THE SKY

EVERY FAMILY A "STAR CLUB"

The best family hobby we have ever had is the stars. We have a star club with no dues to pay, no officers to boss us, and only three rules:

1. We shall have nothing but "fun" in this club—no hard work. Therefore no mathematics for us!

2. We can't afford a telescope. Therefore we must be satisfied with what bright eyes can see.

3. No second-hand wonders for us! We want to see the things ourselves, instead of depending on books.

You can't imagine what pleasure we have had in one short year! The baby, of course, was too young to learn anything, and besides he was in bed long before the stars came out. But Ruth, our seven-year-old, knows ten of the fifteen brightest stars; and she can pick out twelve of the most beautiful groups or constellations. We grown-ups know all of the brightest stars, and all forty-eight of the most famous constellations. And the whole time we have given to it would not exceed ten minutes a day!

And the best part is the way we know the stars. The sky is no longer bewildering to us. The stars are not cold, strange, mysterious. They are friends. We know their faces just as easily as you know your playmates. For instance, we know Sirius, because he is the brightest. We know Castor and Pollux, because they are twins. We know Regulus, because he is in the handle of the Sickle. And some we know by their colours. They are just as different as President Taft, "Ty" Cobb, Horace Fletcher and Maude Adams. And quite as interesting!

What's more, none of us can ever get lost again. No matter what strange woods or city we go to, we never get "turned around." Or if we do, we quickly find the right way by means of the sun or the stars.

Then, too, our star club gives us all a little exercise when we need it most. Winter is the time when we all work hardest and have the fewest outdoor games. Winter is also the best time for young children to enjoy the stars, because it gets dark earlier in winter—by five o'clock, or long before children go to bed. It is pleasant to go out doors for half an hour before supper and learn one new star or constellation.

Again, it is always entertaining because every night you find the old friends in new places. No two nights are just the same. The changes of the moon make a great difference. Some nights you enjoy the moonlight; other nights you wish there were no moon, because it keeps you from spying out some new star. We have a little magazine that tells us all the news of the stars and the planets and the comets before the things happen! We pay a dollar a year for it. It is called the Monthly Evening Sky Map.

When we first became enthusiastic about stars, the father of our family said: "Well, I think our Star Club will last about two years. I judge it will cost us about two dollars and we shall get about twenty dollars worth of fun out of it." But in all three respects father was mistaken.

Part of the two dollars father spoke of went for a book called "The Friendly Stars," and seventy-five cents we spent for the most entertaining thing our family ever bought—a planisphere. This is a device which enables us to tell just where any star is, at any time, day or night, the whole year. It has a disc which revolves. All we have to do is to move it until the month and the day come right opposite the very hour we are looking at it, and then we can tell in a moment which stars can be seen at that time. Then we go down the street where there is a good electric light at the corner and we hold our planisphere up, almost straight overhead. The light shines through, so that we can read it, and it is just as if we had a map of the heavens. We can pick out all the interesting constellations and name them just as easily as we could find the Great Lakes or Rocky Mountains in our geography.

We became so eager not to miss any good thing that father got another book. Every birthday in our family brought a new star book, until now we have about a dozen—all of them interesting and not one of them having mathematics that children cannot understand. So I think we have spent on stars fifteen dollars more than we needed to spend (but I'm glad we did it), and I think we have had about two hundred dollars worth of fun! Yes, when I think what young people spend on ball games, fishing, tennis, skating, and all the other things that children love, I am sure our family has had about two hundred dollars worth of fun out of stars. And there is more to come!

You would laugh to know why I enjoy stars so much. I have always studied birds and flowers and trees and rocks and shells so much that I was afraid to get interested in stars. I thought it wouldn't rest me. But it's a totally different kind of science from any I ever studied! There are no families, genera, and species among the stars, thank Heaven! That's one reason they refresh me. Another is that no one can press them and put them in a herbarium, or shoot them and put them in a museum. And another thing about them that brings balm to my spirit is that no human being can destroy their beauty. No one can "sub-divide" Capella and fill it with tenements. No one can use Vega for a bill-board. Ah, well! we must not be disturbed if every member of our family has a different point of view toward the stars; we can all enjoy and love them in our own ways.

How would you like to start a Star Club like ours? You ought to be able to persuade your family to form one, because it need not cost a cent. Perhaps this book will interest them all, but the better way is for you to read about one constellation and then go out with some of the family and find it. This book does not tell about wonderful things you can never see; it tells about the wonderful things all of us can see.

I wish you success with your Star Club. Perhaps your uncles and aunts will start clubs, too. We have three Star Clubs in our family—one in New York, one in Michigan, and one in Colorado. Last winter the "Colorado Star Gazers" sent this challenge to the "New Jersey Night-Owls:" "We bet you can't see Venus by daylight!"

