Inquiring into the pedigree of an idea is not a bad means of roughly estimating its value. To have come of respectable ancestry, is prim facie evidence of worth in a belief as in a person; while to be descended from a discreditable stock is, in the one case as in the other, an unfavorable index. The analogy is not a mere fancy. Beliefs, together with those who hold them, are modified little by little in successive generations; and as the modifications which successive generations of the holders undergo, do not destroy the original type, but only disguise and refine it, so the accompanying alterations of belief, however much they purify, leave behind the essence of the original belief.

Considered genealogically, the received theory respecting the creation of the Solar System is unmistakeably of low origin. You may clearly trace it back to primitive mythologies. Its remotest ancestor is the doctrine that the celestial bodies are personages who originally lived on the Earth—a doctrine still held by some of the negroes Livingstone visited. Science having divested the sun and planets of their divine personalities, this old idea was succeeded by the idea which even Kepler entertained, that the planets are guided in their courses by presiding spirits: no longer themselves gods, they are still severally kept in their orbits by gods. And when gravitation came to dispense with these celestial steersmen, there was begotten a belief, less gross than its parent, but partaking of the same essential nature, that the planets were originally launched into their orbits from the Creator's hand. Evidently, though much refined, the anthropomorphism of the current hypothesis is inherited from the aboriginal anthropomorphism, which described gods as a stronger order of men.

There is an antagonist hypothesis which does not propose to honour the Unknown Power manifested in the Universe, by such titles as "The Master-Builder," or "The Great Artificer;" but which regards this Unknown Power as probably working after a method quite different from that of human mechanics. And the genealogy of this hypothesis is as high as that of the other is low. It is begotten by that ever-enlarging and ever-strengthening belief in the presence of Law, which accumulated experiences have gradually produced in the human mind. From generation to generation Science has been proving uniformities of relation among phenomena which were before thought either fortuitous or supernatural in their origin—has been showing an established order and a constant causation where ignorance had assumed irregularity and arbitrariness. Each further discovery of Law has increased the presumption that Law is everywhere conformed to. And hence, among other beliefs, has arisen the belief that the Solar System originated, not by manufacture but by evolution. Besides its abstract parentage in those grand general conceptions which positive Science has generated, this hypothesis has a concrete parentage of the highest character. Based as it is on the law of universal gravitation, it may claim for its remote progenitor the great thinker who established that law. The man who gave it its general shape, by promulgating the doctrine that stars result from the aggregation of diffused matter, was the most diligent, careful, and original astronomical observer of modern times. And the world has not seen a more learned mathematician than the man who, setting out with this conception of diffused matter concentrating towards its centre of gravity, pointed out the way in which there would arise, in the course of its concentration, a balanced group of sun, planets, and satellites, like that of which the Earth is a member.

Thus, even were there but little direct evidence assignable for the Nebular Hypothesis, the probability of its truth would still be strong. Its own high derivation and the low derivation of the antagonist hypothesis, would together form a weighty reason for accepting it—at any rate, provisionally. But the direct evidence assignable for the Nebular Hypothesis is by no means little. It is far greater in quantity, and more varied in kind, than is commonly supposed. Much has been said here and there on this or that class of evidences; but nowhere, as far as we know, have all the evidences, even of one class, been fully stated; and still less has there been an adequate statement of the several groups of evidences in their ensemble. We propose here to do something towards supplying the deficiency: believing that, joined with the À priori reasons given above, the array of À posteriori reasons will leave little doubt in the mind of any candid inquirer.

And first, let us address ourselves to those recent discoveries in stellar astronomy, which have been supposed to conflict with this celebrated speculation.

When Sir William Herschel, directing his great reflector to various nebulous spots, found them resolvable into clusters of stars, he inferred, and for a time maintained, that all nebulous spots are clusters of stars exceedingly remote from us. But after years of conscientious investigation, he concluded that "there were nebulosities which are not of a starry nature;" and on this conclusion was based his hypothesis of a diffused luminous fluid, which by its eventual aggregation, produced stars. A telescopic power much exceeding that used by Herschel, has enabled Lord Rosse to resolve some of the nebulÆ previously unresolved; and, returning to the conclusion which Herschel first formed on similar grounds but afterwards rejected, many astronomers have assumed that, under sufficiently high powers, every nebula would be decomposed into stars—that the resolvability is solely a question of distance. The hypothesis now commonly entertained is, that all nebulÆ are galaxies more or less like in nature to that immediately surrounding us; but that they are so inconceivably remote, as to look, through an ordinary telescope, like small faint spots. And not a few have drawn the corollary, that by the discoveries of Lord Rosse the Nebular Hypothesis has been disproved.

Now, even supposing that these inferences respecting the distances and natures of the nebulÆ are valid, they leave the Nebular Hypothesis substantially as it was. Admitting that each of those faint spots is a sidereal system, so far removed that its countless stars give less light than one small star of our own sidereal system; the admission is in no way inconsistent with the belief, that stars and their attendant planets have been formed by the aggregation of nebulous matter. Though, doubtless, if the existence of nebulous matter now in course of concentration be disproved, one of the evidences of the Nebular Hypothesis is destroyed; yet the remaining evidences remain just as they were. It is a perfectly tenable position, that though nebular condensation is now nowhere to be seen in progress, yet it was once going on universally. And, indeed, it might be argued that the still-continued existence of diffused nebulous matter is scarcely to be expected; seeing that the causes which have resulted in the aggregation of one mass, must have been acting on all masses, and that hence the existence of masses not aggregated would be a fact calling for explanation. Thus, granting the immediate conclusions suggested by these recent disclosures of the six-feet reflector, the corollary which many have drawn is inadmissible.

But we do not grant these conclusions. Receiving them though we have, for years past, as established truths, a critical examination of the facts has convinced us that they are quite unwarrantable. They involve so many manifest incongruities, that we have been astonished to find men of science entertaining them even as probable hypotheses. Let us consider these incongruities.

In the first place, mark what is inferable from the distribution of nebulÆ.

How does this fact consist with the hypothesis that nebulÆ are remote galaxies? If there were but one nebula, it would be a curious coincidence were this one nebula so placed in the distant regions of space, as to agree in direction with a starless spot in our own sidereal system. If there were but two nebulÆ, and both were so placed, the coincidence would be excessively strange. What, then, shall we say on finding that there are thousands of nebulÆ so placed? Shall we believe that in thousands of cases these far-removed galaxies happen to agree in their visible positions with the thin places in our own galaxy? Such a belief is next to impossible. Still more manifest does the impossibility of it become when we consider the general distribution of nebulÆ. Besides again showing itself in the fact that "the poorest regions in stars are near the richest in nebulÆ," the law above specified applies to the heavens as a whole. In that zone of celestial space where stars are excessively abundant, nebulÆ are rare; while in the two opposite celestial spaces that are furthest removed from this zone, nebulÆ are abundant. Scarcely any nebulÆ lie near the galactic circle (or plane of the Milky Way); and the great mass of them lie round the galactic poles. Can this also be mere coincidence? When to the fact that the general mass of nebulÆ are antithetical in position to the general mass of stars, we add the fact that local regions of nebulÆ are regions where stars are scarce, and the further fact that single nebulÆ are habitually found in comparatively starless spots; does not the proof of a physical connexion become overwhelming? Should it not require an infinity of evidence to show that nebulÆ are not parts of our sidereal system? Let us see whether any such infinity of evidence is assignable. Let us see whether there is even a single alleged proof which will bear examination.

Now, in this somewhat confused sentence there is expressed a more or less decided belief, that the distances of the nebulÆ from our galaxy of stars as much transcend the distances of our stars from each other, as these interstellar distances transcend the dimensions of our planetary system. Just as the diameter of the Earth's orbit, is an inappreciable point when compared with the distance of our Sun from Sirius; so is the distance of our Sun from Sirius, an inappreciable point when compared with the distance of our galaxy from those far removed galaxies constituting nebulÆ. Observe the consequences of this assumption.

If one of these supposed galaxies is so remote that its distance dwarfs our interstellar spaces into points, and therefore makes the dimensions of our whole sidereal system relatively insignificant; does it not inevitably follow that the telescopic power required to resolve this remote galaxy into stars, must be incomparably greater than the telescopic power required to resolve the whole of our own galaxy into stars? Is it not certain that an instrument which can just exhibit with clearness the most distant stars of our own cluster, must be utterly unable to separate one of these remote clusters into stars? What, then, are we to think when we find that the same instrument which decomposes hosts of nebulÆ into stars, fails to resolve completely our own Milky Way? Take a homely comparison. Suppose a man surrounded by a swarm of bees, extending, as they sometimes do, so high in the air as to be individually almost invisible, were to declare that a certain spot on the horizon was a swarm of bees; and that he knew it because he could see the bees as separate specks. Astounding as the assertion would be, it would not exceed in incredibility this which we are criticising. Reduce the dimensions to figures, and the absurdity becomes still more palpable. In round numbers, the distance of Sirius from the Earth is a million times the distance of the Earth from the Sun; and, according to the hypothesis, the distance of a nebula is something like a million times the distance of Sirius.

Now, our own "starry island, or nebula," as Humboldt calls it, "forms a lens-shaped, flattened, and everywhere detached stratum, whose major axis is estimated at seven or eight hundred, and its minor axis at a hundred and fifty times the distance of Sirius from the Earth."[I] And since it is concluded that our Solar System is near the centre of this aggregation, it follows that our distance from the remotest parts of it is about four hundred distances of Sirius. But the stars forming these remotest parts are not individually visible, even through telescopes of the highest power. How, then, can such telescopes make individually visible the stars of a nebula which is a million times the distance of Sirius? The implication is, that a star rendered invisible by distance becomes visible if taken two thousand five hundred times further off! Shall we accept this implication? or shall we not rather conclude that the nebulÆ are not remote galaxies? Shall we not infer that, be their nature what it may, they must be at least as near to us as the extremities of our own sidereal system?

Throughout the above argument, it is tacitly assumed that differences of apparent magnitude among the stars, result mainly from differences of distance. On this assumption the current doctrines respecting the nebulÆ are founded; and this assumption is, for the nonce, admitted in each of the foregoing criticisms. From the time, however, when it was first made by Sir W. Herschel, this assumption has been purely gratuitous; and it now proves to be totally inadmissible. But, awkwardly enough, its truth and its untruth are alike fatal to the conclusions of those who argue after the manner of Humboldt. Note the alternative.

