Still more striking was the discovery of an entirely new and most remarkable species of nebulæ. These were termed "spiral," from the more or less regular convolutions, resembling the whorls of a shell, in which the matter composing them appeared to be distributed. The first and most conspicuous specimen of this class was met with in April, 1845; it is situated in Canes Venatici, close to the tail of the Great Bear, and wore, in Sir J. Herschel's instruments, the aspect of a split ring encompassing a bright nucleus, thus presenting, as he supposed, a complete analogue to the system of the Milky Way. In the Rosse mirror it shone out as a vast whirlpool of light—a stupendous witness to the presence of cosmical activities on the grandest scale, yet regulated by laws as to the nature of which we are profoundly ignorant. Professor Stephen Alexander of New Jersey, however, concluded, from an investigation (necessarily founded on highly precarious data) of the mechanical condition of these extraordinary agglomerations, that we see in them "the partially scattered fragments of enormous masses once rotating in a state of dynamical equilibrium." He further suggested "that the separation of these fragments may still be in progress,"[329] and traced back their origin to the disruption, through its own continually accelerated rotation, of a "primitive spheroid" of inconceivably vast dimensions. Such also, it was added (the curvilinear form of certain outliers of the Milky Way giving evidence of a spiral structure), is probably the history of our own cluster; the stars composing which, no longer held together in a delicately adjusted system like that of the sun and planets, are advancing through a period of seeming confusion towards an appointed goal of higher order and more perfect and harmonious adaptation.[330]
The class of spiral nebulæ included, in 1850, fourteen members, besides several in which the characteristic arrangement seemed partial or dubious.[331] A tendency in the exterior stars of other clusters to gather into curved branches (as in our Galaxy) was likewise noted; and the existence of unsuspected analogies was proclaimed by the significant combination in the "Owl" nebula (a large planetary in Ursa Major)[332] of the twisted forms of a spiral with the perforated effect distinctive of an annular nebula. Once more, by the achievements of the Parsonstown reflector, the supposition of a "shining fluid" filling vast regions of space was brought into (as it has since proved) undeserved discredit. Although Lord Rosse himself rejected the inference, that because many nebulæ had been resolved, all were resolvable, very few imitated his truly scientific caution; and the results of Bond's investigations[333] with the Harvard College refractor quickened and strengthened the current of prevalent opinion. It is now certain that the evidence furnished on both sides of the Atlantic as to the stellar composition of some conspicuous objects of this class (notably the Orion and "Dumb-bell" nebulæ) was delusive; but the spectroscope alone was capable of meeting it with a categorical denial. Meanwhile there seemed good ground for the persuasion, which now, for the last time, gained the upper hand, that nebulæ are, without exception, true "island-universes," or assemblages of distant suns.
Lord Rosse's telescope possesses a nominal power of 6,000—that is, it shows the moon as if viewed with the naked eye at a distance of forty miles. But this seeming advantage is neutralised by the weakening of the available light through excessive diffusion, as well as by the troubles of the surging sea of air through which the observation must necessarily be made. Professor Newcomb, in fact, doubts whether with any telescope our satellite has ever been seen to such advantage as it would be if brought within 500 miles of the unarmed eye.[334]
The French opticians' rule of doubling the number of millimetres contained in the aperture of an instrument to find the highest magnifying power usually applicable to it, would give 3,600 as the maximum for the leviathan of Birr Castle; but in a climate like that of Ireland the occasions must be rare when even that limit can be reached. Indeed, the experience acquired by its use plainly shows that atmospheric rather than mechanical difficulties impede a still further increase of telescopic power. Its construction may accordingly be said to mark the ne plus ultra of effort in one direction, and the beginning of its conversion towards another. It became thenceforward more and more obvious that the conditions of observation must be ameliorated before any added efficacy could be given to it. The full effect of an uncertain climate in nullifying optical improvements was recognised, and the attention of astronomers began to be turned towards the advantages offered by more tranquil and more translucent skies.
