Orion fighting the Bull. Above are Orion's two dogsOrion fighting the Bull. Above are Orion's two dogs
The Little Bear, the Queen in her chair, the Twins and the ArcherThe Little Bear, the Queen in her chair, the Twins and the Archer
How the Great Bear looked to the people who named it thousands of years ago, we probably shall never know. They left no books or drawings, so far as I know. But in every dictionary and book on astronomy you can find these bears and other animals drawn so carefully and beautifully that it seems as if theymustbe in the sky, and we must be too dull to see them. It is not so. Look at the pictures in this book and, you will see that the stars do not outline the animals. Many of them come at the wrong places. And so it is with all the costly books and charts and planispheres. It is all very interesting, but it isn't true. It's just fancy. And when you once understand that it isn't true, you will begin to enjoy the fancy. Many a smile you will have, and sometimes a good laugh. For instance, the English children call the Dipper "Charles's wain" or "the wagon." And the Romans called it "the plough." They thought of those seven stars as oxen drawing a plough.
Well, that's enough about the two Bears. I want to tell you about the other three constellations you can nearly always see. These are the Chair, the Charioteer, and Perseus (pronouncedper'soos).
The Chair is the easiest to find, because it is like a very bad W, and it is always directly opposite the big Dipper, with the Pole star half way between the two constellations. There are five stars in the W, and to make the W into a Chair you must add a fainter star which helps to make the square bottom of the chair. But what a crazy piece of furniture! I have seen several ways of drawing it, but none of them makes a comfortable chair. I should either fall over backward, or else the back of the chair would prod me in the small of my back. The correct name of this constellation is Cassiopeia's Chair.
I think this is enough to see and enjoy in one night. To-morrow night let us look for the Charioteer.
I love the Charioteer for several reasons. One is that it makes a beautiful pentagon, or five-sided figure, with its five brightest stars. Another is that it contains the second-brightest star in the northern part of the heavens, Capella. The only star in the north that is brighter is Vega, but Vega is bluish white or creamy.
If you haven't already found the five-sided figure, I will tell you how to find Capella. Suppose you had a gun that would shoot anything as far as you wish. Shoot a white string right through the Pointers and hit the Pole star. Then place your gun at the Pole star and turn it till it is at right angles to that string you shot. Aim away from the big Dipper, shoot a bullet forty-five degrees and it will hit Capella.
If that plan doesn't work, try this. Start with thestar that is at the bottom of the Dipper and nearest the handle. Draw a line half-way between the two Pointers and keep on till you come to the first bright star. This is Capella, and the distance is about fifty degrees.
Capella means "a kid," or "little goat," and that reminds me of the third reason why I enjoy so much the constellation of which Capella is the brightest star. In the old times they sometimes called this five-sided figure "the goat-carrier." And the shepherds thought they could see a man carrying a little goat in his left hand. I am sure you can see the kid they meant. It is a triangle of faint stars which you see near Capella. That's enough for to-night.
To-morrow night let us look for Perseus. I dare say you know that old tale about Perseus rescuing the princess who was chained upon a rock. (He cut off the snaky head of Medusa and showed it to the dragon that was going to devour the princess, and it turned the monster to stone. Remember?) Well, there are constellations named after all the people in that story, but although they contain many showy stars, I could never make them look like a hero, a princess, a king, and a queen. I do not even try to trace out all of Perseus. For I am satisfied to enjoy a very beautiful part of it which is called the "Arc of Perseus."
An arc, you know, is a portion of a circle. And the way to find this arc is to draw a curve from Capella to Cassiopeia. On nights that are not veryclear I can see about seven stars in this Arc of Perseus. And the reason I love it so much is that it is the most beautiful thing, when seen through an opera-glass, that I know. You could never imagine that a mere opera-glass would make such a difference. The moment I put it to my eyes about a dozen more stars suddenly leap into my sight in and near the Arc of Perseus. That's enough. No more stories to-night.
