Let us now see how far the actual appearances corresponded to these predictions. The comet was first discovered from the observatory at Rome, on the morning of the fifth of August; by Professor Struve, at Dorpat, on the twentieth; in England and France, on the twenty-third; and at Yale College, by Professor Loomis and myself, on the thirty-first. On the morning of that day, between two and three o'clock, in obedience to the directions which the great minds that had marked out its path among the stars had prescribed, we directed Clarke's telescope (a noble instrument, belonging to Yale College) towards the northeastern quarter of the heavens, and lo! there was the wanderer so long foretold,—a dim speck of fog on the confines of creation. It came on slowly, from night to night, increasing constantly in magnitude and brightness, but did not become distinctly visible to the naked eye until the twenty-second of September. For a month, therefore, astronomers enjoyed this interesting spectacle before it exhibited itself to the world at large. From this time it moved rapidly along the northern sky, until, about the tenth of October, it traversed the constellation of the Great Bear, passing a little above, instead of "through" the seven conspicuous stars constituting the Dipper. At this time it had a lengthened train, and became, as you doubtless remember, an object of universal interest. Early in November, the comet ran down to the sun, and was lost in his beams; but on the morning of December thirty-first, I again obtained, through Clarke's telescope, a distinct view of it on the other side of the sun, a moment before the morning dawn.
This return of Halley's comet was an astronomical event of transcendent importance. It was the chronicler of ages, and carried us, by a few steps, up to the origin of time. If a gallant ship, which has sailed round the globe, and commanded successively the admiration of many great cities, diverse in language and customs, is invested with a peculiar interest, what interest must attach to one that has made the circuit of the solar system, and fixed the gaze of successive worlds! So intimate, moreover, is the bond which binds together all truths in one indissoluble chain, that the establishment of one great truth often confirms a multitude of others, equally important. Thus the return of Halley's comet, in exact conformity with the predictions of astronomers, established the truth of all those principles by which those predictions were made. It afforded most triumphant proof of the doctrine of universal gravitation, and of course of the received laws of physical astronomy; it inspired new confidence in the power and accuracy of that instrument (the calculus) by means of which its elements had been investigated; and it proved that the different planets, which exerted upon it severally a disturbing force proportioned to their quantity of matter, had been correctly weighed, as in a balance.
I must now leave this wonderful body to pursue its sublime march far beyond the confines of Uranus, (a distance it has long since reached,) and take a hasty notice of two other comets, whose periodic returns have also been ascertained; namely, those of Biela and Encke.
Biela's comet has a period of six years and three quarters. It has its perihelion near the orbit of the earth, and its aphelion a little beyond that of Jupiter. Its orbit, therefore, is far less eccentric than that of Halley's comet; (see Frontispiece;) it neither approaches so near the sun, nor departs so far from it, as most other known comets: some, indeed, never come nearer to the sun than the orbit of Jupiter, while they recede to an incomprehensible distance beyond the remotest planet. We might even imagine that they would get beyond the limits of the sun's attraction; nor is this impossible, although, according to La Place, the solar attraction is sensible throughout a sphere whose radius is a hundred millions of times greater than the distance of the earth from the sun, or nearly ten thousand billions of miles.
Some months before the expected return of Biela's comet, in 1832, it was announced by astronomers, who had calculated its path, that it would cross the plane of the earth's orbit very near to the earth's path, so that, should the earth happen at the time to be at that point of her revolution, a collision might take place. This announcement excited so much alarm among the ignorant classes in France, that it was deemed expedient by the French academy, that one of their number should prepare and publish an article on the subject, with the express view of allaying popular apprehension. This task was executed by M. Arago. He admitted that the earth would in fact pass so near the point where the comet crossed the plane of its orbit, that, should they chance to meet there, the earth would be enveloped in the nebulous atmosphere of the comet. He, however, showed that the earth would not be near that point at the same time with the comet, but fifty millions of miles from it.