That seemed possible, because during that week the "evening star" was by far the brightest object in the sky. But father and daughter searched the sky before sunset in vain, and finally we had to ask the "Moonstruck Michiganders" how to see Venus while the sun was shining. Back came these directions on a postal-card: "Wait until it is dark and any one can see Venus. Then find some tree, or other object, which is in line with Venus and over which you can just see her. Put a stake where you stand. Next day go there half an hour before sunset, and stand a little to the west. You will see Venus as big as life. The next afternoon you can find her by four o'clock. And if you keep on you will see her day before yesterday!"

That was a great "stunt." We did it; and there are dozens like it you can do. And that reminds me that father was mistaken about our interest lasting only two years. We know that it will not die till we do. For, even if we never get a telescope, there will always be new things to see. Our club has still to catch Algol, the "demon's eye," which goes out and gleams forth every three days, because it is obscured by some dark planet we can never see. And we have never yet seen Mira the wonderful, which for some mysterious reason dies down to ninth magnitude and then blazes up to second magnitude every eleventh month.

Ah, yes, the wonders and the beauties of astronomy ever deepen and widen. Better make friends with the stars now. For when you are old there are no friends like old friends.

THE DIPPERS AND THE POLE STAR

I never heard of any boy or girl who didn't know the Big Dipper. But there is one very pleasant thing about the Dipper which children never seem to know. With the aid of these seven magnificent stars you can find all the other interesting stars and constellations. So true is this that a book has been written called "The Stars through a Dipper."

To illustrate, do you know the Pointers? I mean the two stars on the front side of the Dipper. They point almost directly toward the Pole star, or North star, the correct name of which is Polaris. Most children can see the Pole star at once because it is the only bright star in that part of the heavens.

But if you can't be sure you see the right one, a funny thing happens. Your friend will try to show you by pointing, but even if you look straight along his arm you can't always be sure. And then, if he tries to tell you how far one star is from another, he will try to show you by holding his arms apart. But that fails also. And so, we all soon learn the easiest and surest way to point out stars and measure distances.

The easiest way to tell any one how to find a star is to get three stars in a straight line, or else at right angles.

The surest way to tell any one how far one star is from another is by "degrees." You know what degrees are, because every circle is divided into 360 of them. And if you will think a moment, you will understand why we can see only half the sky at any one time, or 180 degrees, because the other half of the sky is on the other side of the earth. Therefore, if you draw a straight line from one horizon, clear up to the top of the sky and down to the opposite horizon, it is 180 degrees long. And, of course, it is only half that distance, or 90 degrees, from horizon to zenith. (Horizon is the point where earth and sky seem to meet, and zenith is the point straight over your head.)

Now ninety degrees is a mighty big distance in the sky. The Pole star is nothing like ninety degrees from the Dipper. It is only twenty-five degrees, or about five times the distance between the Pointers. And now comes the only thing I will ask you to remember. Look well at the two Pointers, because the distance between them, five degrees, is the most convenient "foot rule" for the sky that you will ever find. Most of the stars you will want to talk about are from two to five times that distance from some other star that you and your friends are sure of. Perhaps this is a little hard to understand. If so, read it over several times, or get some one to explain it to you, for when you grasp it, it will unlock almost as many pleasures as a key to the store you like the best.

Now, let's try our new-found ruler. Let us see if it will help us find the eighth star in the Dipper. That's a famous test of sharp eyes. I don't want to spoil your pleasure by telling you too soon where it is. Perhaps you would rather see how sharp your eyes are before reading any further. But if you can't find the eighth star, I will tell you where to look.

Look at the second star in the Dipper, counting from the end of the handle. That is a famous star called Mizar. Now look all around Mizar, and then, if you can't see a little one near it, try to measure off one degree. To do this, look at the Pointers and try to measure off about a fifth of the distance between them. Then look about one degree (or less) from Mizar, and I am sure you will see the little beauty—its name is Alcor, which means "the cavalier" or companion. The two are sometimes called "the horse and rider"; another name for Alcor is Saidak, which means "the test." I shall be very much disappointed if you cannot see Saidak, because it is not considered a hard test nowadays for sharp eyes.

Aren't these interesting names? Mizar, Alcor, Saidak. They sound so Arabian, and remind one of the "Arabian Nights." At first, some of them will seem hard, but you will come to love these old names. I dare say many of these star names are 4,000 years old. Shepherds and sailors were the first astronomers. The sailors had to steer by the stars, and the shepherds could lie on the ground and enjoy them without having to twist their necks. They saw and named Alcor, thousands of years before telescopes were invented, and long before there were any books to help them. They saw the demon star, too, which I have never seen. It needs patience to see those things; sharp eyes are nothing to be proud of, because they are given to us. But patience is something to be eager about, because it costs us a lot of trouble to get it.

