hexagon, while Betelgeuse shines with ruddy beauty not far from the center of the figure. The heavens contain no other naked-eye view comparable with this great array, not even the glorious celestial region where the Southern Cross shines supreme, being equal to it in splendor.

As an offset to the discomforts of winter observations of the stars, the observer finds that the softer skies of summer have no such marvelous brilliants to dazzle his eyes as those that illumine the hyemal heavens. To comprehend the real glories of the celestial sphere in the depth of winter one should spend a few clear nights in the rural districts of New York or New England, when the hills, clad with sparkling blankets of crusted snow, reflect the glitter of the living sky. In the pure frosty air the stars seem splintered and multiplied indefinitely, and the brighter ones shine with a splendor of light and color unknown to the denizen of the smoky city, whose eyes are dulled and blinded by the glare of streetlights. There one may detect the delicate shade of green that lurks in the imperial blaze of Sirius, the beautiful rose-red light of Aldebaran, the rich orange hue of Betelgeuse, the blue-white radiance of Rigel, and the pearly luster of Capella. If you have never seen the starry heavens except as they appear from city streets and squares, then, I had almost said, you have never seen them at all, and especially in the winter is this true. I wish I could describe to you the impression that they can make upon the opening mind of a country boy, who, knowing as yet nothing of the little great world around him, stands in the yawning silence of night and beholds the illimitably great world above him, looking deeper than thought can go into the shining vistas of the universe, and overwhelmed with the wonder of those marshaled suns.

Looking now at Map 18, we see the heavens as they appear at midnight on the 1st of December, at 10 o'clock P. M. on the 1st of January, and at 8 o'clock P. M. on the 1st of

February. In the western half of the sky we recognize Andromeda, Pegasus, Pisces, Cetus, Aries, Cassiopeia, and other constellations that we studied in the "Stars of Autumn." Far over in the east we see rising Leo, Cancer, and Hydra, which we included among the "Stars of Spring." Occupying most of the southern and eastern heavens are the constellations which we are now to describe under the name of the

"Stars of Winter," because in that season they are seen under the most favorable circumstances. I have already referred to the admirable way in which the principal stars of some of these constellations are ranged round one another. By the aid of the map the observer can perceive the relative position of the different constellations, and, having fixed this in his mind, he will be prepared to study them in detail.

Let us now begin with Map No. 19, which shows us the constellations of Eridanus, Lepus, Orion, and Taurus. Eridanus is a large though not very conspicuous constellation, which is generally supposed to represent the celebrated river now known as the Po. It has had different names among different peoples, but the idea of a river, suggested by its long, winding streams of stars, has always been preserved. According to fable, it is the river into which Phaeton fell after his disastrous attempt to drive the chariot of the sun for his father Phoebus, and in which hare-brained adventure he narrowly missed burning the world up. The imaginary river starts from the brilliant star Rigel, in the left foot of Orion, and flows in a broad upward bend toward the west; then it turns in a southerly direction until it reaches the bright star Gamma (?), where it bends sharply to the north, and then quickly sweeps off to the west once more, until it meets the group of stars marking the head of Cetus. Thence it runs south, gradually turning eastward, until it flows back more than half-way to Orion. Finally it curves south again and disappears beneath the horizon. Throughout the whole distance of more than 100° the course of the stream is marked by rows of stars, and can be recognized without difficulty by the amateur observer.

The first thing to do with your opera-glass, after you have fixed the general outlines of the constellation in your mind by naked-eye observations, is to sweep slowly over the whole course of the stream, beginning at Rigel, and following its various wanderings. Eridanus ends in the southern hemisphere near a first-magnitude star called Achernar, which is situated in the stream, but can not be seen from our latitudes. Along the stream you will find many interesting groupings of the stars. In the map see the pair of stars below and to the right of Nu (?). These are the two Omicrons, the upper one being ?¹ and the lower one ?². The latter is of an orange hue, and is remarkable for the speed with which it is flying through space. There are only one or two stars whose proper motion, as it is called, is more rapid than that of ?² in Eridanus. It changes its place nearly seven minutes of arc in a century. The records of the earliest observations we possess show that near the beginning of the Christian era it was about half-way between ?¹ and ?. Its companion ?¹, on the contrary, seems to be almost stationary, so that ?² will gradually draw away from it, passing on toward the southwest until, in the course of centuries, it will become invisible from our latitudes. This flying star is accompanied by two minute companions, which in themselves form a close and very delicate double star. These two little stars, of only 9.5 and 10.5 magnitude, respectively, are, of course beyond the ken of the observer with an opera-glass. The system of which they form a part, however, is intensely interesting, since the appearances indicate that they belong, in the manner of satellites, to ?², and are fellow-voyagers of that wonderful star.