On the one hand, what follows from the untruth of the assumption? If apparent largeness of stars is not due to comparative nearness, and their successively smaller sizes to their greater and greater degrees of remoteness, what becomes of the inferences respecting the dimensions of our sidereal system and the distances of nebulÆ? If, as has lately been shown, the almost invisible star 61 Cygni has a greater parallax than aCygni, though, according to an estimate based on Sir W. Herschel's assumption, it should be about twelve times more distant—if, as it turns out, there exist telescopic stars which are nearer to us than Sirius; of what worth is the conclusion that the nebulÆ are very remote, because their component luminous masses are made visible only by high telescopic powers? Clearly, if the most brilliant star in the heavens and a star that cannot be seen by the naked eye, prove to be equidistant, relative distances cannot be in the least inferred from relative visibilities. And if so, nebulÆ may be comparatively near, though the starlets of which they are made up appear extremely minute.

On the other hand, what follows if the truth of the assumption be granted? The arguments used to justify this assumption in the case of the stars, equally justify it in the case of the nebulÆ. It cannot be contended that, on the average, the apparent sizes of the stars indicate their distances, without its being admitted that, on the average, the apparent sizes of the nebulÆ indicate their distances—that, generally speaking, the larger are the nearer, and the smaller are the more distant. Mark, now, the necessary inference respecting their resolvability. The largest or nearest nebulÆ will be most easily resolved into stars; the successively smaller will be successively more difficult of resolution; and the irresolvable ones will be the smallest ones. This, however, is exactly the reverse of the fact. The largest nebulÆ are either wholly irresolvable, or but partially resolvable under the highest telescopic powers; while a great proportion of quite small nebulÆ, are easily resolved by far less powerful telescopes. An instrument through which the great nebula in Andromeda, two and a half degrees long and one degree broad, appears merely as a diffused light, decomposes a nebula of fifteen minutes diameter into twenty thousand starry points. At the same time that the individual stars of a nebula eight minutes in diameter are so clearly seen as to allow of their number being estimated, a nebula covering an area five hundred times as great shows no stars at all. What possible explanation can be given of this on the current hypothesis?

Yet a further difficulty remains—one which is, perhaps, still more obviously fatal than the foregoing. This difficulty is presented by the phenomena of the Magellanic clouds. Describing the larger of these, Sir John Herschel says:—

In his "Outlines of Astronomy," Sir John Herschel, after repeating this description in other words, goes on to remark that—

Now, we think this supplies a reductio ad absurdum of the doctrine we are combating. It gives us the choice of two incredibilities. If we are to believe that one of these nebulÆ is so remote that its hundred thousand stars look like a milky spot, invisible to the naked eye; we must also believe that there are single stars so enormous that though removed to this same distance they remain visible. If we accept the other alternative, and say that many nebulÆ are no further off than our own stars of the eighth magnitude; then it is requisite to say that at a distance not greater than that at which a single star is still faintly visible to the naked eye, there may exist a group of a hundred thousand stars which is invisible to the naked eye. Neither of these positions can be entertained. What, then, is the conclusion that remains? This, only:—that the nebulÆ are not further off from us than parts of our own sidereal system, of which they must be considered members; and that when they are resolvable into discrete masses, these masses cannot be considered as stars in anything like the ordinary sense of that word.

And now, having seen the untenability of this idea, rashly espoused by sundry astronomers, that the nebulÆ are extremely remote galaxies; let us consider whether the various appearances they present are not reconcileable with the Nebular Hypothesis.

Given a rare and widely-diffused mass of nebulous matter, having a diameter, say as great as the distance from the Sun to Sirius,[J] what are the successive changes that will take place in it? Mutual gravitation will approximate its atoms; but their approximation will be opposed by atomic repulsion, the overcoming of which implies the evolution of heat. As fast as this heat partially escapes by radiation, further approximation will take place, attended by further evolution of heat, and so on continuously: the processes not occurring separately as here described, but simultaneously, uninterruptedly, and with increasing activity. Eventually, this slow movement of the atoms towards their common centre of gravity, will bring about phenomena of another order.

Arguing from the known laws of atomic combination, it will happen that when the nebulous mass has reached a particular stage of condensation—when its internally-situated atoms have approached to within certain distances, have generated a certain amount of heat, and are subject to a certain mutual pressure (the heat and pressure both increasing as the aggregation progresses); some of them will suddenly enter into chemical union. Whether the binary atoms so produced be of kinds such as we know, which is possible; or whether they be of kinds simpler than any we know, which is more probable; matters not to the argument. It suffices that molecular combination of some species will finally take place. When it does take place, it will be accompanied by a great and sudden disengagement of heat; and until this excess of heat has escaped, the newly-formed binary atoms will remain uniformly diffused, or, as it were, dissolved in the pre-existing nebulous medium.

But now mark what must by-and-by happen. When radiation has adequately lowered the temperature, these binary atoms will precipitate; and having precipitated, they will not remain uniformly diffused, but will aggregate into flocculi: just as water, when precipitated from air, collects into clouds. This À priori conclusion is confirmed by the observation of those still extant portions of nebulous matter which constitute comets; for, "that the luminous part of a comet is something in the nature of a smoke, fog, or cloud, suspended in a transparent atmosphere, is evident," says Sir John Herschel.

Concluding, then, that a nebulous mass will, in course of time, resolve itself into flocculi of precipitated denser matter, floating in the rarer medium from which they were precipitated, let us inquire what will be the mechanical results. We shall find that they will be quite different from those occurring in the original homogeneous mass; and also quite different from those which would occur among discrete masses dispersed through empty space. Bodies dispersed through empty space, would move in straight lines towards their common centre of gravity. So, too, would bodies dispersed through a resisting medium, provided they were spherical, or of forms presenting symmetrical faces to their lines of movement. But irregular bodies dispersed through a resisting medium, will not move in straight lines towards their common centre of gravity. A mass which presents an irregular face to its line of movement through a resisting medium, must necessarily be deflected from its original course, by the unequal reactions of the medium on its different sides. Hence each flocculus, as by analogy we term one of these precipitated masses of gas or vapour, will acquire a movement, not towards the common centre of gravity, but towards one or other side of it; and this oblique movement, accelerated as well as changed in direction by the increasing centripetal force, but retarded by the resisting medium, will result in a spiral, ending in the common centre of gravity. Observe, however, that this conclusion, valid as far as it goes, by no means proves a common spiral movement of all the flocculi; for as they must not only be varied in their forms, but disposed in all varieties of position, their respective movements will be deflected, not towards one side of the common centre of gravity, but towards various sides. How then can there result a spiral movement common to them all? Very simply. Each flocculus, in describing its spiral course, must give motion to the rarer medium through which it is moving.

Now, the probabilities are infinity to one against all the respective motions thus impressed on this rarer medium, exactly balancing each other. And if they do not balance each other, the inevitable result must be a rotation of the whole mass of the rarer medium in one direction. But preponderating momentum in one direction, having caused rotation of the medium in that direction, the rotating medium must in its turn gradually arrest such flocculi as are moving in opposition, and impress its own motion upon them; and thus there will ultimately be formed a rotating medium with suspended flocculi partaking of its motion, while they move in converging spirals towards the common centre of gravity.

Before comparing these conclusions with the facts, let us pursue the reasoning a little further, and observe the subordinate actions, and the endless modifications which will result from them. The respective flocculi must not only be drawn towards their common centre of gravity, but also towards neighbouring flocculi. Hence the whole assemblage of flocculi will break up into subordinate groups: each group concentrating towards its local centre of gravity, and in so doing acquiring a vortical movement, like that subsequently acquired by the whole nebula. Now, according to circumstances, and chiefly according to the size of the original nebulous mass, this process of local aggregation will produce various results. If the whole nebula is but small, the local groups of flocculi may be drawn into the common centre of gravity before their constituent masses have coalesced with each other. In a larger nebula, these local aggregations may have concentrated into rotating spheroids of vapour, while yet they have made but little approach towards the general focus of the system. In a still larger nebula, where the local aggregations are both greater and more remote from the common centre of gravity, they may have condensed into masses of molten matter before the general distribution of them has greatly altered. In short, as the conditions in each case determine, the discrete masses produced may vary indefinitely in number, in size, in density, in motion, in distribution.

And now let us return to the visible characters of the nebulÆ, as observed through modern telescopes. Take first the description of those nebulÆ which, by the hypothesis, must be in an early stage of evolution.

And, referring to this same order of objects, M. Arago says:—"The forms of very large diffuse nebulÆ do not appear to admit of definition; they have no regular outline."

Now this coexistence of largeness, irresolvability, irregularity, and indefiniteness of outline, is extremely significant. The fact that the largest nebulÆ are either irresolvable or very difficult to resolve, might have been inferred À priori; seeing that irresolvability, implying that the aggregation of precipitated matter has gone on to but a small extent, will be found in nebulÆ of wide diffusion. Again, the irregularity of these large, irresolvable nebulÆ, might also have been expected; seeing that their outlines, compared by Arago to "the fantastic figures which characterize clouds carried away and tossed about by violent and often contrary winds," are similarly characteristic of a mass not yet gathered together by the mutual attraction of its parts. And once more, the fact that these large, irregular, irresolvable nebulÆ have indefinite outlines—outlines that fade off insensibly into surrounding darkness—is one of like meaning.

Speaking generally (and of course differences of distance negative anything beyond an average statement), the spiral nebulÆ are smaller than the irregular nebulÆ, and more resolvable; at the same time that they are not so small as the regular nebulÆ, and not so resolvable. This is as, according to the hypothesis, it should be. The degree of condensation causing spiral movement, is a degree of condensation also implying masses of flocculi that are larger, and therefore more visible, than those existing in an earlier stage. Moreover, the forms of these spiral nebulÆ are quite in harmony with the explanation given. The curves of luminous matter which they exhibit, are not such as would be described by more or less discrete masses starting from a state of rest, and moving through a resisting medium to a common centre of gravity; but they are such as would be described by masses having their movements modified by the rotation of the medium.