Let's try for it. We've had a test of sight. Now let's have a test of patience. It takes more patience than sharpness of sight to trace the outline of the Little Dipper. It has seven stars, too, and the Pole star is in the end of the handle. Do you see two rather bright stars about twenty-five degrees from the Pole? I hope so, for they are the only brightish stars anywhere near Polaris. Well, those two stars are in the outer rim of the Little Dipper. Now, I think you can trace it all; but to make sure you see the real thing, I will tell you the last secret. The handle of the Big Dipper is bent back; the handle of the Little Dipper is bent in.

Now, if you have done all this faithfully, you have worked hard enough, and I will reward you with a story. Once upon a time there was a princess named Callisto, and the great god Jupiter fell in love with her. Naturally, Jupiter's wife, Juno, wasn't pleased, so she changed the princess into a bear. But before this happened, Callisto became the mother of a little boy named Arcas, who grew up to be a mighty hunter. One day he saw a bear and he was going to kill it, not knowing that the bear was really his own mother. Luckily Jupiter interfered and saved their lives. He changed Arcas into a bear and put both bears into the sky. Callisto is the Big Bear, and Arcas is the Little Bear. But Juno was angry at that, and so she went to the wife of the Ocean and said, "Please, never let these bears come to your home." So the wife of the Ocean said, "I will never let them sink beneath the waves." And that is why the Big and the Little Dipper never set. They always whirl around the Pole star. And that is why you can always see them, though some nights you would have to sit up very late.

Is that a true story? No. But, I can tell you a true one that is even more wonderful. Once upon a time, before the bear story was invented and before people had tin dippers, they used to think of the Little Dipper as a little dog. And so they gave a funny name to the Pole star. They called it Cynosura, which means "the dog's tail." We sometimes say of a great man, "he was the cynosure of all eyes," meaning that everybody looked at him. But the original cynosure was and is the Pole star, because all the stars in the sky seem to revolve around it. The two Dippers chase round it once every twenty-four hours, as you can convince yourself some night when you stay up late. So that's all for to-night.

What! You want another true story? Well, just one more. Once upon a time the Big Dipper was a perfect cross. That was about 50,000 years ago. Fifty thousand years from now the Big Dipper will look like a steamer chair. How do I know that? Because, the two stars at opposite ends of the Dipper are going in a direction different from the other five stars. How do I know that? Why, I don't know it. I just believe it. There are lots of things I don't know, and I'm not afraid to say so. I hope you will learn how to say "I don't know." It's infinitely better than guessing; it saves trouble, and people like you better, because they see you are honest. I don't know how the stars in the Big Dipper are moving, but the men who look through telescopes and study mathematics say the end stars do move in a direction opposite to the others, and they say the Dipper must have looked like a cross, and will look like a dipper long, long after we are dead. And I believe them.

CONSTELLATIONS YOU CAN ALWAYS SEE

There are forty-eight well known constellations, but of these only about a dozen are easy to know. I think a dozen is quite enough for children to learn. And therefore, I shall tell you how to find only the showiest and most interesting.

The best way to begin is to describe the ones that you can see almost every night in the year, because you may want to begin any month in the year, and you might be discouraged if I talked about things nobody could see in that month. There are five constellations you can nearly always see, and these are all near the Pole star.

Doubtless you think you know two of them already—the Big and the Little Dipper. Ah, I forgot to tell you that these dippers are not the real thing. They are merely parts of bigger constellations and their real names are Great Bear and Little Bear. The oldest names are the right ones. Thousands of years ago, when the Greeks named these groups of stars, they thought they looked like two bears. I can't see the resemblance.

But for that matter all the figures in the sky are disappointing. The people who named the constellations called them lions, and fishes, and horses, and hunters, and they thought they could see a dolphin, a snake, a dragon, a crow, a crab, a bull, a ram, a swan, and other things. But nowadays we cannot see those creatures. We can see the stars plainly enough, and they do make groups, but they do not look like animals. I was greatly disappointed when I was told this; but I soon got over it, because new wonders are always coming on. I think the only honest thing to do is to tell you right at the start that you cannot see these creatures very well. You will spoil your pleasure unless you take these resemblances good-naturedly and with a light heart. And you will also spoil your pleasure if you scold the ancients for naming the constellations badly. Nobody in the world would change those old names now. There is too much pleasure in them. Besides, I doubt if we could do much better. I believe those old folks were better observers than we. And I believe they had a lighter fancy.