Having admired the star-groups of Eridanus, one of the prettiest of which is to be seen around Beta (), let us turn next to Taurus, just above or north of Eridanus. Two remarkable clusters at once attract the eye, the Hyades, which are shaped somewhat like the letter V, with Aldebaran in the upper end of the left-hand branch, and the Pleiades, whose silvery glittering has made them celebrated in all ages. The Pleiades are in the shoulder and the Hyades in the face of Taurus, Aldebaran most appropriately representing one of his blazing eyes as he hurls himself against Orion. The constellation-makers did not trouble themselves to make a complete Bull, and only the head and fore-quarters of the animal are represented. If Taurus had been completed on the scale on which he was begun, there would have been no room in the sky for Aries; one of the Fishes would have had to abandon his celestial swimming-place, and even the fair Andromeda would have found herself uncomfortably situated. But, as if to make amends for neglecting to furnish their heavenly Bull with hind-quarters, the ancients gave him a most prodigious and beautiful pair of horns, which make the beholder feel alarm for the safety of Orion. Starting out of the head above the Hyades, as illustrated in our cut, the horns curve upward and to the east, each being tipped by a bright star. Along and between the horns runs a scattered and broken stream of minute stars which seem to be gathered into knots just beyond the end of the horns, where they dip into the edge of the Milky-Way. Many of these stars can be seen, on a dark night, with an ordinary opera-glass, but, to see them well, one should use as large a field-glass as he can obtain. With such a glass their appearance almost makes one suspect that Virgil had a poetic prevision of the wonders yet to be revealed by the telescope when he wrote, as rendered by Dryden, of the season—

Below the tips of the horns, and over Orion's head, there are also rich clusters of stars, as if the Bull were flaunting shreds of sparkling raiment torn from some celestial victim of his fury. With an ordinary glass, however, the observer will not find this star-sprinkled region around the horns of Taurus as brilliant a spectacle as that presented by the Hyades and the group of stars just above them in the Bull's ear. The two stars in the tips of the horns are both interesting, each in a different way. The upper and brighter one of the two, marked Beta () in Map No. 19, is called El Nath. It is common to the left horn of Taurus and the right foot of Auriga, who is represented standing just above. It is a singularly white star. This quality of its light becomes conspicuous when it is looked at with a glass. The most inexperienced observer will hardly fail to be impressed by the pure whiteness of El Nath, in comparison with which he will find that many of the stars he had supposed to be white show a decided tinge of color. The star in the tip of the right or southern horn, Zeta (?), is remarkable, not on its own account, but because it serves as a pointer to a famous nebula, the discovery of which led Messier to form his catalogue of nebulÆ. This is sometimes called the "Crab Nebula," from the long sprays of nebulous matter which were seen surrounding it with Lord Rosse's great telescope. Our little sketch is simply intended to enable the observer to locate this strange object. If he wishes to study its appearance, he must use a powerful telescope. But with a first-rate field-glass he can see it as a speck of light in the position shown in the cut, where the large star is Zeta and the smaller ones are faint stars, the relative position of which will enable the observer to find the nebula, if he keeps in mind that the top of the cut is toward the north. It is noteworthy that this nebula for a time deceived several of the watchers who were on the lookout for the predicted return of Halley's comet in 1835.

And now let us look at the Hyades, an assemblage of stars not less beautiful than their more celebrated sisters the Pleiades. The leader of the Hyades is Aldebaran, or Alpha Tauri, and his followers are worthy of their leader. The inexperienced observer is certain to be surprised by the display of stars which an opera-glass brings to view in the Hyades. Our illustration will give some notion of their appearance with a large field-glass. The "brackish poet," of whose rhymes Admiral Smyth was so fond, thus describes the Hyades:

The redness of the light of Aldebaran is a very interesting phenomenon. Careful observation detects a decided difference between its color and that of Betelgeuse, or Alpha Orionis, which is also a red star. It differs, too, from the brilliant red star of summer, Antares. Aldebaran has a trace of rose-color in its light, while Betelgeuse is of a very deep orange, and Antares may be described as fire-red. These shades of color can easily be detected by the naked eye after a little practice. First compare Aldebaran and Betelgeuse, and glance from each to the brilliant white, or bluish-white, star Rigel in Orion's foot. Upon turning the eye back from Rigel to Aldebaran the peculiar color of the latter is readily perceived. Spectroscopic analysis has revealed the presence in Aldebaran of hydrogen, sodium, magnesium, calcium, iron, bismuth, tellurium, antimony, and mercury. And so modern discoveries, while they have pushed back the stars to distances of which the ancients could not conceive, have, at the same time, and equally, widened the recognized boundaries of the physical universe and abolished forever the ancient distinction between the heavens and the earth. It is a plain road from the earth to the stars, though mortal feet can not tread it.