In the centre of a spiral nebula is seen a mass both more luminous and more resolvable than the rest. Assume that, in process of time, all the spiral streaks of luminous matter which converge to this centre are drawn into it, as they must be; assume further, that the flocculi or other discrete bodies constituting these luminous streaks aggregate into larger masses at the same time that they approach the central group, and that the masses forming this central group also aggregate into larger masses (both which are necessary assumptions); and there will finally result a more or less globular group of such larger masses, which will be resolvable with comparative ease. And, as the coalescence and concentration go on, the constituent masses will gradually become fewer, larger, brighter, and more densely collected around the common centre of gravity. See now how completely this inference agrees with observation. "The circular form is that which most commonly characterizes resolvable nebulÆ," writes Arago. "Resolvable nebulÆ," says Sir John Herschel, "are almost universally round or oval." Moreover, the centre of each group habitually displays a closer clustering of the constituent masses than elsewhere; and it is shown that, under the law of gravitation, which we know extends to the stars, this distribution is not one of equilibrium, but implies progressing concentration. While, just as we inferred that, according to circumstances, the extent to which aggregation has been carried must vary; so we find that, in fact, there are regular nebulÆ of all degrees of resolvability, from those consisting of innumerable minute discrete masses, to those in which there are a few large bodies worthy to be called stars.

On the one hand, then, we see that the notion, of late years uncritically received, that the nebulÆ are extremely remote galaxies of stars like those which make up our own Milky Way, is totally irreconcileable with the facts—involves us in sundry absurdities. On the other hand, we see that the hypothesis of nebular condensation harmonizes with the most recent results of stellar astronomy: nay more—that it supplies us with an explanation of various appearances which in its absence would be incomprehensible.

Descending now to the Solar System, let us consider first a class of phenomena in some sort transitional—those offered by comets. In comets we have now existing a kind of matter like that out of which, according to the Nebular Hypothesis, the Solar System was evolved. For the explanation of them, we must hence go back to the time when the substances forming the sun and planets were yet unconcentrated.

When diffused matter, precipitated from a rarer medium, is aggregating, there are certain to be here and there produced small flocculi, which, either in consequence of local currents or the conflicting attractions of adjacent masses, remain detached; as do, for instance, minute shreds of cloud in a summer sky. In a concentrating nebula these will, in the great majority of cases, eventually coalesce with the larger flocculi near to them. But it is tolerably evident that some of the remotest of these small flocculi, formed at the outermost parts of the nebula, will not coalesce with the larger internal masses, but will slowly follow without overtaking them. The relatively greater resistance of the medium necessitates this. As a single feather falling to the ground will be rapidly left behind by a pillow-full of feathers; so, in their progress to the common centre of gravity, will the outermost shreds of vapour be left behind by the great masses of vapour internally situated. But we are not dependent merely on reasoning for this belief. Observation shows us that the less concentrated external parts of nebulÆ, are left behind by the more concentrated, internal parts. Examined through high powers, all nebulÆ, even when they have assumed regular forms, are seen to be surrounded by luminous streaks, of which the directions show that they are being drawn into the general mass. Still higher powers bring into view still smaller, fainter, and more widely-dispersed streaks. And it cannot be doubted that the minute fragments which no telescopic aid makes visible, are yet more numerous and widely dispersed. Thus far, then, inference and observation are at one.

Granting that the great majority of these outlying portions of nebulous matter will be drawn into the central mass long before it reaches a definite form, the presumption is that some of the very small, far-removed portions will not be so; but that before they arrive near it, the central mass will have contracted into a comparatively moderate bulk. What now will be the characters of these late-arriving portions?

In the first place, they will have extremely eccentric orbits. Left behind at a time when they were moving towards the centre of gravity in slightly-deflected lines, and therefore having but very small angular velocities, they will approach the central mass in greatly elongated ellipses; and rushing round it will go off again into space. That is, they will behave just as we see comets do; whose orbits are usually so eccentric as to be indistinguishable from parabolas.

In the second place, they will come from all parts of the heavens. Our supposition implies that they were left behind at a time when the nebulous mass was of irregular shape, and had not acquired a definite rotary motion; and as the separation of them would not be from any one surface of the nebulous mass more than another, the conclusion must be that they will come to the central body from various directions in space. This, too, is exactly what happens. Unlike planets, whose orbits approximate to one plane, comets have orbits that show no relation to each other; but cut the plane of the ecliptic at all angles.

In the third place, applying the reasoning already used, these remotest flocculi of nebulous matter will, at the outset, be deflected from their straight courses to the common centre of gravity, not all on one side, but each on such side as its form determines. And being left behind before the rotation of the nebula is set up, they will severally retain their different individual motions. Hence, following the concentrating mass, they will eventually go round it on all sides; and as often from right to left as from left to right. Here again the inference perfectly corresponds with the facts. While all the planets go round the sun from west to east, comets as often go round the sun from east to west as from west to east. Out of 210 comets known in 1855, 104 are direct, and 106 are retrograde. This equality is what the law of probabilities would indicate.

Then, in the fourth place, the physical constitution of comets completely accords with the hypothesis. The ability of nebulous matter to concentrate into a concrete form, depends on its mass. To bring its ultimate atoms into that proximity requisite for chemical union—requisite, that is, for the production of denser matter—their repulsion must be overcome. The only force antagonistic to their repulsion, is their mutual gravitation. That their mutual gravitation may generate a pressure and temperature of sufficient intensity, there must be an enormous accumulation of them; and even then the approximation can slowly go on only as fast as the evolved heat escapes. But where the quantity of atoms is small, and therefore the force of mutual gravitation small, there will be nothing to coerce the atoms into union. Whence we infer that these detached fragments of nebulous matter will continue in their original state. We find that they do so. Comets consist of an extremely rare medium, which, as shown by the description already quoted from Sir John Herschel, has characters like those we concluded would belong to partially-condensed nebulous matter.

Yet another very significant fact is seen in the distribution of comets. Though they come from all parts of the heavens, they by no means come in equal abundance from all parts of the heavens; but are far more numerous about the poles of the ecliptic than about its plane. Speaking generally, comets having orbit-planes that are highly inclined to the ecliptic, are comets having orbits of which the major axes are highly inclined to the ecliptic—comets that come from high latitudes. This is not a necessary connexion; for the planes of the orbits might be highly inclined to the ecliptic while the major axes were inclined to it very little. But in the absence of any habitually-observed relation of this kind, it may safely be concluded that, on the average, highly-inclined cometary orbits are cometary orbits with highly-inclined major axes; and that thus, a predominance of cometary orbits cutting the plane of the ecliptic at great angles, implies a predominance of cometary orbits having major axes that cut the ecliptic at great angles. Now the predominance of highly inclined cometary orbits, may be gathered from the following table, compiled by M. Arago, to which we have added a column giving the results up to a date two years later.

At first sight this table seems not to warrant our statement. Assuming the alleged general relation between the inclinations of cometary orbits, and the directions in space from which the comets come, the table may be thought to show that the frequency of comets increases as we progress from the plane of the ecliptic up to 45°, and then decreases up to 90°. But this apparent diminution arises from the fact that the successive zones of space rapidly diminish in their areas on approaching the poles. If we allow for this, we shall find that the excess of comets continues to increase up to the highest angles of inclination. In the table below, which, for convenience, is arranged in inverted order, we have taken as standards of comparison the area of the zone round the pole, and the number of comets it contains; and having ascertained the areas of the other zones, and the numbers of comets they should contain were comets equally distributed, we have shown how great becomes the deficiency in descending from the poles of the ecliptic to its plane.

In strictness, the calculation should be made with reference, not to the plane of the ecliptic, but to the plane of the sun's equator; and this might or might not render the progression more regular. Probably, too, the progression would be made somewhat different were the calculation based, as it should be, not on the inclinations of orbit-planes, but on the inclinations of major axes. But even as it is, the result is sufficiently significant: since, though the conclusion that comets are 11·5 times more abundant about the poles of the ecliptic than about its plane, can be but a rough approximation to the truth, yet no correction of it is likely very much to change this strong contrast.

What, then, is the meaning of this fact? It has several meanings. It negatives the supposition, favoured by Laplace among others, that comets are bodies that were wandering in space, or have come from other systems; for the probabilities are infinity to one against the orbits of such wandering bodies showing any definite relation to the plane of the Solar System. For the like reason, it negatives the hypothesis of Lagrange, otherwise objectionable, that comets have resulted from planetary catastrophes analogous to that which is supposed to have produced the asteroids. It clearly shows that, instead of comets being accidental members of the Solar System, they are necessary members of it—have as distinct a structural relation to it as the planets themselves. That comets are abundant round the axis of the Solar System, and grow rarer as we approach its plane, implies that the genesis of comets has followed some law—a law in some way concerned with the genesis of the Solar System.

If we ask for any so-called final cause of this arrangement, none can be assigned: until a probable use for comets has been shown, no reason can be given why they should be thus distributed. But when we consider the question as one of physical science, we see that comets are antithetical to planets, not only in their great rarity, in their motions as indifferently direct or retrograde, in their eccentric orbits, and in the varied directions of those orbits; but we see the antithesis further marked in this, that while planets have some relation to the plane of nebular rotation, comets have some relation to the axis of nebular rotation.[K] And without attempting to explain the nature of this relation, the mere fact that such a relation exists, indicates that comets have resulted from a process of evolution—points to a past time when the matter now forming the Solar System extended to those distant regions of space which comets visit.

See, then, how differently this class of phenomena bears on the antagonistic hypotheses. To the hypothesis commonly received, comets are stumbling-blocks: why there should be hundreds (or probably thousands) of extremely rare aeriform masses rushing to and fro round the sun, it cannot say; any more than it can explain their physical constitutions, their various and eccentric movements, or their distribution. The hypothesis of evolution, on the other hand, not only allows of the general answer, that they are minor results of the genetic process; but also furnishes us with something like explanations of their several peculiarities.