Let us, too, be fanciful for once. I have asked my friend, Mrs. Thomas, to draw her notion of some of these famous creatures of the sky. You can draw your idea of them too, and it is pleasant to compare drawings with friends. There is only one way to see anything like a Great Bear. You have to imagine the Dipper upside down and make the handle of the Dipper serve for the Bear's tail. What a funny bear to drag a long tail on the ground! Miss Martin says he looks more like a chubby hobby-horse. You will have to make the bowl of the Dipper into hind legs and use all the other stars, somehow, to make a big, clumsy, four-legged animal. And what a monster he is! He measures twenty-five degrees from the tip of his nose to the root of his tail. Yes, all those miscellaneous faint stars you see near the Big Dipper belong to the Great Bear.

Orion fighting the Bull. Above are Orion's two dogs

The 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 they must be 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 (pronounced per'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 the star 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 very clear 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.

WINTER CONSTELLATIONS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ORION, HIS DOGS, AND THE BULL

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 (pronounced bet-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 (pronounced re´-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 (pronounced al-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 old friend 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 (pronounced plee´-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 the first 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 years before 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 a steady 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.

SEVEN FAMOUS CONSTELLATIONS

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 little west 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 in the 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 I think 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. There is 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 an ear 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 (pronounced fo´-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 time the 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 in the 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.

THE TWENTY BRIGHTEST STARS

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 facts
Siriussir´i-usBig DogBrightest star. Nearest star visible in Northern hemisphere
Canopus*ca-no´pusShip ArgoPerhaps the largest body in universe
Alpha Centauri*al´fa sen-taw´reCentaurNearest star. Light four years away
Vegave´gaLyreBrightest star in the Northern sky. Bluish
Capellaca-pell´aCharioteerRivals Vega, but opposite the pole. Yellowish
Arcturusark-tu´rusHerdsmanSwiftest of the bright stars. 200 miles a second
Rigelre´jelOrionBrightest star in Orion. White star in left foot
Procyonpro´si-onLittle DogBefore the dog. Rises a little before Sirius
Achernar*a-ker´narRiver PoMeans the end of the river
Beta Centauri*ba´ta sen-taw´reCentaurThis and its mate point to the Southern Cross
Altairal-tare´EagleHelps you find Vega and Northern Cross
Betelgeusebet-el-guz´OrionMeans "armpit." The red star in the right shoulder
Alpha Crucis*al´fa cru´sisSouthern CrossAt the base of the most famous Southern constellation
Aldebaranal-deb´a-ranBullThe red eye in the V
Polluxpol´luxTwinsBrighter than Castor
Spicaspi´caVirginMeans ear of wheat
Antaresan-ta´rezScorpionRed star. Name means "looks like Mars"
Fomalhautfo´mal-oSouthern FishThe lonely star in the Southern sky
Denebden´ebSwanTop of Northern Cross, or tail of Swan
Regulusreg´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.

HOW TO LEARN MORE

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 exhausting the 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 the brightest 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 does not 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 called The 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 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 Charioteer
Canis Major, the Big Dog
Canis Minor, the Little Dog
Cassiopeia, the Queen in Her Chair
Cygnus, the Swan
Leo, the Lion
Orion, the Hunter
Perseus, Which Has the Arc
Taurus, the Bull
Ursa Major, the Great Bear
Ursa Minor, the Little Bear

THE 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 Lion
Lyra, the Lyre
Cassiopeia, the Queen in her Chair
Scorpio, the Scorpion
Ursa Major, the Great Bear
Ursa Minor, the Little Bear
Virgo, the Virgin

THE SKY IN SUMMER

Note.—Every sky map is good for three months, in this way: If this is correct on June 1st at 10 P.M., it will be correct July 1st at 8 P.M., and August 1st at 6 P.M. This is because the stars rise four minutes earlier every night. Thus, after thirty days, any star will rise thirty times four minutes earlier, or 120 minutes, or two hours. Children need not learn all the Summer constellations. The most interesting are:

Auriga, the Charioteer
Canis Major, the Big Dog
Cygnus, the Swan
Lyra, the Lyre
Scorpio, the Scorpion

THE SKY IN AUTUMN

Note.—This book tells how to find all the most interesting stars and constellations without maps, but many people prefer them. How to use star maps is explained under "The Sky in Winter." The Autumn constellations most interesting to children are:

Aquila, the Eagle
Auriga, the Charioteer
Cassiopeia, the Queen in Her Chair
Cygnus, the Swan
Lyra, the Lyre
Perseus, Which Has the Arc
Taurus, the Bull
Ursa Major, the Great Bear
Ursa Minor, the Little Bear

Transcriber's notes

Page [124] "streams, runing" corrected to "streams, running"
Page [127] "where he globe" corrected to "where the globe"
Page [138] "ceatures to prove" corrected to "creatures to prove"
Page [216] "this consellation is" corrected to "this constellation is"
Page [203] "Everybirth day" corrected to "Every birthday"