Keeping in mind that in our little picture of the Hyades the top is north, the right hand west, and the left hand east, the reader will be able to identify the principal stars in the group. Aldebaran is readily recognized, because it is the largest of all. The bright star near the upper edge of the picture is Epsilon Tauri, and its sister star, forming the point of the V, is Gamma Tauri. The three brightest stars between Epsilon and Gamma, forming a little group, are the Deltas, while the pair of stars surrounded by many smaller ones, half-way between Aldebaran and Gamma, are the Thetas. These stars present a very pretty appearance, viewed with a good glass, the effect being heightened by a contrast of color in the two Thetas. The little pair southeast of Aldebaran, called the Sigmas, is also a beautiful object. The distance apart of these stars is about seven minutes of arc, while the distance between the two Thetas is about five and a half minutes of arc. These measures may be useful to the reader in estimating the distances between other stars that he may observe. It will also be found an interesting test of the eye-sight to endeavor to see these stars as doubles without the aid of a glass. Persons having keen eyes will be able to accomplish this.

North of the star Epsilon will be seen a little group in the ear of the Bull (see cut, "The Golden Horns of Taurus"), which presents a brilliant appearance with a small glass. The southernmost pair in the group are the Kappas, whose distance apart is very nearly the same as that of the Thetas, described above; but I think it improbable that anybody could separate them with the naked eye, as there is a full magnitude between them in brightness, and the smaller star is only of magnitude 6.5, while sixth-magnitude stars are generally reckoned as the smallest that can be seen by the naked eye. Above the Kappas, and in the same group in the ear, are the two Upsilons, forming a wider pair.

Next we come to the Pleiades:

In every age and in every country the Pleiades have been watched, admired, and wondered at, for they are visible from every inhabited land on the globe. To many they are popularly known as the Seven Stars, although few persons can see more than six stars in the group with the unaided eye. It is a singular fact that many of the earliest writers declare that only six Pleiades can be seen, although they all assert that they are seven in number. These seven were the fabled daughters of Atlas, or the Atlantides, whose names were Merope, Alcyone, CelÆno, Electra, Taygeta, Asterope, and Maia. One of the stories connected with them is that Merope married a mortal, whereupon her star grew dim among her sisters. Another fable assures us that Electra, unable to endure the sight of the burning of Troy, hid her face in her hands, and so blotted her star from the sky. While we may smile at these stories, we can not entirely disregard them, for they are intermingled with some of the richest literary treasures of the world, and they come to us, like some old keepsake, perfumed with the memory of a past age. The mythological history of the Pleiades is intensely interesting, too, because it is world-wide. They have impressed their mark, in one way or another, upon the habits, customs, traditions, language, and history of probably every nation. This is true of savage tribes as well as of great empires. The Pleiades furnish one of the principal links that appear to connect the beginnings of human history with that wonderful prehistoric past, where, as through a gulf of mist, we seem to perceive faintly the glow of a golden age beyond. The connection of the Pleiades with traditions of the Flood is most remarkable. In almost every part of the world, and in various ages, the celebration of a feast or festival of the dead, dimly connected by traditions with some great calamity to the human race in the past, has been found to be directly related to the Pleiades. This festival or rite, which has been discovered in various forms among the ancient Hindoos, Egyptians, Persians, Peruvians, Mexicans, Druids, etc., occurs always in the month of November, and is regulated by the culmination of the Pleiades. The Egyptians directly connected this celebration with a deluge, and the Mexicans, at the time of the Spanish conquest, had a tradition that the world had once been destroyed at the time of the midnight culmination of the Pleiades. Among the savages inhabiting Australia and the Pacific island groups a similar rite has been discovered. It has also been suggested that the Japanese feast of lanterns is not improbably related to this world-wide observance of the Pleiades, as commemorating some calamitous event in the far past which involved the whole race of man in its effects.