And now, leaving these erratic bodies, let us turn to the more familiar and important members of the Solar System. It was the remarkable harmony subsisting among their movements, which first made Laplace conceive that the sun, planets, and satellites had resulted from a common genetic process. As Sir William Herschel, by his observations on the nebulÆ, was led to the conclusion that stars resulted from the aggregation of diffused matter; so Laplace, by his observations on the structure of the Solar System, was led to the conclusion that only by the rotation of aggregating matter were its peculiarities to be explained. In his "Exposition du SystÈme du Monde," he enumerates as the leading evidences of evolution:—1. The movements of the planets in the same direction and almost in the same plane; 2. The movements of the satellites in the same direction as those of the planets; 3. The movement of rotation of these various bodies and of the sun in the same direction as the orbitual motions, and in planes little different; 4. The small eccentricity of the orbits of the planets and satellites, as contrasted with the great eccentricity of the cometary orbits. And the probability that these harmonious movements had a common cause, he calculates as two hundred thousand billions to one.

Observe that this immense preponderance of probability does not point to a common cause under the form ordinarily conceived—an Invisible Power working after the method of "a Great Artificer;" but to an Invisible Power working after the method of evolution. For though the supporters of the common hypothesis may argue that it was necessary for the sake of stability that the planets should go round the sun in the same direction and nearly in one plane, they cannot thus account for the direction of the axial motions. The mechanical equilibrium would not have been at all interfered with, had the sun been without any rotatory movement; or had he revolved on his axis in a direction opposite to that in which the planets go round him; or in a direction at right angles to the plane of their orbits. With equal safety the motion of the Moon round the Earth might have been the reverse of the Earth's motion round its axis; or the motion of Jupiter's satellites might similarly have been at variance with his axial motion; or that of Saturn's satellites with his. As, however, none of these alternatives have been followed, the uniformity must be considered, in this case as in all others, evidence of subordination to some general law—implies what we call natural causation, as distinguished from arbitrary arrangement.

Hence the hypothesis of evolution would be the only probable one, even in the absence of any clue to the particular mode of evolution. But when we have, propounded by a mathematician whose authority is second to none, a definite theory of this evolution based on established mechanical laws, which accounts for these various peculiarities, as well as for many minor ones, the conclusion that the Solar System was evolved becomes almost irresistible.

The general nature of Laplace's theory scarcely needs stating. Books of popular astronomy have familiarized most readers with his conceptions;—namely, that the matter now condensed into the Solar System, once formed a vast rotating spheroid of extreme rarity extending beyond the orbit of Neptune; that as this spheroid contracted, its rate of rotation necessarily increased; that by augmenting centrifugal force its equatorial zone was from time to time prevented from following any further the concentrating mass, and so remained behind as a revolving ring; that each of the revolving rings thus periodically detached, eventually became ruptured at its weakest point, and contracting on itself, gradually aggregated into a rotating mass; that this, like the parent mass, increased in rapidity of rotation as it decreased in size, and, where the centrifugal force was sufficient, similarly threw off rings, which finally collapsed into rotating spheroids; and that thus out of these primary and secondary rings there arose planets and their satellites, while from the central mass there resulted the sun. Moreover, it is tolerably well known that this À priori reasoning harmonizes with the results of experiment. Dr. Plateau has shown that when a mass of fluid is, as far may be, protected from the action of external forces, it will, if made to rotate with adequate velocity, form detached rings; and that these rings will break up into spheroids which turn on their axes in the same direction with the central mass. Thus, given the original nebula, which, acquiring a vortical motion in the way we have explained, has at length concentrated into a vast spheroid of aeriform matter moving round its axis—given this, and mechanical principles explain the rest. The genesis of a solar system displaying movements like those observed, may be predicted; and the reasoning on which the prediction is based is countenanced by experiment.[L] But now let us inquire whether, besides these most conspicuous peculiarities of the Solar System, sundry minor ones are not similarly explicable. Take first the relation between the planes of the planetary orbits and the plane of the sun's equator. If, when the nebulous spheroid extended beyond the orbit of Neptune, all parts of it had been revolving exactly in the same plane or rather in parallel planes—if all its parts had had one axis; then the planes of the successive rings would have been coincident with each other and with that of the sun's rotation. But it needs only to go back to the earlier stages of concentration, to see that there could exist no such complete uniformity of motion. The flocculi, already described as precipitated from an irregular and widely-diffused nebula, and as starting from all points to their common centre of gravity, must move not in one plane but in innumerable planes, cutting each other at all angles.

The gradual establishment of a vortical motion such as we saw must eventually arise, and such as we at present see indicated in the spiral nebulÆ, is the gradual approach toward motion in one plane—the plane of greatest momentum. But this plane can only slowly become decided. Flocculi not moving in this plane, but entering into the aggregation at various inclinations, will tend to perform their revolutions round its centre in their own planes; and only in course of time will their motions be partly destroyed by conflicting ones, and partly resolved into the general motion. Especially will the outermost portions of the rotating mass retain for long time their more or less independent directions; seeing that neither by friction nor by the central forces will they be so much restrained. Hence the probabilities are, that the planes of the rings first detached will differ considerably from the average plane of the mass; while the planes of those detached latest will differ from it less. Here, again, inference to a considerable extent agrees with observation. Though the progression is irregular, yet on the average the inclinations decrease on approaching the sun.

Consider next the movements of the planets on their axes. Laplace alleged as one among other evidences of a common genetic cause, that the planets rotate in a direction the same as that in which they go round the sun, and on axes approximately perpendicular to their orbits. Since he wrote, an exception to this general rule has been discovered in the case of Uranus, and another still more recently in the case of Neptune—judging, at least, from the motions of their respective satellites. This anomaly has been thought to throw considerable doubt on his speculation; and at first sight it does so. But a little reflection will, we believe, show that the anomaly is by no means an insoluble one; and that Laplace simply went too far in putting down as a certain result of nebular genesis, what is, in some instances, only a probable result. The cause he pointed out as determining the direction of rotation, is the greater absolute velocity of the outer part of the detached ring. But there are conditions under which this difference of velocity may be relatively insignificant, even if it exists: and others in which, though existing to a considerable extent, it will not suffice to determine the direction of rotation.

Note, in the first place, that in virtue of their origin, the different strata of a concentrating nebulous spheroid, will be very unlikely to move with equal angular velocities: only by friction continued for an indefinite time will their angular velocities be made uniform; and especially will the outermost strata, for reasons just now assigned, maintain for the longest time their differences of movement. Hence, it is possible that in the rings first detached the outer rims may not have greater absolute velocities; and thus the resulting planets may have retrograde rotations. Again, the sectional form of the ring is a circumstance of moment; and this form must have differed more or less in every case. To make this clear, some illustration will be necessary. Suppose we take an orange, and assuming the marks of the stalk and the calyx to represent the poles, cut off round the line of the equator a strip of peel. This strip of peel, if placed on the table with its ends meeting, will make a ring shaped like the hoop of a barrel—a ring whose thickness in the line of its diameter is very small, but whose width in a direction perpendicular to its diameter is considerable. Suppose, now, that in place of an orange, which is a spheroid of very slight oblateness, we take a spheroid of very great oblateness, shaped somewhat like a lens of small convexity. If from the edge or equator of this lens-shaped spheroid, a ring of moderate size were cut off, it would be unlike the previous ring in this respect, that its greatest thickness would be in the line of its diameter, and not in a line at right angles to its diameter: it would be a ring shaped somewhat like a quoit, only far more slender. That is to say, according to the oblateness of a rotating spheroid, the detached ring may be either a hoop-shaped ring or a quoit-shaped ring.

One further fact must be noted. In a much-flattened or lens-shaped spheroid, the form of the ring will vary with its bulk. A very slender ring, taking off just the equatorial surface, will be hoop-shaped; while a tolerably massive ring, trenching appreciably on the diameter of the spheroid, will be quoit-shaped. Thus, then, according to the oblateness of the spheroid and the bulkiness of the detached ring, will the greatest thickness of that ring be in the direction of its plane, or in a direction perpendicular to its plane. But this circumstance must greatly affect the rotation of the resulting planet. In a decidedly hoop-shaped nebulous ring, the differences of velocity between the inner and outer surfaces will be very small; and such a ring, aggregating into a mass whose greatest diameter is at right angles to the plane of the orbit, will almost certainly give to this mass a predominant tendency to rotate in a direction at right angles to the plane of the orbit. Where the ring is but little hoop-shaped, and the difference of the inner and outer velocities also greater, as it must be, the opposing tendencies—one to produce rotation in the plane of the orbit, and the other rotation perpendicular to it—will both be influential; and an intermediate plane of rotation will be taken up. While, if the nebulous ring is decidedly quoit-shaped, and therefore aggregates into a mass whose greatest dimension lies in the plane of the orbit, both tendencies will conspire to produce rotation in that plane.

On referring to the facts, we find them, as far as can be judged, in harmony with this view. Considering the enormous circumference of Uranus's orbit, and his comparatively small mass, we may conclude that the ring from which he resulted was a comparatively slender, and therefore a hoop-shaped one: especially if the nebulous mass was at that time less oblate than afterwards, which it must have been. Hence, a plane of rotation nearly perpendicular to his orbit, and a direction of rotation having no reference to his orbitual movement. Saturn has a mass seven times as great, and an orbit of less than half the diameter; whence it follows that his genetic ring, having less than half the circumference, and less than half the vertical thickness (the spheroid being then certainly as oblate, and indeed more oblate), must have had considerably greater width—must have been less hoop-shaped, and more approaching to the quoit-shaped: notwithstanding difference of density, it must have been at least two or three times as broad in the line of its plane. Consequently, Saturn has a rotatory movement in the same direction as the movement of translation, and in a plane differing from it by thirty degrees only.

In the case of Jupiter, again, whose mass is three and a half times that of Saturn, and whose orbit is little more than half the size, the genetic ring must, for the like reasons, have been still broader—decidedly quoit-shaped, we may say; and there hence resulted a planet whose plane of rotation differs from that of his orbit by scarcely more than three degrees. Once more, considering the comparative insignificance of Mars, Earth, Venus, and Mercury, it follows that the diminishing circumferences of the rings not sufficing to account for the smallness of the resulting masses, the rings must have been slender ones—must have again approximated to the hoop-shaped; and thus it happens that the planes of rotation again diverge more or less widely from those of the orbits. Taking into account the increasing oblateness of the original spheroid in the successive stages of its concentration, and the different proportions of the detached rings, it seems to us that the respective rotatory motions are not at variance with the hypothesis.