By winter constellations I mean those you can see in winter at the pleasantest time—the early evening. And I want you to begin with the Northern Cross. I hope you can see this before Christmas, for, after that, it may be hidden by trees or buildings in the west and you may not see it again for a long while. This is because the stars seem to rise in the east and set in the west. To prove this, choose some brilliant star you can see at five or six o'clock; get it in line with some bush or other object over which you can just see it. Put a stake where you stand, and then go to the same spot about eight o'clock or just before you go to bed. You can tell at once how much the star seems to have moved westward.
Another thing, every star rises four minutes later every night, and therefore the sky looks a little different at the same hour every evening. The stars in the north set for a short time only, but when those toward the south set they are gone a long time. For instance, the brightest star of all is Sirius, the Dog Star, which really belongs to the southern hemisphere. There are only about three months in the year when children who go to bed by seveno'clock can see it—January, February, and March.
So now you understand why I am so eager that you should not miss the pleasure of seeing the famous Northern Cross. But although it is a big cross, and easy to find, after you know it, I have never yet known a boy who could show it to another boy simply by pointing at it. The surest and best way to find it is learn three bright stars first—Altair, Vega, and Deneb.
Altair is the brightest star in the Milky Way. It is just at the edge of the Milky Way, and you are to look for three stars in a straight line, with the middle one brightest. Those three stars make the constellation called "the Eagle." The body of the eagle is Altair, and the other two stars are the wings. I should say that Altair is about five degrees from each of his companions. It is worth half an hour's patient search to find the Eagle. Now these three stars in the Eagle point straight toward the brightest star in the northern part of the sky—Vega.
To make sure of it, notice four fainter stars near it which make a parallelogram—a sort of diamond. These stars are all part of a constellation called "the Lyre." If you try to trace out the old musical instrument, you will be disappointed; but here is a game worth while. Can you see a small triangle made by three stars, of which Vega is one? Well, one of those stars is double, and with an opera-glass you can see which it is. On very clear nights somepeople with very sharp eyes can see them lying close together, but I never could.
At last we are ready to find the celebrated Northern Cross. First draw a line from Altair to Vega. Then draw a line at right angles to this, until you come to another bright star—Deneb—which is about as far from Vega as Vega is from Altair. Now this beautiful star, Deneb, is the top of the Northern Cross. I can't tell you whether the Cross will be right or wrong side up when you see it, or on its side. For every constellation is likely to change its position during the night, as you know from watching the Dipper. But you can tell the Cross by these things. There are six stars in it. It is like a kite made of two sticks. There are three stars in the crosspiece and four in the long piece. Deneb, the brightest star in the cross, is at the top of the long stick.
But you mustn't expect to see a perfect cross. There is one star that is a little out of place, and sometimes my fingers fairly "itch to put it where it belongs." It is the one that ought to be where the long stick of your kite is tacked to the crosspiece. And one of the stars is provokingly faint, but you can see it. Counting straight down the long piece, it is the third one from Deneb that is faint. It is where it ought to be, but I should like to make it brighter. Have you the Cross now? If not, have patience. You can't be a "true sport" unless you are patient. You can't be a great ball-player, or hunter, or any thing else, without resisting, every day,that sudden impulse to "quit the game" when you lose. Be a "good loser," smile and try again. That is better than to give up, or to win by cheating or sharp practice.
This is the last thing I want you to see in the northern part of the sky; and if you have done a good job, let us celebrate by having a story.
Once upon a time a cross didn't mean so much to the world as it does now. That was before Christ was born. In those old times people did not think of the Northern Cross as a cross. They thought of it as a Swan, and you can see the Swan if you turn the Cross upside down. Deneb will then be in the tail of the Swan, and the two stars which used to be at the tips of the crosspiece now become the wings. Is that a true story? Yes. If we lived in Arabia the children there could tell us what Deneb means. It means "the tail."
Another story? Well, do you see the star in the beak of the Swan, or foot of the Cross? What color is it? White? Well, they say this white star is really made up of two stars—one yellow and the other blue. That is one reason I want to buy a telescope when I can afford it, for even the smallest telescope will show that. And Mr. Serviss says that even a strong field-glass will help any one see this wonder.