Scarcely less important for the practical uses of astronomy than the optical qualities of the telescope is the manner of its mounting. The most admirable performance of the optician can render but unsatisfactory service if its mechanical accessories are ill-arranged or inconvenient. Thus the astronomer is ultimately dependent upon the mechanician; and so excellently have his needs been served, that the history of the ingenious contrivances by which discoveries have been prepared would supply a subject (here barely glanced at) not far inferior in extent and instruction to the history of those discoveries themselves.
There are two chief modes of using the telescope, to which all others may be considered subordinate.[335] Either it may be invariably directed towards the south, with no motion save in the plane of the meridian, so as to intercept the heavenly bodies at the moment of transit across that plain; or it may be arranged so as to follow the daily revolution of the sky, thus keeping the object viewed permanently in sight instead of simply noting the instant of its flitting across the telescopic field. The first plan is that of the "transit instrument," the second that of the "equatoreal." Both were, by a remarkable coincidence, introduced about 1690[336] by Olaus Römer, the brilliant Danish astronomer who first measured the velocity of light.
The uses of each are entirely different. With the transit, the really fundamental task of astronomy—the determination of the movements of the heavenly bodies—is mainly accomplished; while the investigation of their nature and peculiarities is best conducted with the equatoreal. One is the instrument of mathematical, the other of descriptive astronomy. One furnishes the materials with which theories are constructed and the tests by which they are corrected; the other registers new facts, takes note of new appearances, sounds the depths and peers into every nook of the heavens.
The great improvement of giving to a telescope equatoreally mounted an automatic movement by connecting it with clockwork, was proposed in 1674 by Robert Hooke. Bradley in 1721 actually observed Mars with a telescope "moved by a machine that made it keep pace with the stars;"[337] and Von Zach relates[338] that he had once followed Sirius for twelve hours with a "heliostat" of Ramsden's construction. But these eighteenth-century attempts were of no practical effect. Movement by clockwork was virtually a complete novelty when it was adopted by Fraunhofer in 1824 to the Dorpat refractor. By simply giving to an axis unvaryingly directed towards the celestial pole an equable rotation with a period of twenty-four hours, a telescope attached to it, and pointed in any direction, will trace out on the sky a parallel of declination, thus necessarily accompanying the movement of any star upon which it may be fixed. It accordingly forms part of the large sum of Fraunhofer's merits to have secured this inestimable advantage to observers.
Sir John Herschel considered that Lassell's application of equatoreal mounting to a nine-inch Newtonian in 1840 made an epoch in the history of "that eminently British instrument, the reflecting telescope."[339] Nearly a century earlier,[340] it is true, Short had fitted one of his Gregorians to a complicated system of circles in such a manner that, by moving a handle, it could be made to follow the revolution of the sky; but the arrangement did not obtain, nor did it deserve, general adoption. Lassell's plan was a totally different one; he employed the crossed axes of the true equatoreal, and his success removed, to a great extent, the fatal objection of inconvenience in use, until then unanswerably urged against reflectors. The very largest of these can now be mounted equatoreally; even the Rosse, within its limited range, has been for some years provided with a movement by clockwork along declination-parallels.
The art of accurately dividing circular arcs into the minute equal parts which serve as the units of astronomical measurement, remained, during the whole of the eighteenth century, almost exclusively in English hands. It was brought to a high degree of perfection by Graham, Bird and Ramsden, all of whom, however, gave the preference to the old-fashioned mural quadrant and zenith-sector over the entire circle, which Römer had already found the advantage of employing. The five-foot vertical circle, which Piazzi with some difficulty induced Ramsden to complete for him in 1789, was the first divided instrument constructed in what may be called the modern style. It was provided with magnifiers for reading off the divisions (one of the neglected improvements of Römer), and was set up above a smaller horizontal circle, forming an "altitude and azimuth" combination (again Römer's invention), by which both the elevation of a celestial object above the horizon and its position as referred to the horizon could be measured. In the same year, Borda invented the "repeating circle" (the principle of which had been suggested by Tobias Mayer in 1756[341]), a device for exterminating, so far as possible, errors of graduation by repeating an observation with different parts of the limb. This was perhaps the earliest systematic effort to correct the imperfections of instruments by the manner of their use.