Not only the directions, but also the velocities of rotation are thus explicable. It might naturally be supposed that the large planets would revolve on their axes more slowly than the small ones: our terrestrial experiences incline us to expect this. It is a corollary from the Nebular Hypothesis, however, more especially when interpreted as above, that while large planets will rotate rapidly, small ones will rotate slowly; and we find that in fact they do so. Other things equal, a concentrating nebulous mass that is diffused through a wide space, and whose outer parts have, therefore, to travel from great distances to the common centre of gravity, will acquire a high axial velocity in course of its aggregation: and conversely with a small mass. Still more marked will be the difference where the form of the genetic ring conspires to increase the rate of rotation. Other things equal, a genetic ring that is broadest in the direction of its plane will produce a mass rotating faster than one that is broadest at right angles to its plane; and if the ring is absolutely as well as relatively broad, the rotation will be very rapid. These conditions were, as we saw, fulfilled in the case of Jupiter; and Jupiter goes round his axis in less than ten hours. Saturn, in whose case, as above explained, the conditions were less favourable to rapid rotation, takes ten hours and a half. While Mars, Earth, Venus, and Mercury, whose rings must have been slender, take more than double the time: the smallest taking the longest.

From the planets, let us now pass to the satellites. Here, beyond the conspicuous facts commonly adverted to, that they go round their primaries in the same directions that these turn on their axes, in planes diverging but little from their equators, and in orbits nearly circular, there are several significant traits which must not be passed over.

One of them is, that each set of satellites repeats in miniature the relations of the planets to the sun, both in the respects just named, and in the order of the sizes. On progressing from the outside of the Solar System to its centre, we see that there are four large external planets, and four internal ones which are comparatively small. A like contrast holds between the outer and inner satellites in every case. Among the four satellites of Jupiter, the parallel is maintained as well as the comparative smallness of the number allows: the two outer ones are the largest, and the two inner ones the smallest. According to the most recent observations made by Mr. Lassell, the like is true of the four satellites of Uranus. In the case of Saturn, who has eight secondary planets revolving round him, the likeness is still more close in arrangement as in number: the three outer satellites are large, the inner ones small; and the contrasts of size are here much greater between the largest, which is nearly as big as Mars, and the smallest, which is with difficulty discovered even by the best telescopes.

Moreover, the analogy does not end here. Just as with the planets, there is at first a general increase of size on travelling inwards from Neptune and Uranus, which do not differ very widely, to Saturn, which is much larger, and to Jupiter, which is the largest; so of the eight satellites of Saturn, the largest is not the outermost, but the outermost save two; so of Jupiter's four secondaries, the largest is the most remote but one. Now these analogies are inexplicable by the theory of final causes. For purposes of lighting, if this be the presumed object of these attendant bodies, it would have been far better had the larger been the nearer: at present, their remoteness renders them of less service than the smallest. To the Nebular Hypothesis, however, these analogies give further support. They show the action of a common physical cause. They imply a law of genesis, holding in the secondary systems as in the primary system.

Still more instructive shall we find the distribution of the satellites—their absence in some instances, and their presence in other instances, in smaller or greater numbers. The argument from design fails to account for this distribution. Supposing it be granted that planets nearer the Sun than ourselves, have no need of moons (though, considering that their nights are as dark, and, relatively to their brilliant days, even darker than ours, the need seems quite as great)—supposing this to be granted; what is to be said of Mars, which, placed half as far again from the Sun as we are, has yet no moon? Or again, how are we to explain the fact that Uranus has but half as many moons as Saturn, though he is at double the distance? While, however, the current presumption is untenable, the Nebular Hypothesis furnishes us with an explanation. It actually enables us to predict, by a not very complex calculation, where satellites will be abundant and where they will be absent. The reasoning is as follows.

In a rotating nebulous spheroid that is concentrating into a planet, there are at work two antagonist mechanical tendencies—the centripetal and the centrifugal. While the force of gravitation draws all the atoms of the spheroid together, their tangential momentum is resolvable into two parts, of which one resists gravitation. The ratio which this centrifugal force bears to gravitation, varies, other things equal, as the square of the velocity. Hence, the aggregation of a rotating nebulous spheroid will be more or less strongly opposed by this outward impetus of its particles, according as its rate of rotation is high or low: the opposition, in equal spheroids, being four times as great when the rotation is twice as rapid; nine times as great when it is three times as rapid; and so on. Now, the detachment of a ring from a planet-forming body of nebulous matter, implies that at its equatorial zone the centrifugal force produced by concentration has become so great as to balance gravity. Whence it is tolerably obvious that the detachment of rings will be most frequent from those masses in which the centrifugal tendency bears the greatest ratio to the gravitative tendency. Though it is not possible to calculate what proportions these two tendencies had to each other in the genetic spheroid which produced each planet; it is possible to calculate where each was the greatest and where the least. While it is true that the ratio which centrifugal force now bears to gravity at the equator of each planet, differs widely from that which it bore during the earlier stages of concentration; and while it is true that this change in the ratio, depending on the degree of contraction each planet has undergone, has in no two cases been the same; yet we may fairly conclude that where the ratio is still the greatest, it has been the greatest from the beginning. The satellite-forming tendency which each planet had, will be approximately indicated by the proportion now existing in it between the aggregating power, and the power that has opposed aggregation. On making the requisite calculations, a remarkable harmony with this inference comes out. The following table shows what fraction the centrifugal force is of the centripetal force in every case; and the relation which that fraction bears to the number of satellites.

Thus, taking as our standard of comparison the Earth with its one moon, we see that Mercury and Mars, in which the centrifugal force is relatively less, have no moons. Jupiter, in which it is far greater, has four moons. Uranus, in which it is greater still, has certainly four, and probably more than four. Saturn, in which it is the greatest, being nearly one-sixth of gravity, has, including his rings, eleven attendants. The only instance in which there is imperfect conformity with observation is that of Venus. Here it appears that the centrifugal force is relatively a very little greater than in the Earth; and according to the hypothesis, Venus ought, therefore, to have a satellite. Of this seeming anomaly there are two explanations. Not a few astronomers have asserted that Venus has a satellite. Cassini, Short, Montaigne of Limoges, Roedkier, and Montbarron, professed to have seen it; and Lambert calculated its elements. Granting, however, that they were mistaken, there is still the fact that the diameter of Venus is variously estimated; and that a very small change in the data would make the fraction less instead of greater than that of the Earth. But admitting the discrepancy, we think that this correspondence, even as it now stands, is one of the strongest confirmations of the Nebular Hypothesis.[M]

Certain more special peculiarities of the satellites must be mentioned as suggestive. One of them is the relation between the period of revolution and that of rotation. No discoverable purpose is served by making the Moon go round its axis in the same time that it goes round the Earth: for our convenience, a more rapid axial motion would have been equally good; and for any possible inhabitants of the Moon, much better. Against the alternative supposition, that the equality occurred by accident, the probabilities are, as Laplace says, infinity to one. But to this arrangement, which is explicable neither as the result of design nor of chance, the Nebular Hypothesis furnishes a clue. In his "Exposition du SystÈme du Monde," Laplace shows, by reasoning too detailed to be here repeated, that under the circumstances such a relation of movements would be likely to establish itself.

Among Jupiter's satellites, which severally display these same synchronous movements, there also exists a still more remarkable relation. "If the mean angular velocity of the first satellite be added to twice that of the third, the sum will be equal to three times that of the second;" and "from this it results that the situations of any two of them being given, that of the third can be found." Now here, as before, no conceivable advantage results. Neither in this case can the connexion have been accidental: the probabilities are infinity to one to the contrary. But again, according to Laplace, the Nebular Hypothesis supplies a solution. Are not these significant facts?

Most significant fact of all, however, is that presented by the rings of Saturn. As Laplace remarks, they are, as it were, still extant witnesses of the genetic process he propounded. Here we have, continuing permanently, forms of matter like those through which each planet and satellite once passed; and their movements are just what, in conformity with the hypothesis, they should be. "La durÉe de la rotation d'une planete doit donc Être, d'apres cette hypothÈse, plus petite que la durÉe de la rÉvolution du corps le plus voisin qui circule autour d'elle," says Laplace.[N] And he then points out that the time of Saturn's rotation is to that of his rings as 427 to 438—an amount of difference such as was to be expected.

But besides the existence of these rings, and their movements in the required manner, there is a highly suggestive circumstance which Laplace has not remarked—namely, the place of their occurrence. If the Solar System was produced after the manner popularly supposed, then there is no reason why the rings of Saturn should not have encircled him at a comparatively great distance. Or, instead of being given to Saturn, who in their absence would still have had eight satellites, such rings might have been given to Mars, by way of compensation for a moon. Or they might have been given to Uranus, who, for purposes of illumination, has far greater need of them. On the common hypothesis, we repeat, no reason can be assigned for their existence in the place where we find them. But on the hypothesis of evolution, the arrangement, so far from offering a difficulty, offers another confirmation. These rings are found where alone they could have been produced—close to the body of a planet whose centrifugal force bears a great proportion to his gravitative force. That permanent rings should exist at any great distance from a planet's body, is, on the Nebular Hypothesis, manifestly impossible. Rings detached early in the process of concentration, and therefore consisting of gaseous matter having extremely little power of cohesion, can have no ability to resist the disrupting forces due to imperfect balance; and must, therefore, collapse into satellites. A liquid ring is the only one admitting of permanence. But a liquid ring can be produced only when the aggregation is approaching its extreme—only when gaseous matter is passing into liquid, and the mass is about to assume the planetary form. And even then it cannot be produced save under special conditions. Gaining a rapidly-increasing preponderance, as the gravitative force does during the closing stages of concentration, the centrifugal force cannot in ordinary cases cause the detachment of rings when the mass has become dense. Only where the centrifugal force has all along been very great, and remains powerful to the last, as in Saturn, can liquid rings be formed. Thus the Nebular Hypothesis shows us why such appendages surround Saturn, but exist nowhere else.

And then, let us not forget the fact, discovered within these few years, that Saturn possesses a nebulous ring, through which his body is seen as through a thick veil. In a position where alone such a thing seems preservable—suspended, as it were, between the denser rings and the planet—there still continues one of these annular masses of diffused matter from which satellites and planets are believed to have originated. We find, then, that besides those most conspicuous peculiarities of the Solar System, which first suggested the theory of its evolution, there are many minor ones pointing in the same direction. Were there no other evidence, these mechanical arrangements would, considered in their totality, go far to establish the Nebular Hypothesis.