I can't tell you about all the winter constellations in one chapter. We have made friends of the northern ones. Now let's see the famous southern ones. And let's start a new chapter.
The most gorgeous constellation in the whole sky is Orion. I really pity any one who does not know it, because it has more bright stars in it than any other group. Besides, it doesn't take much imagination to see this mighty hunter fighting the great Bull. I dare say half the people in the United States know Orion and can tell him as quick as they see him by the famous "belt of Orion."
This belt is made of three stars, each of which is just one degree from the next. That is why the English people call these three stars "the ell and yard." Another name for them is "the three kings." You can see the "sword of Orion" hanging down from his belt.
As soon as you see these things you will see the four bright stars that outline the figure of the great hunter, but only two of them are of the first magnitude. The red one has a hard name—Betelgeuse (pronouncedbet-el-guz´). That is a Frenchified word from the Arabic, meaning "armpit," because this star marks the right shoulder of Orion. The other first-magnitude star is the big white one in the left foot. Its name is Rigel (pronouncedre´-jel) from an Arabian word meaning "the foot."
You can see the giant now, I am sure. Over his left arm hangs a lion's skin which he holds out to shield him from the bull's horns. See the shield—about four rather faint stars in a pretty good curve? Now look for his club which he holds up with his right hand so as to smite the bull. See the arm and the club—about seven stars in a rather poor curve—beyond the red star Betelgeuse? Now you have him, and isn't he a wonder!
It is even easier to see the Bull which is trying to gore Orion. Look where Orion is threatening to strike, and you will see a V. How many stars in that V? Five. And which is the brightest? That red one at the top of the left branch of the V? Yes. That V is the face of the Bull and that red star is the baleful eye of the angry Bull which is lowering his head and trying to toss Orion. The name of that red eye is Aldebaran (pronouncedal-deb´-ar-an).
I wish Aldebaran meant "red eye," but it doesn't. It is an old Arabian word meaning the "hindmost," or the "follower," because every evening it comes into view about an hour after you can see the famous group of stars called the Pleiades, which are in the shoulder of the Bull.
I do not care to trace the outline of this enormous bull, but his horns are a great deal longer than you think at first. If you will extend the two arms of that V a long way you will see two stars which may be called the tips of his horns. One of these stars really belongs in another constellation—our oldfriend the Charioteer, the one including Capella. Wow! what a pair of horns!
But now we come to the daintiest of all constellations—the Seven Sisters, or Pleiades (pronouncedplee´-a-deez).
I can see only six of them, and there is a famous old tale about the "lost Pleiad." But I needn't describe them. Every child finds them by instinct. Some compare them to a swarm of bees; some to a rosette of diamonds; some to dewdrops. But I would not compare them to a dipper as some do, because the real Little Dipper is very different. The light that seems to drip from the Pleiades is quivering, misty, romantic, magical. No wonder many children love the Pleiades best of all the constellations. No wonder the poets have praised them for thousands of years. The oldest piece of poetry about them that I know of was written about 1,500 years before Christ. You can find it in the book of Job. But the most poetic description of the Pleiades that I have ever read is in Tennyson's poem "Locksley Hall," in which he says they "glitter like a swarm of fireflies tangled in a silver braid."
There are a great many old tales about the lost Pleiad. One is that she veiled her face because the ancient city of Troy was burned. Another story says she ceased to be a goddess when she married a man and became mortal. Some people think she was struck by lightning. Others believe the big star,Canopus, came by and ran away with her. Still others declare she was a new star that appeared suddenly once upon a time, and after a while faded away.
For myself, I do not believe any of these stories. One reason why I don't is that a seventh star is really there, and many people can really see it. Indeed, there are some people so sharp-eyed that on clear nights they can see anywhere from eight to eleven. And, what is more, they can draw a map or chart showing just where each star seems to them to be.
But the most wonderful stories about the Pleiades are the true stories. One is that there are really more than 3,000 stars among the Pleiades. Some of them can be seen only with the biggest telescopes. Others are revealed only by the spectroscope. And some can be found only by means of photography.
