TELESCOPIC VIEWS OF LUNAR SCENERY.
I have already warned you not to expect too much, even with the biggest of telescopes; and just as a caution, I may, perhaps, tell you a story I once heard of an astronomer who had a great telescope. It was a very famous instrument, and people often came to the Observatory at night to enjoy a look at the heavens. Sometimes these visitors were grave philosophers, but frequently they were not very accomplished men of science. One evening such a visitor came to the Observatory, and sent in his name and an introduction to the astronomer, with a request that he might enter the temple of mystery. The astronomer courteously welcomed the stranger, and asked him what he specially desired to see.
“Oh!” said the visitor, “I have specially come to see the moon—that is the object I am particularly interested about.”
“But,” said the astronomer, “my dear sir, I would show you the moon with pleasure, if you were here at the proper time; but what brings you here now? Look up; the evening is fine. There are the stars shining brightly, but where is the moon? You see it is not up at present. In fact, it won’t rise till about half-past two to-morrow morning, and it is only nine o’clock now. Come back again in five or six hours, and you shall observe the moon with the great telescope.”
But the visitor evidently thought the astronomer was merely trying to get rid of him by a pretext. And he was equal to the occasion—he was not going to be put off in that way.
“Of course, the moon is not up,” he replied; “any one can see that, and that is the reason why I have come, for if the moon had been up, I could have seen it without your telescope at all!”
Although no explorer can ever reach our satellite, yet it is hardly an exaggeration to say that in some respects we know the geography of the moon a good deal better than we know the geography of the earth. Think of the continent of Africa. In that great country there are mighty tracts, there are vast lakes and ranges of mountains, of which we know but little. We could make a better map of Africa, so far at least as its broad outlines are concerned, if it were fastened up on our side of the moon than we actually possess at this moment. There is no spot on the nearer side of the moon as large as an ordinary parish in this country which has not been surveyed. There are maps and charts of the moon showing every part of it, which is as big as a good-sized field. Indeed, as there are no lunar clouds, the features of its surface are never obscured whenever our own atmosphere will permit us to make our observation. Artists have frequently sketched the lunar features, and there is plenty of material for them to work on. We have also had photographs taken of the moon, but there is a special difficulty to be encountered in taking photographs of celestial bodies which photographers of familiar objects on this earth do not experience. For a photograph to be successful, everybody knows that the first requisite is for the sitter to stay quiet while the plate is being exposed. This is, unhappily, just what the moon cannot do. We endeavor to obviate the difficulty by moving the telescope round so as to follow the moon in its progress. This can be done with considerable accuracy, but, unfortunately, there is another difficulty which lies entirely beyond our control. As the rays of light from the moon perform their journey through hundreds of miles of unsteady air, the rays are bent hither and thither, so that the picture is more affected by the atmosphere than in the case of a photographer’s portrait taken in the studio. If we are merely viewing the moon through the telescope, the quivering effect on the rays of this long atmospheric voyage, though rather inconvenient, does not prevent us from seeing the object, and we can readily detect the true shape of each feature in spite of incessant fluctuations. When, however, these rays fall not on the eye, but on the photographic plate, they produce by their motion a picture which cannot be much magnified without becoming very confused and wanting in sharpness. Nevertheless, for the general outlines of our satellite’s appearance and for the portraiture of its splendid features we have derived the greatest assistance from photography.
Fig. 40.—The Full Moon.
The adjoining picture ([Fig. 40]) gives a fair idea of what the full moon looks like when viewed through a small telescope. I do not, however, say that the lunar objects can then be observed under favorable conditions; for when the moon is full is the very worst time for making observations of our satellite. In fact, at this phase you can hardly see anything except slight differences between the colors of different parts. The best time for observing the moon is at the first quarter; but even then you can only observe satisfactorily those objects which happen to lie along the border between light and shade. To study the moon properly you must, therefore, watch it during several different phases, from the time when it presents a thin and delicate crescent (just after new moon) until it has again waned to a thin and delicate crescent (just before the next new moon). We want the relief given by shadows to bring out the full beauty of lunar scenery.
On the map you will first notice the large dark-colored patches which are so conspicuous on the moon’s face. They are, apparently, the empty basins which great seas once filled. But if water was ever there it has at all events now quite disappeared. These dark parts are, no doubt, a good deal smoother than the rest of the surface; but we can see many little irregularities which tell us that we are not looking at oceans. The chief features I want you to observe are the curious rings which you see in the figure; there is a very well-marked one a little below the centre, and in the upper part many rings—large and small—are crowded together. We call them lunar craters. You will see what they are like from the model, of which a picture is shown in [Fig. 42]. But to realize from this picture the proper scale of the object, you should imagine it to be some miles in width. The cliffs which rise all round to form the wall, as well as the mountain which adorns the centre, are quite as high as any of the mountains in Great Britain.
Fig. 41.—View on the Moon.
(By Lœwy and Puiseux, Paris Observatory.)
The large central crater is Hipparchus and above it is Albategnius.
Fig. 42.—Our Model of a Lunar Crater.
You may desire to know how we are able to measure the heights of mountains on the moon. That is what I am now going to show you; and for this purpose we shall look at our imitation lunar crater. Here is the great ring, or circular enclosure, surrounded by cliffs, and here is a sharp mountain peak rising in the centre. I shall ask to have the beam from the electric lamp turned on our model. You see how prettily it is lighted up. I have placed the lamp so that the beams are sloping; and I have done this with the express object of making the shadows long. In fact, as we look at a lunar crater, which lies on the border between light and shade, the sun illuminates the object under the same conditions as those shown in the figure. I dare say you have often noticed what long shadows are cast at sunset. Similar shadows are made to teach the astronomer the altitudes of the lunar mountains; for he measures the length of the shadow, and then by a little calculation he can find the height of the object by which that shadow has been cast. I shall suppose that we want to measure the height of a flagstaff ([Fig. 43]). It is quite possible to do this by merely measuring the length of the shadow which that flagstaff casts at noon. It would not be correct to say that the height of the flagstaff is the length of its shadow. This will, indeed, be the case if you are fortunate enough to make your measurement at or near London on either the 6th of April or the 5th of September. On all other days in the year a little calculation must be made, which I need not now mention, but which the astronomer, with the aid of his Nautical Almanac, can do in a very few minutes. In a similar manner, by measuring the lengths of the shadows on the moon, and by finding the number of miles in the shadow, we are able to calculate the altitudes of the lunar mountains and of the ranges of cliffs by which the walled plains are surrounded.
Fig. 43.—How we found the Height of the Flagstaff.