The Pleiades also have a supposed connection with that mystery of mysteries, the great Pyramid of Cheops. It has been found that about the year 2170 B. C., when the beginning of spring coincided with the culmination of the Pleiades at midnight, that wonderful group of stars was visible, just at midnight, through the mysterious southward-pointing passage of the Pyramid. At the same date the then pole-star, Alpha Draconis, was visible through the northward-pointing passage of the Pyramid.

Another curious myth involving the Pleiades as a part of the constellation Taurus is that which represents this constellation as the Bull into which Jupiter changed himself when he carried the fair Europa away from Phoenicia to the continent that now bears her name. In this story the fact that only the head and fore-quarters of the Bull are visible in the sky is accounted for on the ground that the remainder of his body is beneath the water through which he is swimming. Here, then, is another apparent link with the legends of the Flood, with which the Pleiades have been so strangely connected, as by common consent among many nations, and in the most widely separated parts of the earth.

With the most powerful field-glass you may be able to see all of the stars represented in our picture of the Pleiades. With an ordinary opera-glass the fainter ones will not be visible; yet even with such a glass the scene is a remarkable one. Not only all of the "Seven Sisters," but many other stars, can be seen twinkling among them. The superiority of Alcyone to the others, which is not so clear to the naked eye, becomes very apparent. Alcyone is the large star below the middle of the picture with a triangle of little stars beside it. To the left or east of Alcyone the two most conspicuous stars are Atlas and Pleione. The latter—which is the uppermost one—is represented too large in the picture. It requires a sharp eye to see Pleione without a glass, while Atlas is plainly visible to the unaided vision, and is always counted among the naked-eye Pleiades, although it does not bear the name of one of the mythological sisters, but that of their father. The bright star below and to the right of Alcyone is Merope; the one near the right-hand edge of the picture, about on a level with Alcyone, is Electra. Above, or to the north of Electra, are two bright stars lying in a line pointing toward Alcyone; the upper one of these, or the one farthest from Alcyone, is Taygeta, and the other is Maia. Above Taygeta and Maia, and forming a little triangle with them, is a pair of stars which bears the name of Asterope. About half-way between Taygeta and Electra, and directly above the latter, is CelÆno.

The naked-eye observer will probably find it difficult to decide which he can detect the more easily, CelÆno or Pleione, while he will discover that Asterope, although composed of two stars, as seen with a glass, is so faint as to be much more difficult than either CelÆno or Pleione. Unless, as is not improbable, the names have become interchanged in the course of centuries, the brightness of these stars would seem to have undergone remarkable changes. The star of Merope, it will be remembered, was said to have become indistinct, or disappeared, because she married a mortal. At present Merope is one of those that can be plainly seen with the naked-eye, while the star of Asterope, who was said to have had the god Mars for her spouse, has faded away until only a glass can show it. It would appear, then, that notwithstanding an occasional temporary eclipse, it is, in the long run, better to marry a plain mortal than a god. Electra, too, who hid her eyes at the sight of burning Troy, seems to have recovered from her fright, and is at present, next to Alcyone, the brightest star in the cluster. But, however we may regard those changes in the brightness of the Pleiades which are based upon tradition, there is no doubt that well-attested changes have taken place in the comparative brilliancy of stars in this cluster since astronomy became an exact science.

Observations of the proper motions of the Pleiades have shown that there is an actual physical connection between them; that they are, literally speaking, a flight of suns. Their common motion is toward the southwest, under the impulse of forces that remain as yet beyond the grasp of human knowledge. Alcyone was selected by MÄdler as the central sun around which the whole starry system revolved, but later investigations have shown that his speculation was not well founded, and that, so far as we can determine, the proper motions of the stars are not such as to indicate the existence of any common center. They appear to be flying with different velocities in every direction, although—as in the case of the Pleiades—we often find groups of them associated together in a common direction of flight.