But the most amazing thing about the Pleiades is the distances between them. They look so close together that you would probably say "the moon seems bigger than all of them put together." Sometimes the moon comes near the Pleiades, and you expect that the moon will blot them all out. But the astronomers say the full moon sails through the Pleiades and covers only one of them at a time, as a rule. They even say it is possible for the moon to pass through the Pleiades without touching one of them! I should like to see that. If anything like it is going to occur, the magazine I spoke of in thefirst chapter will tell me about it. And you'd better believe I will stay up to see that, if it takes all night!
There are two more constellations in the southern part of the sky that ought to be interesting, because they are the two hunting dogs that help Orion fight the Bull. But I can't trace these animals, and I don't believe it is worth while. The brightest stars in them everybody can see and admire—Sirius, the Bigger Dog, and Procyon, the Smaller Dog.
Every one ought to know Sirius, because he is the brightest star of all. (Of course, he is not so bright as Venus and Jupiter, but they are planets.) To find him, draw a line from the eye of the Bull through the belt of Orion and extend it toward the southeast about twenty degrees. They call him the Dog star because he follows the heels of Orion. And people still call the hottest days of summer "dog days" because 400 years before Christ the Romans noticed that the Dog star rose just before the sun at that time. The Romans thought he chased the sun across the sky all day and therefore was responsible for the great heat. But that was a foolish explanation. And so is the old notion that dogs are likely to go mad during the dog days "because the dog star is in the ascendant." So is the idea that Sirius is an unlucky star.
There are no lucky or unlucky stars. These are all superstitions, and we ought to be ashamed to believe any superstition. Yet for thousands of yearsbefore we had public schools and learned to know better, people believed that every one was born under a lucky star or an unlucky one, and they believe that farmers ought to plant or not plant, according to the size of the moon. Now we know that is all bosh. Those old superstitions have done more harm than good. One of the most harmful was the belief in witches. Let us resolve never to be afraid of these old tales, but laugh at them.
Why should anybody be afraid of anything so lovely as Sirius? I used to think Sirius twinkled more than any other star. But that was bad reasoning on my part. I might have noticed that every star twinkles more near the horizon than toward the zenith. I might have noticed that stars twinkle more on clear, frosty nights than when there is a little uniform haze. And putting those two facts together I might have reasoned that the stars never really twinkle at all; they only seem to. I might have concluded that the twinkling is all due to the atmosphere—that blanket of air which wraps the earth around. The nearer the earth, the thicker the air, and the more it interferes with the light that comes to us from the stars.
They say that Sirius never looks exactly alike on two successive nights. "It has a hundred moods," says Mr. Serviss, "according to the state of the atmosphere. By turns it flames, it sparkles, it glows, it blazes, it flares, it flashes, it contracts to a point, and sometimes when the air is still, it burns with asteady white light." (Quotation somewhat altered and condensed.)
It is a pity that so fine a star as Procyon should be called the "Smaller Dog," because it suffers unjustly by comparison with Sirius. If it were in some other part of the sky we might appreciate it more, because it is brighter than most of the fifteen first-magnitude stars we can see. My brother William has grown to love it, but perhaps that is because he always "sympathizes with the under dog." He was the youngest brother and knows. And curiously enough he was nicknamed "the dog"—just why, I don't know.
To find Procyon, drawn a line from Sirius northeast about twenty degrees. And to make sure, draw one east from Betelgeuse about the same distance. These three stars make a triangle of which the sides are almost equal.
The name Procyon means "before the dog" referring to the fact that you can see him fifteen or twenty minutes earlier every night than you can see Sirius.
The only kind word about Procyon I have heard in recent years was in connection with that miserable business of Dr. Cook and the North Pole. A Captain Somebody-or-other was making observations for Dr. Cook, and he wanted to know what time it was. He had no watch and didn't want to disturb any one. So he looked out of the window and saw by the star Procyon that it was eleven o'clock.