From the mechanical arrangements of the Solar System, turn we now to its physical characters; and, first, let us consider the inferences deducible from relative specific gravities.

The fact that, speaking generally, the denser planets are the nearer to the Sun, is by some considered as adding another to the many indications of nebular origin. Legitimately assuming that the outermost parts of a rotating nebulous spheroid, in its earlier stages of concentration, will be comparatively rare; and that the increasing density which the whole mass acquires as it contracts, must hold of the outermost parts as well as the rest; it is argued that the rings successively detached will be more and more dense, and will form planets of higher and higher specific gravities. But passing over other objections, this explanation is quite inadequate to account for the facts. Using the Earth as a standard of comparison, the relative densities run thus:—

Two seemingly insurmountable objections are presented by this series. The first is, that the progression is but a broken one. Neptune is as dense as Saturn, which, by the hypothesis, it ought not to be. Uranus is as dense as Jupiter, which it ought not to be. Uranus is denser than Saturn, and the Earth is denser than Venus—facts which not only give no countenance to, but directly contradict, the alleged explanation. The second objection, still more manifestly fatal, is the low specific gravity of the Sun. If, when the matter of the Sun filled the orbit of Mercury, its state of aggregation was such that the detached ring formed a planet having a specific gravity equal to that of iron; then the Sun itself, now that it has concentrated, should have a specific gravity much greater than that of iron; whereas its specific gravity is not much above that of water. Instead of being far denser than the nearest planet, it is not one-fourth as dense. And a parallel relation holds between Jupiter and his smallest satellite.[O]

While these anomalies render untenable the position that the relative specific gravities of the planets are direct indications of nebular condensation; it by no means follows that they negative it. On the contrary, we believe that the facts admit of an interpretation quite consistent with the hypothesis of Laplace.

There are three possible causes of unlike specific gravities in the members of our Solar System:—1. Differences between the kinds of matter or matters composing them. 2. Differences between the quantities of matter; for, other things equal, the mutual gravitation of atoms will make a large mass denser than a small one. 3. Differences between the structures: the masses being either solid or liquid throughout, or having central cavities filled with elastic aeriform substance. Of these three conceivable causes, that commonly assigned is the first, more or less modified by the second. The extremely low specific gravity of Saturn, which but little exceeds that of cork (and, on this hypothesis, must at his surface be considerably less than that of cork) is supposed to arise from the intrinsic lightness of his substance. That the Sun weighs not much more than an equal bulk of water, is taken as evidence that the matter he consists of is but little heavier than water; although, considering his enormous gravitative force, which at his surface is twenty-eight times the gravitative force at the surface of the Earth, and considering his enormous mass, which is 390,000 times that of the Earth, the matter he is made of can, in such case, have no analogy to the liquids or solids we know. However, spite of these difficulties, the current hypothesis is, that the Sun and planets, inclusive of the Earth, are either solid or liquid, or have solid crusts with liquid nuclei: their unlike specific gravities resulting from unlikenesses of substance. And indeed, at first sight, this would seem to be the only tenable supposition; seeing that, unless prevented by some immense resisting force, gravitation must obliterate any internal cavity by collapsing the surrounding liquid or solid matter.

Nevertheless, that the Earth, in common with other members of the Solar System, is solid, or else consists of a solid shell having a cavity entirely filled with molten matter, is not an established fact: it is nothing but a supposition. We must not let its familiarity and apparent feasibility delude us into an uncritical acceptance of it. If we find an alternative supposition which, physically considered, is equally possible, we are bound to consider it. And if it not only avoids the difficulties above pointed out, but many others hereafter to be mentioned, we must give it the preference.

Before proceeding to consider what the Nebular Hypothesis indicates respecting the internal structures of the Sun and planets, we may state that our reasonings, though of a kind not admitting of direct verification, are nothing more than deductions from the established principles of physics. We have submitted them to an authority not inferior to any that can be named; and while unprepared to commit himself to them, he yet sees nothing to object. Starting, then, with a rotating spheroid of aeriform matter, in the later stages of its concentration, but before it has begun to take a liquid or solid form, let us inquire what must be the actions going on in it. Mutual gravitation continually aggregates its atoms into a smaller and denser mass; and the aggregating force goes on increasing, as the common centre of gravity is approached. An obstacle to concentration, however, exists in the centrifugal force, which at this stage bears a far higher ratio to gravity than afterwards, and in a gaseous spheroid must produce a very oblate form. At the same time, the approximation of the atoms is resisted by a force which, in being overcome, is evolved as heat. This heat must be greatest where the atoms are subject to the highest pressure—namely, about the central parts. And as fast as it escapes into space, further approximation and further generation of heat must take place. But in a gaseous spheroid, having internal parts hotter than its external parts, there must be some circulation. The currents must set from the hottest region to the coolest by some particular route; and from the coolest to the hottest by some other route. In a very oblate spheroid, the coolest region must be that about the equator: the surface there bearing so large a ratio to the mass. Hence there will be currents from the centre to the equator, and others from the equator to the centre. What will be the special courses of these currents? Supposing an original state of rest, about to pass into motion in obedience to the disturbing forces, the currents commencing at the centre will follow the lines of most rapidly-decreasing density; seeing that the inertia will be least in those lines. That is to say, there will be a current from the centre towards each pole, along the axis of rotation; and the space thus continually left vacant will be filled by the collapse of matter coming in at right angles to the axis. The process cannot end here, however. If there are constant currents from the centre towards the poles, there must be a constant accumulation at the poles; the spheroid will be ever becoming more protuberant about the poles than the conditions of mechanical equilibrium permit. If, however, the mass at the poles is thus ever in excess, it must, by the forces acting on it, be constantly moved over the outer surface of the spheroid from the poles towards the equator: thus only can that form which rotation necessitates be maintained. And a further result of this transfer of matter from the centre, by way of the poles, to the equator, must be the establishment of counter-currents from the equator in diametrical lines, to the centre.

Mark now the changes of temperature that must occur in these currents. An aeriform mass ascending from the centre towards either pole, will expand as it approaches the surface, in consequence of the diminution of pressure. But expansion, involving an absorption of heat, will entail a diminished temperature; and the temperature will be further lowered by the greater freedom of radiation into space. This rarefied and cooled mass must be still more rarefied and cooled in its progress over the surface of the spheroid to the equator. Continually thrust further from the pole by the ceaseless accumulation there, it must acquire an ever-increasing rotatory motion and an ever-increasing centrifugal force: whence must follow expansion and absorption of heat. To the refrigeration thus caused must be added that resulting from radiation, which, at each advance towards the equator, will be less hindered. And when the mass we have thus followed arrives at the equator, it will have reached its maximum rarity and maximum coolness. Conversely, every portion of a current proceeding in a diametrical direction from the equator to the centre, must progressively rise in temperature; in virtue alike of the increasing pressure, the gradual arrest of motion, and the diminished rate of radiation. Note, lastly, that this circulation will go on, but slowly. As the matter proceeding from the equator towards the centre must have its rotatory motion destroyed, while that proceeding from the poles to the equator must have rotatory motion given to it, it follows that an enormous amount of inertia has to be overcome; and this must make the currents so slow as to prevent them from producing anything like an equality of temperature.

Such being the constitution of a concentrating spheroid of gaseous matter, where will the gaseous matter begin to condense into liquid? The usual assumption has been, that in a nebulous mass approaching towards the planetary form, the liquefaction will first occur at the centre. We believe this assumption is inconsistent with established physical principles.

Observe first that it is contrary to analogy. That the matter of the Earth was liquid before any of it became solid, is generally admitted. Where has it first solidified? Not at the centre, but at the surface. Now the general principles which apply to the condensation of liquid matter into solid, apply also to the condensation of gaseous matter into liquid. Hence if the once liquid substance of the Earth first solidified at the surface, the implication is that its once aeriform substance first liquified at the surface.

But we have no need to rest in analogy. On considering what must happen in a rotating gaseous spheroid having currents moving as above described, we shall see that external condensation is a corollary. A nebulous mass, when it has arrived at this stage, will consist of an aeriform mixture of various matters; the heavier and more condensible matters being contained in the rarer or less condensible, in the same way that water is contained in air. And the inference must be, that at a certain stage, some of these denser matters will be precipitated in the shape of a cloud.[P] Now, what are the laws of precipitation from gases? If a gas through which some other substance is diffused in a gaseous state, expands in consequence of the removal of pressure, it will, when the rarefaction and consequent cooling reach a certain point, begin to let fall the suspended substance. Conversely, if, a gas, saturated even with some substance, is subject to increased pressure, and is allowed to retain the additional heat which that pressure generates; so far from letting fall what it contains, it will gain the power to take up more. See then, the inference respecting condensation in a nebulous spheroid. The currents proceeding from the equator to the centre, subject to increasing pressure, and acquiring the heat due both to this increasing pressure and to arrested motion, will have no tendency to deposit their suspended substances, but rather the reverse: a formation of liquid matter at the centre of the mass will be impossible. Contrariwise, the gaseous currents moving from the centre to the poles and thence to the equator, expanding as they go, first from diminished pressure and afterwards from increased centrifugal force; and losing heat, not only by expansion, but by more rapid radiation; will have less and less power to retain the matter diffused through them. The earliest precipitation will take place in the region of extremest rarefaction; namely, about the equator. An equatorial belt of cloud will be first formed, and widened into a zone, will by-and-by begin to condense into liquid.[Q] Gradually this liquid film will extend itself on each side the equator, and encroaching on the two hemispheres, will eventually close over at the poles: thus producing a thin hollow globe, or rather spheroid, filled with gaseous matter. We do not mean that this condensation will take place at the very outermost surface; for probably, round the denser gases forming the principal mass, there will extend strata of gases too rare and too cool to be entangled in these processes. It is the surface of this inner spheroid of denser gases to which our reasoning points as the place of earliest condensation.