Still another curious fact about the Pleiades is the existence of some rather mysterious nebulous masses in the cluster. In 1859 Temple discovered an extensive nebula, of a broad oval form, with the star Merope immersed in one end of it. Subsequent observations showed that this strange phenomenon was variable. Sometimes it could not be seen; at other times it was very plain and large. In Jeaurat's chart of the Pleiades, made in 1779, a vast nebulous mass is represented near the stars Atlas and Pleione. This has since been identified by Goldschmidt as part of a huge, ill-defined nebula, which he thought he could perceive enveloping the whole group of the Pleiades. Many observers, however, could never see these nebulous masses, and were inclined to doubt their actual existence. Within the past few years astronomical photography, having made astonishing progress, has thrown new light upon this mysterious subject. The sensitized plate of the camera, when applied at the focus of a properly constructed telescope, has proved more effective than the human retina, and has, so to speak, enabled us to see beyond the reach of vision by means of the pictures it makes of objects which escape the eye. In November, 1885, Paul and Prosper Henry turned their great photographing telescope upon the Pleiades, and with it discovered a nebula apparently attached to the star Maia. The most powerful telescopes in the world had never revealed this to the eye. Yet of its actual existence there can be no question. Their photograph also showed the Merope nebula, although much smaller, and of a different form from that represented by its discoverer and others. There evidently yet remains much to be discovered in this singular group, and the mingling of nebulous matter with its stars makes Tennyson's picturesque description of the Pleiades appear all the more life-like:

The reader should not expect to be able to see the nebulÆ in the Pleiades with an opera-glass. I have thought it proper to mention these singular objects only in order that he might be in possession of the principal and most curious facts about those interesting stars.[C]Orion will next command our attention. You will find the constellation in Map No. 19:

To the naked eye, to the opera-glass, and to the telescope, Orion is alike a mine of wonders. This great constellation embraces almost every variety of interesting phenomena that the heavens contain. Here we have the grandest of the nebulÆ, some of the largest and most beautifully colored stars, star-streams, star-clusters, nebulous stars, variable stars. I have already mentioned the positions of the principal stars in the imaginary figure of the great hunter. I may add that his upraised arm and club are represented by the stars seen in the map above Alpha (a) or Betelgeuse, one of which is marked Nu (?), and another, in the knob of the club, Chi (?). I have also, in speaking of Aldebaran, described the contrast in the colors of Betelgeuse and Beta () or Rigel. Betelgeuse, it may be remarked, is slightly variable. Sometimes it appears brighter than Rigel, and sometimes less brilliant. It is interesting to note that, according to Secchi's division of the stars into types, based upon their spectra, Betelgeuse falls into the third order, which seems to represent a type of suns in which the process of cooling, and the formation of an absorptive envelope or shell, have gone on so far that we may regard them as approaching the point of extinction. Rigel, on the other hand, belongs to the first order or type which represents suns that are probably both hotter and younger in the order of development. So, then, we may look upon the two chief stars of this great constellation as representing two stages of cosmical existence. Betelgeuse shows us a sun that has almost run its course, that has passed into its decline, and that already begins to faint and flicker and grow dim before the on-coming and inevitable fate of extinction; but in Rigel we see a sun blazing with the fires of youth, splendid in the first glow of its solar energies, and holding the promise of the future yet before it. Rigel belongs to a new generation of the universe; Betelgeuse to the universe that is passing. We may pursue this comparison one step farther back and see in the great nebula, which glows dimly in the middle of the constellation, between Rigel triumphant and Betelgeuse languishing, a still earlier cosmical condition—the germ of suns whose infant rays may illuminate space when Rigel itself is growing dim.

Turn your glass upon the three stars forming the Belt. You will not be likely to undertake to count all the twinkling lights that you will see, especially as many of them appear and disappear as you turn your attention to different parts of the field. Sweep all around the Belt and also between the Belt and Gamma (?) or Bellatrix. According to the old astrologers, women born under the influence of the star Bellatrix were lucky, and provided with good tongues. Of course, this was fortunate for their husbands too!

Below the Belt will be seen a short row of stars hanging downward and representing the sword. In the middle of this row is the great Orion nebula. The star Theta (?) involved in the nebula is multiple, and the position of this little cluster of suns is such that, as has been said, they seem to be feeding upon the substance of the nebula surrounding them. Other stars are seen scattered in different parts of the nebula. This phenomenon can be plainly seen with an opera-glass. Our picture of the Sword of Orion shows its appearance with a good field-glass. With such a glass several fine test-objects will be found in the Sword. One of the best of these is formed by the two five-pointed stars seen in the picture close together above the nebula. No difficulty will be encountered in separating these stars with a field-glass, but it will require a little sharp watching to detect the small star between the two and just above the line joining them. So, the bending row of faint stars above and to the right of the group just described will be found rather elusive as individuals, though easily glimpsed as a whole. Of the great nebula itself not much detail can be seen. Yet by averting the eyes the extension of the nebulous light in every direction from the center can be detected and traced, under favorable circumstances, to a considerable distance. The changes that this nebula certainly has undergone in the brilliancy, if not in the form, of different parts of it, are perhaps indications of the operation of forces, which we know must prevail there, and whose tendency can only be in the direction of condensation, and the ultimate formation of future suns and worlds. Yet, as the appearance of the nebula in great telescopes shows, we can not expect that the processes of creation will here produce a homologue of our solar system. The curdled appearance of the nebula indicates the formation of various centers of condensation, the final result of which will doubtless be a group of stars like some of those which we see in the heavens, and whose common motion shows that they are bound together in the chains of reciprocal gravitation. The Pleiades are an example of such a group.