That sounds mysterious, but it is easy if you have a planisphere like ours. Last winter when we were all enjoying Orion, the Bull, and the two Dogs, I used to whirl the planisphere around to see where they would be at six o'clock at night, at eight, at ten, at midnight, and even at six o'clock in the morning. And so, if I waked up in the night I could tell what time it was without even turning my head. Sometimes I looked out of my window, saw Orion nearly overhead and knew it must be midnight. And sometimes I woke up just before daybreak and saw the great Bull backing down out of sight in the west, the mighty Hunter still brandishing his club, and his faithful Dogs following at his heels.
There are only seven more constellations that seem to me interesting enough for every one to know and love all his life. These are:
The Lion (Spring)The Herdsman (Summer)The Twins (Spring)The Northern Crown (Summer)The Virgin (Summer)The Scorpion (Summer)Southern Fish (Autumn)
I have named the seasons when, according to some people, these constellations are most enjoyable. But these are not the only times when you can see them. (If you had that seventy-five-cent planisphere, now, you could always tell which constellations are visible and just where to find them.) No matter what time of year you read this chapter, it is worth while to go out and look for these marvels. You can't possibly miss them all.
Have you ever seen a Sickle in the sky? It's a beauty, and whenever I have seen it it has been turned very conveniently for me, because I am left-handed. It is so easy to find that I am almost ashamed to tell. But if you need help, draw a line through the Pointers backward, away from the Pole star, about forty degrees, and it will come a littlewest of the Sickle. The Sickle is only part of the Lion—the head and the forequarters. Only fanciful map-makers can trace the rest of the Lion. The bright star at the end of the handle is Regulus, which means "king," from the stupid old notion that this star ruled the lives of men. To this day people speak of the "Royal Star," meaning Regulus. And at the end of this chapter I will tell you about three other stars which the Persians called "royal stars."
Another constellation which children particularly love is the Twins—Castor and Pollux. But the sailors got there first! For thousands of years the twins have been supposed to bring good luck to sailors. I don't believe a word of it. But I do know that sailors gloat over Castor and Pollux, and like them better than any other stars. The whole constellation includes all the stars east of the Bull and between the Charioteer and Procyon. But another way to outline the twins is to look northeast of Orion where you will see two rows of stars that run nearly parallel. To me the brothers seem to be standing, but all the old picture-makers show them sitting with their arms around each other, the two brightest stars being their eyes. The eyes are about five degrees apart—the same as the Pointers.
Pollux is now brighter than Castor, but for thousands of years it was just the other way. It is only within three hundred years that this change has taken place. Whether Castor has faded or Pollux brightened, or both, I do not know. Anyhow,Castor is not quite bright enough to be a first magnitude star. Three hundred years is a short time in the history of man, and only a speck in the history of the stars. Three hundred years ago they killed people in Europe just because of the church they went to. That was why the Pilgrim Fathers sailed from England in 1620, and made the first permanent settlement in America, except, of course, Jamestown, Va., in 1607.
There are plenty of stories about old Castor and Pollux, and, like all the other myths, they conflict, more or less. But all agree that these two brothers went with Jason in the ship Argo, shared his adventures and helped him get the golden fleece. And all agree that Castor and Pollux were "born fighters." And that is why the Roman soldiers looked up to these stars and prayed to them to help them win their battles.
Now for the four summer constellations every one ought to know. The first thing to look for is two famous red or reddish stars—Arcturus and Antares.
The way you find Arcturus is amusing. Look for the Big Dipper and find the star at the bottom of the dipper nearest the handle. Got it? Now draw a curve that will connect it with all the stars in the handle, and when you come to the end of the handle keep on till you come to the first very bright star—about twenty-five degrees. That is the monstrous star Arcturus, probably the biggest and swiftest star we can ever see with the naked eye inthe northern hemisphere. He is several times as big as our sun, and his diameter is supposed to be several million miles. He is called a "runaway sun," because he is rushing through space at the rate of between two hundred and three hundred miles a second. That means between seventeen and thirty-four million miles a day!