The internal circulation we have described, continuing, as it must, after the formation of this liquid film, there will still go on the radiation of heat, and the progressive aggregation. The film will thicken at the expense of the internal gaseous substances precipitated on it. As it thickens, as the globe contracts, and as the gravitative force augments, the pressure will increase; and the evolution and radiation of heat will go on more rapidly. Eventually, however, when the liquid shell becomes very thick, and the internal cavity relatively small, the obstacle put to the escape of heat by this thick liquid shell, with its slowly-circulating currents, will turn the scale: the temperature of the outer surface will begin to diminish, and a solid crust will form while the internal cavity is yet unobliterated.

"But what," it may be asked, "will become of this gaseous nucleus when exposed to the enormous gravitative pressure of a shell some thousands of miles thick? How can aeriform matter withstand such a pressure?" Very readily. It has been proved that even when the heat generated by compression is allowed to escape, some gases remain uncondensible by any force we can produce. An unsuccessful attempt lately made at Vienna to liquify oxygen, clearly shows this enormous resistance. The steel piston employed was literally shortened by the pressure used: and yet the gas remained unliquified! If, then, the expansive force is thus immense when the heat evolved is dissipated, what must it be when that heat is in great measure detained; as in the case we are considering? Indeed, the experiments of M. Cagniard de Latour have shown that gases may, under pressure, acquire the density of liquids while retaining the aeriform state; provided the temperature continues extremely high. In such a case, every addition to the heat is an addition to the repulsive power of the atoms: the increased pressure itself generates an increased ability to resist; and this remains true to whatever extent the compression is carried. Indeed, it is a corollary from the persistence of force, that if, under increasing pressure, a gas retains all the heat evolved, its resisting force is absolutely unlimited. Hence, the internal planetary structure we have described, is as physically stable a one as that commonly assumed.

And now let us see how this hypothesis tallies with the facts. One inference from it must be, that large masses will progress towards final consolidation more slowly than small masses. Though a large concentrating spheroid will, from its superior aggregative force, generate heat more rapidly than a small one; yet, having, relatively to its surface, a much greater quantity of heat to get rid of, it will be longer than a small one in going through the changes we have described. Consequently, at a time when the smaller members of our Solar System have arrived at so advanced a stage of aggregation as almost to have obliterated their central cavities, and so reached high specific gravities; the larger members will still be at that stage in which the central cavities bear great ratios to the surrounding shells, and will therefore have low specific gravities. This contrast is just what we find. The small planets Mercury, Venus, the Earth, and Mars, differing from each other comparatively little in density as in size, are about four times as dense as Jupiter and Uranus, and seven times as dense as Saturn and Neptune—planets exceeding them in size as oranges exceed peas; and they are four times as dense as the Sun, which in mass is nearly 5,000,000 times greater than the smallest of them. The obvious objection that this hypothesis does not explain the minor differences, serves but to introduce a further confirmation. It may be urged that Jupiter is of greater specific gravity than Saturn, though, considering his superior mass, his specific gravity should be less; and that still more anomalous is the case of the Sun, which, though containing a thousand times the matter that Jupiter does, is nearly of the same specific gravity. The solution of these difficulties lies in the modifying effects of centrifugal force. Had the various masses to be compared been all along in a state of rest, then the larger should have been uniformly the less dense. But during the concentrating process they have been rotating with various velocities. The consequent centrifugal force has in each case been in antagonism with gravitation; and, according to its amount, has hindered the concentration to a greater or less degree. The efficient aggregative force has in each case been the excess of the centripetal tendency over the centrifugal. Whence we may infer that wherever this excess has been the least, the consolidation must have been the most hindered, and the specific gravity will be the smallest. This, too, we find to be the fact. Saturn, at whose equator the centrifugal force is even now almost one-sixth of gravity, and who, by his numerous satellites, shows us how strong an antagonist to concentration it was in earlier stages of his evolution, is little more than half as dense as Jupiter, whose concentration has been hindered by a centrifugal force bearing a much smaller ratio to the centripetal.

On the other hand, the Sun, whose latter stages of aggregation have met with comparatively little of this opposition, and whose atoms tend towards their common centre with a force ten times as great as that which Jupiter's atoms are subject to, has, notwithstanding his immense bulk, reached a specific gravity as great as that of Jupiter; and he has done this partly for the reason assigned, and partly because the process of consolidation has been, and still is, actively going on, while that of Jupiter has long since almost ceased.

Before pointing out further harmonies let us meet an objection. Laplace, taking for data Jupiter's mass, diameter, and rate of rotation, calculated the degrees of compression at the poles which his centrifugal force should produce, supposing his substance to be homogeneous; and finding that the calculated amount of oblateness was greater than the actual amount, inferred that his substance must be denser towards the centre. The inference seems unavoidable; is diametrically opposed to the hypothesis of a shell of denser matter with a gaseous nucleus; and we confess that on first meeting with this fact we were inclined to think it fatal. But there is a consideration, apt to be overlooked, which completely disposes of it. A compressed elastic medium tends ever with great energy to give a spherical figure to the chamber in which it is confined. This truth is alike mathematically demonstrable, and recognized in practice by every engineer. In the case before us, the expansive power of the gaseous nucleus is such as to balance the gravitation of the shell of the planet; and this power perpetually strives to make the planet a perfect sphere. Thus the tendency of the centrifugal force to produce oblateness, is opposed not only by the force of gravity but by another force of great intensity; and hence the degree of oblateness produced is relatively small.

This difficulty being as we think, satisfactorily met, we go on to name some highly significant facts giving indirect support to our hypothesis. And first with respect to the asteroids, or planetoids, as they are otherwise called. Now that these have proved to be so numerous—now that it has become probable that beyond some sixty already discovered there are many more—the supposition of Olbers, that they are the fragments of an exploded planet which once occupied the vacant region they fill, has gained increased probability. The alternative supposition of Laplace, that they are the products of a nebulous ring which separated into many fragments instead of collapsing into a single mass, seems inconsistent with the extremely various, and in some cases extremely great, inclinations of their orbits; as well as with their similarly various and great eccentricities. For these the theory of Olbers completely accounts—indeed, it necessarily involves them; while at the same time it affords us a feasible explanation of meteors, and especially the periodic swarms of them, which would else be inexplicable. The fact, inferred from the present derangement of their orbits, that if the planetoids once formed parts of one mass, it must have exploded myriads of years ago, is no difficulty, but rather the reverse.

Taking Olbers' supposition, then, as the most tenable one, let us ask how such an explosion could have occurred. If planets are internally constituted as is commonly assumed, no conceivable cause of it can be named. A solid mass may crack and fall to pieces, but it cannot violently explode. So, too, with a liquid mass covered by a crust. Though, if contained in an unyielding shell and artificially raised to a very high temperature, a liquid might so expand as to burst the shell and simultaneously flash into vapour; yet, if contained in a yielding crust, like that of a planet, it would not do so: it would crack the crust and give off its expansive force gradually. But the planetary structure above supposed, supplies us with all the requisite conditions to an explosion, and an adequate cause for it. We have in the interior of the mass, a cavity serving as a sufficient reservoir of force. We have this cavity filled with gaseous matters of high tension. We have in the chemical affinities of these matters a source of enormous expansive power—power capable of being quite suddenly liberated. And we have in the increasing heat of the shell, consequent on progressing concentration, a cause of such instantaneous chemical change and the resulting explosion. The explanation thus supplied, of an event which there can be little doubt has occurred, and which is not otherwise accounted for, adds to the probability of the hypothesis.

One further evidence, and that not the least important, is deducible from geology. From the known rate at which the temperature rises as we pierce deeper into the substance of the Earth, it has been inferred that its solid crust is some forty miles thick. And if this be its thickness, we have a feasible explanation of volcanic phenomena, as well as of elevations and subsidences. But proceeding on the current supposition that the Earth's interior is wholly filled with molten matter, Prof. Hopkins has calculated that to cause the observed amount of precession of the equinoxes, the Earth's crust must be at least eight hundred miles thick. Here is an immense discrepancy. However imperfect may be the data from which it is calculated that the Earth is molten at forty miles deep, it seems very unlikely that this conclusion differs from the truth so widely as forty miles does from eight hundred. It seems scarcely conceivable that if the crust is thus thick, it should by its contraction and corrugation, produce mountain chains, as it has done during quite modern geologic epochs. It is not easy on this supposition to explain elevations and subsidences of small area. Neither do the phenomena of volcanoes appear comprehensible. Indeed to account for these, Prof. Hopkins has been obliged to make the gratuitous and extremely improbable assumption, that there are isolated lakes of molten matter enclosed in this thick crust, and situated, as they must be, not far from its outer surface.

But irreconcileable as appear the astronomical with the geological facts, if we take for granted that the Earth consists wholly of solid and liquid substances, they become at once reconcileable if we adopt the conclusion that the Earth has a gaseous nucleus. If there is an internal cavity of considerable diameter occupied only by aeriform matter—if the density of the surrounding shell is, as it must in that case be, greater than the current supposition implies; then there will be a larger quantity of matter contained in the equatorial protuberance, and an adequate cause for the precession. Manifestly there may be found some proportion between the central space and its envelope, which will satisfy the mechanical requirements, without involving a thicker crust than geological phenomena indicate.[R]

We conceive, then, that the hypothesis we have set forth, is in many respects preferable to that ordinarily received. We can know nothing by direct observation concerning the central parts either of our own planet or any other: indirect methods are alone possible. The idea which has been tacitly adopted, is just as speculative as that we have opposed to it; and the only question is, which harmonizes best with established facts. Thus compared, the advantage is greatly on the side of the new one. It disposes of sundry anomalies, and explains things that seem else incomprehensible. We are no longer obliged to assume such wide differences between the substances of the various planets: we need not think of any of them as like cork or water. We are shown how it happens that the larger planets have so much lower specific gravities than the smaller, instead of having higher ones, as might have been expected; and we are further shown why Saturn is the lightest of all. That Mercury is relatively so much heavier than the Sun; that Jupiter is specifically lighter than his smallest satellite; that Saturn's rings have a density one and a half times as great as Saturn; are no longer mysteries. A feasible cause is assigned for the catastrophe which produced the asteroids. And some apparently incongruous peculiarities in the Earth's structure are brought to an agreement. May we not say, then, that being deducible from the Nebular Hypothesis, this alleged planetary structure gives further indirect support to that hypothesis?

