Were it not for the power the atmosphere has of dispersing the solar light, and scattering it in various directions, no objects would be visible to us out of direct sunshine; every shadow of a passing cloud would involve us in midnight darkness; the stars would be visible all day; and every apartment into which the sun had not direct admission would be involved in the obscurity of night. This scattering action of the atmosphere on the solar light is greatly increased by the irregularity of temperature caused by the sun, which throws the atmosphere into a constant state of undulation; and by thus bringing together masses of air of different temperatures, produces partial reflections and refractions at their common boundaries, by which means much light is turned aside from a direct course, and diverted to the purposes of general illumination.[6] In the upper regions of the atmosphere, as on the tops of very high mountains, where the air is too much rarefied to reflect much light, the sky assumes a black appearance, and stars become visible in the day time.
Although the atmosphere is usually so transparent, that it is invisible to us, yet we as truly move and live in a fluid as fishes that swim in the sea. Considered in comparison with the whole earth, the atmosphere is to be regarded as a thin layer investing the surface, like a film of water covering the surface of an orange. Its actual height, however, is over a hundred miles, though we cannot assign its precise boundaries. Being perfectly elastic, the lower portions, bearing as they do, the weight of all the mass above them, are greatly compressed, while the upper portions having little to oppose the natural tendency of air to expand, diffuse themselves widely. The consequence is, that the atmosphere undergoes a rapid diminution of density, as we ascend from the earth, and soon becomes exceedingly rare. At so moderate a height as seven miles, it is four times rarer than at the surface, and continues to grow rare in the same proportion, namely, being four times less for every seven miles of ascent. It is only, therefore, within a few miles of the earth, that the atmosphere is sufficiently dense to sustain clouds and vapors, which seldom rise so high as eight miles, and are usually much nearer to the earth than this. So rare does the air become on the top of Mount Chimborazo, in South America, that it is incompetent to support most of the birds that fly near the level of the sea. The condor, a bird which has remarkably long wings, and a light body, is the only bird seen towering above this lofty summit. The transparency of the atmosphere,—a quality so essential to fine views of the starry heavens,—is much increased by containing a large proportion of water, provided it is perfectly dissolved, or in a state of invisible vapor. A country at once hot and humid, like some portions of the torrid zone, presents a much brighter and more beautiful view of the moon and stars, than is seen in cold climates. Before a copious rain, especially in hot weather, when the atmosphere is unusually humid, we sometimes observe the sky to be remarkably resplendent, even in our own latitude. Accordingly, this unusual clearness of the sky, when the stars shine with unwonted brilliancy, is regarded as a sign of approaching rain; and when, after the rain is apparently over, the air is remarkably transparent, and distant objects on the earth are seen with uncommon distinctness, while the sky exhibits an unusually deep azure, we may conclude that the serenity is only temporary, and that the rain will probably soon return.
LETTER X.
THE SUN.
"Great source of day! best image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,
From world to world, the vital ocean round,
On Nature write, with every beam, His praise."—Thomson.
The subjects which have occupied the preceding Letters are by no means the most interesting parts of our science. They constitute, indeed, little more than an introduction to our main subject, but comprise such matters as are very necessary to be clearly understood, before one is prepared to enter with profit and delight upon the more sublime and interesting field which now opens before us.
We will begin our survey of the heavenly bodies with the sun, which first claims our homage, as the natural monarch of the skies. The moon will next occupy our attention; then the other bodies which compose the solar system, namely, the planets and comets; and, finally, we shall leave behind this little province in the great empire of Nature, and wing a bolder flight to the fixed stars.
The distance of the sun from the earth is about ninety-five millions of miles. It may perhaps seem incredible to you, that astronomers should be able to determine this fact with any degree of certainty. Some, indeed, not so well informed as yourself, have looked upon the marvellous things that are told respecting the distances, magnitudes, and velocities, of the heavenly bodies, as attempts of astronomers to impose on the credulity of the world at large; but the certainty and exactness with which the predictions of astronomers are fulfilled, as an eclipse, for example, ought to inspire full confidence in their statements. I can assure you, my dear friend, that the evidence on which these statements are founded is perfectly satisfactory to those whose attainments in the sciences qualify them to understand them; and, so far are astronomers from wishing to impose on the unlearned, by announcing such wonderful discoveries as they have made among the heavenly bodies, no class of men have ever shown a stricter regard and zeal than they for the exact truth, wherever it is attainable.
Ninety-five millions of miles is indeed a vast distance. No human mind is adequate to comprehend it fully; but the nearest approaches we can make towards it are gained by successive efforts of the mind to conceive of great distances, beginning with such as are clearly within our grasp. Let us, then, first take so small a distance as that of the breadth of the Atlantic ocean, and follow, in mind, a ship, as she leaves the port of New York, and, after twenty days' steady sail, reaches Liverpool. Having formed the best idea we are able of this distance, we may then reflect, that it would take a ship, moving constantly at the rate of ten miles per hour, more than a thousand years to reach the sun.