He is coming toward us, too! At such a rate you might think that Arcturus would have smashed the earth to pieces long ago. But he is still very far away, and there is no danger. Some people say that if Job were to come to life, the sky would seem just the same to him as it did 3,400 years ago. The only difference he might notice would be in Arcturus. That would seem to him out of place by a distance about three times the apparent diameter of the moon.
Some people believe this because Job said, "Canst thou guide Arcturus with his sons?" and therefore they imagine that he meant this red star. But I believe he meant the Big Dipper. For in King James's time, when the Bible was translated into English, the word "Arcturus" meant the Big Dipper or rather the Great Bear. And for centuries before it meant the Great Bear. One proof of it is that "Arcturus" comes from an old Greek word meaning "bear"—the same word from which we get arctic. It is only within a few hundred years that astronomers have agreed to call the Great Bear "Ursa Major," and this red star Arcturus. So Ithink all the books which say Job mentioned this red star are mistaken. I believe Webster's Dictionary is correct in this matter, and I believe the Revised Version translates Job's Hebrew phrase more correctly when it says, "Canst thou guide the Bear with her train?"
Anyhow, Arcturus is a splendid star—the brightest in the constellation called the "Herdsman" or Boötes. It is not worth while to trace the Herdsman, but here is an interesting question. Is Arcturus really red? The books mostly say he is yellow. They say he looks red when he is low in the sky, and yellow when he is high. How does he look to you? More yellow than red?
Well, there's no doubt about Antares being red. To find him, draw a long line from Regulus through Arcturus to Antares, Arcturus being more than half way between the other two. But if Regulus and the Sickle are not visible, draw a line from Altair, at right angles to the Eagle, until you come to a bright star about sixty degrees away. You can't miss Antares, for he is the only red star in that part of the sky.
Antares belongs to a showy constellation called the Scorpion. I cannot trace all the outline of a spider-like creature, but his poisonous tail or "stinger" is made by a curved line of stars south and east of Antares. And you can make a pretty fan by joining Antares to several stars in a curve which are west of Antares and a little north. Thereis an old tale that this Scorpion is the one that stung Orion to death when he began to "show off" and boast that there was no animal in the world that could kill him.
Another very bright star in the southern part of the sky is Spica. To find it, start with the handle of the Dipper, and making the same backward curve which helped you to find Arcturus, keep on till you come to the white star Spica—say thirty degrees beyond Arcturus. This is the brightest star in the constellation called "the Virgin." It is not worth while trying to trace her among nearly forty faint stars in this neighbourhood. But she is supposed to be a winged goddess who holds up in her right hand anear of wheat, and that is what Spica means.
Now for an autumn constellation—the Southern Fish. I don't care if you fail to outline a fish, but I do want you to see the bright star that is supposed to be in the fish's mouth. And I don't want you to balk at its hard name—Fomalhaut (pronouncedfo´-mal-o). It is worth a lot of trouble to know it as a friend. To find it, you have to draw an exceedingly long line two-thirds of the way across the whole sky. Start with the Pointers. Draw a line through them and the Pole star and keep clear on until you come to a solitary bright star rather low down in the south. That is Fomalhaut. It looks lonely and is lonely, even when you look at it through a telescope.
And now for the last story. Once upon a timethe Persians thought there must be four stars that rule the lives of men. So they picked out one in the north and one in the south and one in the east and one in the west, just as if they were looking for four bright stars to mark the points of the compass. If you want to find them yourself without my help don't read the next sentence, but shut this book and go out and see. Then write down on a piece of paper the stars you have selected and compare them with the list I am about to give. Here are the four royal stars of the Persians: Fomalhaut for the north, Regulus for the south, Aldebaran for the east, and Antares for the west.
Why doesn't this list agree with yours? Because Persia is so far south of where we live. Ah, there are very few things that are absolutely true. Let's remember that and not be too sure: for everything depends upon the point of view! I hope you will see Fomalhaut before Christmas, before he disappears in the west. He is with us only five months and is always low—near the horizon. But the other seven months in the year he gladdens the children of South America and the rest of the southern hemisphere, for they see him sweeping high and lonely far up into their sky and down again.