In considering the specific gravities of the heavenly bodies, we have been obliged to speak of the heat evolved by them. But we have yet to point out the fact that in their present conditions with respect to temperature, we find additional materials for building up our argument; and these too of the most substantial character.

Heat must inevitably be generated by the aggregation of diffused matter into a concrete form; and throughout our reasonings we have assumed that such generation of heat has been an accompaniment of nebular condensation. If, then, the Nebular Hypothesis be true, we ought to find in all the heavenly bodies, either present high temperature or marks of past high temperature.

As far as observation can reach, the facts prove to be what theory requires. Various evidences conspire to show that, below a certain depth, the Earth is still molten. And that it was once wholly molten, is implied by the circumstance that the rate at which the temperature increases on descending below its surface, is such as would be found in a mass that had been cooling for an indefinite period. The Moon, too, shows us, by its corrugations and its conspicuous volcanoes, that in it there has been a process of refrigeration and contraction, like that which had gone on in the Earth. And in Venus, the existence of mountains similarly indicates an igneous reaction of the interior upon a solidifying crust. On the common theory of creation, these phenomena are inexplicable. To what end the Earth should once have existed in a molten state, incapable of supporting life, it cannot say. To satisfy this supposition, the Earth should have been originally created in a state fit for the assumed purposes of creation; and similarly with the other planets. While, therefore, to the Nebular Hypothesis the evidence of original incandescence and still continued internal heat, furnish strong confirmation, they are, to the antagonist hypothesis, insurmountable difficulties.

But the argument from temperature does not end here. There remains to be noticed a more conspicuous and still more significant fact. If the Solar System was formed by the concentration of diffused matter, which evolved heat while gravitating into its present dense form; then there are certain obvious corollaries respecting the relative temperatures of the resulting bodies. Other things equal, the latest-formed mass will be the latest in cooling—will, for an almost infinite time, possess a greater heat than the earlier-formed ones. Other things equal, the largest mass will, because of its superior aggregative force, become hotter than the others, and radiate more intensely. Other things equal, the largest mass, notwithstanding the higher temperature it reaches, will, in consequence of its relatively small surface, be the slowest in losing its evolved heat. And hence, if there is one mass which was not only formed after the rest, but exceeds them enormously in size, it follows that this one will reach an intensity of incandescence much beyond that reached by the rest; and will continue in a state of intense incandescence long after the rest have cooled.

Such a mass we have in the Sun. It is a corollary from the Nebular Hypothesis, that the matter forming the Sun assumed its present concrete form, at a period much more recent than that at which the planets became definite bodies. The quantity of matter contained in the Sun is nearly five million times that contained in the smallest planet, and above a thousand times that contained in the largest. And while, from the enormous gravitative force of the atoms, the evolution of heat has been intense, the facilities of radiation have been relatively small. Hence the still-continued high temperature. Just that condition of the central body which is a necessary inference from the Nebular Hypothesis, we find actually existing in the Sun.

It may be well to consider a little more closely, what is the probable condition of the Sun's surface. Round the globe of incandescent molten substances, thus conceived to form the visible body of the Sun, there is known to exist a voluminous atmosphere: the inferior brilliancy of the Sun's border, and the appearances during a total eclipse, alike show this.[S] What now must be the constitution of this atmosphere? At a temperature approaching a thousand times that of molten iron, which is the calculated temperature of the solar surface, very many, if not all, of the substances we know as solid, would become gaseous; and though the Sun's enormous attractive force must be a powerful check on this tendency to assume the form of vapour, yet it cannot be questioned that if the body of the Sun consists of molten substances, some of them must be constantly undergoing evaporation. That the dense gases thus continually being generated will form the entire mass of the solar atmosphere, is not probable. If anything is to be inferred, either from the Nebular Hypothesis, or from the analogies supplied by the planets, it must be concluded that the outermost part of the solar atmosphere consists of what are called permanent gases—gases that are not condensible into fluid even at low temperatures. If we consider what must have been the state of things here, when the surface of the Earth was molten, we shall see that round the still molten surface of the Sun, there probably exists a stratum of dense aeriform matter, made up of sublimed metals and metallic compounds, and above this a stratum of comparatively rare medium analogous to air. What now will happen with these two strata? Did they both consist of permanent gases, they could not remain separate: according to a well-known law, they would eventually form a homogeneous mixture. But this will by no means happen when the lower stratum consists of matters that are gaseous only at excessively high temperatures. Given off from a molten surface, ascending, expanding, and cooling, these will presently reach a limit of elevation above which they cannot exist as vapour, but must condense and precipitate. Meanwhile the upper stratum, habitually charged with its quantum of these denser matters, as our air with its quantum of water, and ready to deposit them on any depression of temperature, must be habitually unable to take up any more of the lower stratum; and therefore this lower stratum will remain quite distinct from it.

Since the foregoing paragraph was originally published, in 1858, the proposition it enunciates as a corollary from the Nebular Hypothesis, has been in great part verified. The marvellous disclosures made by spectrum-analysis, have proved beyond the possibility of doubt, that the solar atmosphere contains, in a gaseous state, the metals, iron, calcium, magnesium, sodium, chromium, and nickel, along with small quantities of barium, copper, and zinc. That there exist in the solar atmosphere other metals like those which we have on the Earth, is probable; and that it contains elements which are unknown to us, is very possible.

Be this as it may, however, the proposition that the Sun's atmosphere consists largely of metallic vapours, must take rank as an established truth; and that the incandescent body of the Sun consists of molten metals, follows almost of necessity. That an À priori inference which probably seemed to many readers wildly speculative, should be thus conclusively justified by observations, made without reference to any theory, is a striking fact; and it gives yet further support to the hypothesis from which this À priori conclusion was drawn. It may be well to add that Kirchhoff, to whom we owe this discovery respecting the constitution of the solar atmosphere, himself remarks in his memoir of 1861, that the facts disclosed are in harmony with the Nebular Hypothesis.

And here let us not omit to note also, the significant bearing which Kirchhoff's results have on the doctrine contended for in a foregoing section. Leaving out the barium, copper, and zinc, of which the quantities are inferred to be small, the metals existing as vapours in the Sun's atmosphere, and by consequence as molten in his incandescent body, have an average specific gravity of 4·25. But the average specific gravity of the Sun is about 1. How is this discrepancy to be explained? To say that the Sun consists almost wholly of the three lighter metals named, would be quite unwarranted by the evidence: the results of spectrum-analysis would just as much warrant the assertion that the Sun consists almost wholly of the three heavier. Three metals (two of them heavy) having been already left out of the estimate because their quantities appear to be small, the only legitimate assumption on which to base an estimate of specific gravity, is that the rest are present in something like equal amounts. Is it then that the lighter metals exist in larger proportions in the molten mass, though not in the atmosphere? This is very unlikely: the known habitudes of matter rather imply that the reverse is the case. Is it then that under the conditions of temperature and gravitation existing in the Sun, the state of liquid aggregation is wholly unlike that existing here? This is a very strong assumption: it is one for which our terrestrial experiences afford no adequate warrant; and if such unlikeness exists, it is very improbable that it should produce so immense a contrast in specific gravity as that of 4 to 1. The more legitimate conclusion is that the Sun's body is not made up of molten matter all through; but that it consists of a molten shell with a gaseous nucleus. And this we have seen to be a corollary from the Nebular Hypothesis.

Considered in their ensemble, the several groups of evidences assigned amount almost to proof. We have seen that, when critically examined, the speculations of late years current respecting the nature of the nebulÆ, commit their promulgators to sundry absurdities; while, on the other hand, we see that the various appearances these nebulÆ present, are explicable as different stages in the precipitation and aggregation of diffused matter. We find that comets, alike by their physical constitution, their immensely-elongated and variously-directed orbits, the distribution of those orbits, and their manifest structural relation to the Solar System, bear testimony to the past existence of that system in a nebulous form. Not only do those obvious peculiarities in the motions of the planets which first suggested the Nebular Hypothesis, supply proofs of it, but on closer examination we discover, in the slightly-diverging inclinations of their orbits, in their various rates of rotation, and their differently-directed axes of rotation, that the planets yield us yet further testimony; while the satellites, by sundry traits, and especially by their occurrence in greater or less abundance where the hypothesis implies greater or less abundance, confirm this testimony. By tracing out the process of planetary condensation, we are led to conclusions respecting the internal structure of planets which at once explain their anomalous specific gravities, and at the same time reconcile various seemingly contradictory facts. Once more, it turns out that what is À priori inferable from the Nebular Hypothesis respecting the temperatures of the resulting bodies, is just what observation establishes; and that both the absolute and the relative temperatures of the Sun and planets are thus accounted for. When we contemplate these various evidences in their totality—when we observe that, by the Nebular Hypothesis, the leading phenomena of the Solar System, and the heavens in general, are explicable; and when, on the other hand, we consider that the current cosmogony is not only without a single fact to stand on, but is at variance with all our positive knowledge of Nature; we see that the proof becomes overwhelming.

It remains only to point out that while the genesis of the Solar System, and of countless other systems like it, is thus rendered comprehensible, the ultimate mystery continues as great as ever. The problem of existence is not solved: it is simply removed further back. The Nebular Hypothesis throws no light on the origin of diffused matter; and diffused matter as much needs accounting for as concrete matter. The genesis of an atom is not easier to conceive than the genesis of a planet. Nay, indeed, so far from making the Universe a less mystery than before, it makes it a greater mystery. Creation by manufacture is a much lower thing than creation by evolution. A man can put together a machine; but he cannot make a machine develop itself. The ingenious artizan, able as some have been, so far to imitate vitality as to produce a mechanical pianoforte-player, may in some sort conceive how, by greater skill, a complete man might be artificially produced; but he is unable to conceive how such a complex organism gradually arises out of a minute structureless germ. That our harmonious universe once existed potentially as formless diffused matter, and has slowly grown into its present organized state, is a far more astonishing fact than would have been its formation after the artificial method vulgarly supposed. Those who hold it legitimate to argue from phenomena to noumena, may rightly contend that the Nebular Hypothesis implies a First Cause as much transcending "the mechanical God of Paley," as this does the fetish of the savage.

[I] Cosmos. (Seventh Edition.) Vol. i. pp. 79, 80.