Do not fail to look for a little star just west of Rigel, which, with a good opera-glass, appears to be almost hidden in the flashing rays of its brilliant companion. If you have also a field-glass, after you have detected this shy little twinkler with your opera-glass, try the larger glass upon it. You will find then that the little star originally seen is not the only one there. A still smaller star, which had before been completely hidden, will now be perceived. I may add that, with telescopes, Rigel is one of the most beautiful double stars in the sky, having a little blue companion close under its wing. Run your glass along the line of little stars forming the lion's skin or shield that Orion opposes to the onset of Taurus. Here you will find some interesting combinations, and the star marked on the map p⁶ will especially attract your eye, because it is accompanied, about fifteen minutes to the northwest, by a seventh-magnitude star of a rich orange hue.

Look next at the little group of three stars forming the head of Orion. Although there is no nebula here, yet these stars, as seen with the naked eye, have a remarkably nebulous look, and Ptolemy regarded the group as a nebulous star. The largest star is called Lambda (?); the others are Phi (f) one and two. An opera-glass will show another star above (?), and a fifth star below f² which is the farthest of the two Phis from Lambda. It will also reveal a faint twinkling between ? and f¹. A field-glass shows that this twinkling is produced by a pretty little row of three stars of the eighth and ninth magnitudes.

In fact, Orion is such a striking object in the sky that more than one attempt has been made to steal away its name and substitute that of some modern hero. The University of Leipsic, in 1807, formally resolved that the stars forming the Belt and Sword of Orion should henceforth be known as the constellation of Napoleon. As if to offset this, an Englishman proposed to rename Orion for the British naval bull-dog Nelson. But "Orion armed" has successfully maintained his name and place against all comers. As becomes the splendor of his constellation, Orion is a tremendous hero of antiquity, although it must be confessed that his history is somewhat shadowy and uncertain, even for a mythological story. All accounts agree, however, that he was the mightiest hunter ever known, and the Hebrews claimed that he was no less a person than Nimrod himself.

The little constellations of Lepus and Columba, below Orion, need not detain us long. You will find in them some pretty combinations of stars. In Lepus is the celebrated "Crimson Star," which has been described as resembling a drop of blood in color—a truly marvelous hue for a sun—but, as it is never brighter than the sixth magnitude, and from that varies down to the ninth, we could hardly hope to see its color well with an opera-glass. Besides, the observer would have difficulty in finding it.

We will now turn to the constellation of Canis Major, represented in Map No. 20. Although, as a constellation, it is not to be compared with the brilliant Orion, yet, on account of the unrivaled magnificence of its chief star, Canis Major presents almost as attractive a scene as its more extensive rival. Everybody has heard of Sirius, or the Dog-Star, and everybody must have seen it flashing and scintillating so splendidly in the winter heavens, that to call it a first-magnitude star does it injustice, since no other star of that magnitude is at all comparable with it. Sirius, in fact, stands in a class by itself as the brightest star in the sky. Its light is white, with a shade of green, which requires close watching to be detected. When it is near the horizon, or when the atmosphere is very unsteady, Sirius flashes prismatic colors like a great diamond. The question has been much discussed, as to whether Sirius was formerly a red star. It is described as red by several ancient authors, but it seems to be pretty well established that these descriptions are most of them due to a blunder made by Cicero in his translation of the astronomical poem of Aratus. It is not impossible, though it is highly improbable, that Sirius has changed color.

So intimately was Sirius connected in the minds of the ancient Egyptians with the annual rising of the Nile, that it was called the Nile-star. When it appeared in the morning sky, just before sunrise, the season of the overflowing of the great river was about to begin, and so the appearance of this star was regarded as foretelling the coming of the floods. The dog-days got their name from Sirius, as they occur at the time when that star rises with the sun.