But the loveliest of all the constellations described in this chapter is the Northern Crown. It is not a perfect crown—only about half a circle—but enough to suggest a complete ring. Look for it east of Arcturus. I can see seven or eight stars inthe half-circle, one of which is brighter than all the others. That one is called "the Pearl." The whole constellation is only fifteen degrees long, but "fine things come in small packages"; and children grow to love the Northern Crown almost as much as they love the Pleiades.
If you have seen everything I have described so far, you have reason to be happy. For now you know sixteen of the most famous constellations and fifteen of the twenty brightest stars. There are only twenty stars of the first magnitude. "Magnitude" ought to mean size, but it doesn't. It means brightness—or rather the apparent brightness—of the stars when seen by us. The word magnitude was used in the old days before telescopes, when people thought the brighter a star is the bigger it must be. Now we know that the nearer a star is to us the brighter it is, and the farther away the fainter. Some of the bright stars are comparatively near us, some are very far. Deneb and Canopus are so far away that it takes over three hundred years for their light to reach us. What whoppers they must be—many times as big as our sun.
Here is a full list of the twenty stars of the first magnitude arranged in the order of their brightness. You will find this table very useful.
StarsPronouncedConstellationInteresting factsSiriussir´i-usBig DogBrightest star. Nearest star visible in Northern hemisphereCanopus*ca-no´pusShip ArgoPerhaps the largest body in universeAlpha Centauri*al´fa sen-taw´reCentaurNearest star. Light four years awayVegave´gaLyreBrightest star in the Northern sky. BluishCapellaca-pell´aCharioteerRivals Vega, but opposite the pole. YellowishArcturusark-tu´rusHerdsmanSwiftest of the bright stars. 200 miles a secondRigelre´jelOrionBrightest star in Orion. White star in left footProcyonpro´si-onLittle DogBefore the dog. Rises a little before SiriusAchernar*a-ker´narRiver PoMeans the end of the riverBeta Centauri*ba´ta sen-taw´reCentaurThis and its mate point to the Southern CrossAltairal-tare´EagleHelps you find Vega and Northern CrossBetelgeusebet-el-guz´OrionMeans "armpit." The red star in the right shoulderAlpha Crucis*al´fa cru´sisSouthern CrossAt the base of the most famous Southern constellationAldebaranal-deb´a-ranBullThe red eye in the VPolluxpol´luxTwinsBrighter than CastorSpicaspi´caVirginMeans ear of wheatAntaresan-ta´rezScorpionRed star. Name means "looks like Mars"Fomalhautfo´mal-oSouthern FishThe lonely star in the Southern skyDenebden´ebSwanTop of Northern Cross, or tail of SwanRegulusreg´u-lusLionThe end of the handle of the Sickle
The five stars marked * belong to the Southern hemisphere, and we can never see them unless we travel far south. Last winter I went to Florida and saw Canopus, but to see the Southern Cross you should cross the Tropic of Cancer.
All I can hope to do in this book is to get you enthusiastic about astronomy. I don't mean "gushy." Look in the dictionary and you will find that the enthusiast is not the faddist. He is the one who sticks to a subject for a lifetime.
Nor do I care a rap whether you become an astronomer—or even buy a telescope. There will be always astronomers coming on, but there are too few people who know and love even a few of the stars. I want you to make popular astronomy a life-long hobby. Perhaps you may have to drop it for ten or fifteen years. Never mind, you will take up the study again. I can't expect you to read a book on stars if you are fighting to make a living or support a family, unless it really rests you to read about the stars. It does rest me. When things go wrong at the office or at home, I can generally find rest and comfort from music. And if the sky is clear, I can look at the stars, and my cares suddenly seem small and drop away.