Your eyes will be fairly dazzled when you turn your glass upon this splendid star. By close attention you will be able to perceive a number of faint stars, mere points by comparison, in the immediate neighborhood of Sirius. There are many interesting objects in the constellation. The star marked Nu (?) in the map is really triple, as the smallest glass will show. Look next at the star-group 41 M. The cloud of minute stars of which it is composed can be very well seen with a field-glass or a powerful opera-glass. The star 22 is of a very ruddy color that contrasts beautifully with the light of Epsilon (e), which can be seen in the same field of view with an opera-glass. Between the stars Delta (d) and ?¹ and ?² there is a remarkable array of minute stars, as shown in the accompanying cut. One never sees stars arranged in streams or rows, like these, without an irresistible impression that the arrangement can not be accidental; that some law must have been in operation which associated them together in the forms which we see. Yet, when we reflect that these are all suns, how far do we seem to be from understanding the meaning of the universe!

The extraordinary size and brilliancy of Sirius might naturally enough lead one to suppose that it is the nearest of the stars, and such it was once believed to be. Observations of stellar parallax, however, show that this was a mistake. The distance of Sirius is so great that no satisfactory determination of it has yet been made. We may safely say, though, that that distance is, at the least calculation, 50,000,000,000,000 miles. In other words, Sirius is about 537,000 times as far from the earth as the sun is. Then, since light diminishes as the square of the distance increases, the sun, if placed as far from us as Sirius is, would send us, in round numbers, 288,000,000,000 times less light than we now receive from it. But Sirius actually sends us only about 4,000,000,000 times less light than the sun does; consequently Sirius must shine 288,000,000,000/4,000,000,000 = 72 times as brilliantly as the sun. If we adopt Wollaston's estimate of the light of Sirius, as compared with that of the sun, viz., 1/20,000,000,000, we shall still find that the actual brilliancy of that grand star is more than fourteen times as great as that of our sun. But as observations on the companion of Sirius show that Sirius's mass is fully twenty times the sun's, and since the character of Sirius's spectrum indicates that its intrinsic brightness, surface for surface, is much superior to the sun's, it is probable that our estimate of the star's actual brilliancy, as compared with what the sun would possess at the same distance, viz., seventy-two times, is much nearer the truth. It is evident that life would be insupportable upon the earth if it were placed as near to Sirius as it is to the sun. If the earth were a planet belonging to the system of Sirius, in order to enjoy the same amount of heat and light it now receives, it would have to be removed to a distance of nearly 800,000,000 miles, or eight and a half times its distance from the sun. Its time of revolution around Sirius would then be nearly five and a half years, or, in other words, the year would be lengthened five and a half times.

But, as I have said, the estimate of Sirius's distance used in these calculations is the smallest that can be accepted. Good authorities regard the distance as being not less than 100,000,000,000,000 miles; in which case the star's brilliancy must be as much as 228 times greater than that of the sun! And yet even Sirius is probably not the greatest sun belonging to the visible universe. There can be little doubt that Canopus, in the southern hemisphere, is a grander sun than Sirius. To our eyes, Canopus is only about half as bright as Sirius, and it ranks as the second star in the heavens in the order of brightness. But while Sirius's distance is measurable, that of Canopus is so unthinkably immense that astronomers can get no grip upon it. If it were only twice as remote as Sirius, it would be equal to two of the latter, but in all probability its distance is much greater than that. And possibly even Canopus is not the greatest gem in the coronet of creation.

Sirius, as we saw when talking of Procyon (see Chapter I), is a double star. For many years after Bessel had declared his belief that the Dog-Star was subjected to the attraction of an invisible companion, telescopes failed to reveal the accompanying star.[D] Finally, in 1862, a new telescope that Alvan Clark had just finished and was testing, brought the hidden star into view. The suggestion that it may shine by reflected light from Sirius has been made. In that case it must, of course, be a planet, but a planet of such stupendous magnitude that the imagination can scarcely grasp it; a planet probably as large as our sun, perhaps larger; a planet equal in size to more than a million earths! But, as was remarked of the faint stars in Alpha Capricornis, it is probable that the hypothesis of reflected light is not the true one. More probably the companion of Sirius shines with light of its own, though its excessive faintness in comparison with its bulk indicates that its condition must be very different from that of an ordinary star.Readers of Voltaire will remember that the hero of his extraordinary story of "Micromegas" came from an imaginary planet circling around Sirius. Inasmuch as Voltaire, together with Dean Swift, ascribed two moons to Mars many years before they were discovered (probably suggested by a curiously mistaken interpretation by Kepler of an anagram in which Galileo had concealed his discovery of the ring of Saturn), it is all the more interesting that the great infidel should have imagined an enormous planet circling around the Dog-Star. But Voltaire went far astray when he ascribed a gigantic stature to his "Sirian." He makes Micromegas, whose world was 21,600,000 times larger in circumference than the earth, more than twenty miles tall, so that when he visited our little planet he was able to wade through the oceans and step over the mountains without inconvenience, and, when he had scooped up some of the inhabitants on his thumb-nail, was obliged to use a powerful microscope in order to see them. Voltaire should rather have gone to some of the most minute of the asteroids for his giant, for under the tremendous gravitation of such a world as he has described Micromegas himself would have been a fit subject for microscopic examination. But, however much we may doubt the stature of Voltaire's visitor from Sirius, we can not doubt the soundness of the conclusion at which he arrived, after having, by an ingenious arrangement, succeeded in holding a conversation with some earthly philosophers under his microscope, namely, that these infinitely little creatures possessed a pride that was almost infinitely great.

East and south of Canis Major, which, by-the-way, is said to represent one of Orion's hounds, is part of the constellation Argo, which stands for the ship in which Jason sailed in search of the golden fleece. The observer will find many objects of interest here, although some of them are so close to the horizon in our latitudes that much of their brilliancy is lost. Note the two stars ? and p near the lower edge of the map, then sweep slowly over the space lying between them. About half-way your attention will be arrested by a remarkable stellar arrangement, in which a beautiful half-circle of small stars curving above a larger star, which is reddish in color, is conspicuous. This neighborhood will be found rich in stars that the naked eye can not see. Just below the star ?, in Canis Major, is another fine group. The star p, which is deep yellow or orange, has three little stars above it, two of which form a pretty pair. The star ? has a companion, which forms a fine test for an opera-glass, and is well worth looking for. Look also at the cluster 93 M, just above and to the west of ?. The stars and ? are seen double with an opera-glass.

The two neighboring clusters, 46 M and 38⁸, are very interesting objects. To see them well, use a powerful field-glass. A "fiery fifth-magnitude star," as Webb calls it, can be seen in the field at the same time. The presence of the Milky-Way is manifest by the sprinkling of stars all about this region. In fact, the attentive observer will before this have noticed that the majority of the most brilliant constellations lie either in the Milky-Way or along its borders. Cassiopeia, as we saw, sits athwart the galaxy whose silvery current winds in and out among the stars of her "chair"; Perseus is aglow with its sheen as it wraps him about like a mantle of stars; Taurus has the tips of his horns dipped in the great stream; it flows between the shining feet of Gemini and the head and shoulders of Orion as between starry banks; the peerless Sirius hangs like a gem pendent from the celestial girdle. In the southern hemisphere we should find the beautiful constellation of the ship Argo, containing Canopus, sailing along the Milky-Way, blown by the breath of old romance on an endless voyage; the Southern Cross glitters in the very center of the galaxy; and the bright stars of the Centaur might be likened to the heads of golden nails pinning this wondrous scarf, woven of the beams of millions of tiny stars, against the dome of the sky. Passing back into the northern hemisphere we find Scorpio, Sagittarius, Aquila, the Dolphin, Cygnus, and resplendent Lyra, all strung along the course of the Milky-Way.

Turning now to the constellation Monoceros, we shall find a few objects worthy of attention. This constellation is of comparatively modern origin, having been formed by Bartschius, whose chief title to distinction is that he married the daughter of John Kepler. The region around the stars 8, 13, and 17 will be found particularly rich, and the cluster 2⁷ shows well with a strong glass. Look also at the cluster 50 M, and compare its appearance with that of the clusters in Argo.

With these constellations we finish our review of the stellar wonders that lie within the reach of so humble an instrument as an opera-or field-glass. We have made the circuit of the sky, and the hosts that illumine the vernal heavens are now seen advancing from the east, and pressing close upon the brighter squadrons of winter. Their familiar figures resemble the faces of old friends whom we are glad to welcome. These starry acquaintances never grow wearisome. Their interest for us is as fathomless as the deeps of space in which they shine. The man never yet lived whose mind could comprehend the full meaning of the wondrous messages that they flash to us upon the wings of light. As we watch them in their courses, the true music of the spheres comes to our listening ears, the chorus of creation—faint with distance, for it is by slow approaches that man draws near to it—chanting the grandest of epics, the Poem of the Universe; and the theme that runs through it all is the reign of law. Do not be afraid to become a star-gazer. The human mind can find no higher exercise. He who studies the stars will discover—