Let me tell you why and how you can get the very best the stars have to teach you, without mathematics or telescope. Follow this programme and you need never be afraid of hard work, or of exhaustingthe pleasures of the subject. Go to your public library and get one of the books I recommend in this chapter, and read whatever interests you. I don't care whether you take up planets before comets or comets before planets, but whatever you do do it well. Soak the interesting facts right in. Nail them down. See everything the book talks about. Make notes of things to watch for. Get a little blank book and write down the date you first saw each thing of interest. Write down the names of the constellations you love most. Before you lay down any star book you are reading, jot down the most wonderful and inspiring thing you have read—even if you have only time to write a single word that may recall it all to you. Treasure that little note book as long as you live. Every year it will get more precious to you.
Now for the books:
1.Martin.The Friendly Stars.Harper & Brothers, New York, 1907.
This book teaches you first the twenty brightest stars and then the constellations. I cannot say that this, or any other, is the "best book," but it has helped me most, and I suppose it is only natural that we should love best the first book that introduces us to a delightful subject.
2.Serviss.Astronomy with the Naked Eye.Harper & Brothers, New York, 1908.
This teaches you the constellations first and thebrightest stars incidentally. Also it gives the old myths.
3.Serviss.Astronomy with an Opera-Glass.D. Appleton & Co., New York, 1906.
4.Serviss.Pleasures of the Telescope.D. Appleton & Co., New York, 1905.
5.Milham.How to Identify the Stars.The Macmillan Co., New York, 1909.
This gives a list of eighty-eight constellations, including thirty-six southern ones, and has tracings of twenty-eight.
6.Elson.Star Gazer's Handbook.Sturgis & Walton Co., New York, 1909.
About the briefest and cheapest. Has good charts and makes a specialty of the myths.
7.Serviss.Curiosities of the Sky.Harper & Brothers, New York.
Tells about comets, asteroids, shooting stars, life on Mars, nebulæ, temporary stars, coal-sacks, Milky Way, and other wonders.
8.Ball.Starland.Ginn & Co., Boston, New York, etc., 1899.
This tells about a great many interesting experiments in astronomy that children can make.
If I had only a dollar or less to spend on astronomy I should buy a planisphere. I got mine from Thomas Whittaker, No. 2 Bible House, New York. It cost seventy-five cents, and will tell you where to find any star at any time in the year. It doesnot show the planets, however. A planisphere that will show the planets costs about five dollars. However, there are only two very showy planets, viz., Venus and Jupiter. Any almanac will tell you (for nothing) when each of these is morning star, and when each of them is evening star.
The best newspaper about stars, as far as I know, is a magazine calledThe Monthly Evening Sky Map, published by Leon Barritt, 150 Nassau St., New York. It costs a dollar a year. It gives a chart every month, showing all the planets, and all the constellations. Also it tells you about the interesting things, like comets, before they come.
Good-bye. I hope you will never cease to learn about and love the earth and the sky. Perhaps you think you have learned a great deal already. But your pleasures have only begun. Wait till you learn about how the world began, the sun and all his planets, the distances between the stars, and the millions of blazing suns amid the Milky Way!
THE END
THE END
THE SKY IN WINTERTHE SKY IN WINTER
Note.—These simplified star maps are not as accurate as a planisphere, but they may be easier for children. All star maps are like ordinary maps, except that east and west are transposed. The reason for this is that you can hold a star map over your head, with the pole star toward the north, and the map will then match the sky. These maps contain some constellations that are only for grown-ups to study. The Winter constellations every child should know are:
Auriga, the CharioteerCanis Major, the Big DogCanis Minor, the Little DogCassiopeia, the Queen in Her ChairCygnus, the SwanLeo, the LionOrion, the HunterPerseus, Which Has the ArcTaurus, the BullUrsa Major, the Great BearUrsa Minor, the Little Bear
THE SKY IN SPRINGTHE SKY IN SPRING
Note.—Once upon a time all the educated people spoke Latin. It was the nearest approach to a universal language. So most of the constellations have Latin names. The English, French and German names are all different, but if all children would learn the Latin names they could understand one another. The Spring constellations every child should know are:
Leo, the LionLyra, the LyreCassiopeia, the Queen in her ChairScorpio, the ScorpionUrsa Major, the Great BearUrsa Minor, the Little BearVirgo, the Virgin