The comet came at the appointed time, but was so exceedingly faint and small, that it was visible only to the largest telescopes. In one respect, its diminutive size and feeble light enhanced the interest with which it was contemplated; for it was a sublime spectacle to see a body, which, as projected on the celestial vault, even when magnified a thousand times, seemed but a dim speck of fog, still pursuing its way, in obedience to the laws of universal gravitation, with the same regularity as Jupiter and Saturn. We are apt to imagine that a body, consisting of such light materials that it can be compared only to the thinnest fog, would be dissipated and lost in the boundless regions of space; but so far is this from the truth, that, when subjected to the action of the same forces of projection and solar attraction, it will move through the void regions of space, and will describe its own orbit about the sun with the same unerring certainty, as the densest bodies of the system.
Encke's comet, by its frequent returns, (once in three and a third years,) affords peculiar facilities for ascertaining the laws of its revolution; and it has kept the appointments made for it with great exactness. On its return in 1839, it exhibited to the telescope a globular mass of nebulous matter, resembling fog, and moved towards its perihelion with great rapidity. It makes its entire excursions within the orbit of Jupiter.
But what has made Encke's comet particularly famous, is its having first revealed to us the existence of a resisting medium in the planetary spaces. It has long been a question, whether the earth and planets revolve in a perfect void, or whether a fluid of extreme rarity may not be diffused through space. A perfect vacuum was deemed most probable, because no such effects on the motions of the planets could be detected as indicated that they encountered a resisting medium. But a feather, or a lock of cotton, propelled with great velocity, might render obvious the resistance of a medium which would not be perceptible in the motions of a cannon ball. Accordingly, Encke's comet is thought to have plainly suffered a retardation from encountering a resisting medium in the planetary regions. The effect of this resistance, from the first discovery of the comet to the present time, has been to diminish the time of its revolution about two days. Such a resistance, by destroying a part of the projectile force, would cause the comet to approach nearer to the sun, and thus to have its periodic time shortened. The ultimate effect of this cause will be to bring the comet nearer to the sun, at every revolution, until it finally falls into that luminary, although many thousand years will be required to produce this catastrophe. It is conceivable, indeed, that the effects of such a resistance may be counteracted by the attraction of one or more of the planets, near which it may pass in its successive returns to the sun. Still, it is not probable that this cause will exactly counterbalance the other; so that, if there is such an elastic medium diffused through the planetary regions, it must follow that, in the lapse of ages, every comet will fall into the sun. Newton conjectured that this would be the case, although he did not found his opinion upon the existence of such a resisting medium as is now detected. To such an opinion he adhered to the end of life. At the age of eighty-three, in a conversation with his nephew, he expressed himself thus: "I cannot say when the comet of 1680 will fall into the sun; possibly after five or six revolutions; but whenever that time shall arrive, the heat of the sun will be raised by it to such a point, that our globe will be burned, and all the animals upon it will perish."
Of the physical nature of comets little is understood. The greater part of them are evidently mere masses of vapor, since they permit very small stars to be seen through them. In September, 1832, Sir John Herschel, when observing Biela's comet, saw that body pass directly between his eye and a small cluster of minute telescopic stars of the sixteenth or seventeenth magnitude. This little constellation occupied a space in the heavens, the breadth of which was not the twentieth part of that of the moon; yet the whole of the cluster was distinctly visible through the comet. "A more striking proof," says Sir John Herschel, "could not have been afforded, of the extreme transparency of the matter of which this comet consists. The most trifling fog would have entirely effaced this group of stars, yet they continued visible through a thickness of the comet which, calculating on its distance and apparent diameter, must have exceeded fifty thousand miles, at least towards its central parts." From this and similar observations, it is inferred, that the nebulous matter of comets is vastly more rare than that of the air we breathe, and hence, that, were more or less of it to be mingled with the earth's atmosphere, it would not be perceived, although it might possibly render the air unwholesome for respiration. M. Arago, however, is of the opinion, that some comets, at least, have a solid nucleus. It is difficult, on any other supposition, to account for the strong light which some of them have exhibited,—a light sufficiently intense to render them visible in the day-time, during the presence of the sun. The intense heat to which comets are subject, in approaching so near the sun as some of them do, is alleged as a sufficient reason for the great expansion of the thin vapory atmospheres which form their tails; and the inconceivable cold to which they are subject, in receding to such a distance from the sun, is supposed to account for the condensation of the same matter until it returns to its original dimensions. Thus the great comet of 1680, at its perihelion, approached within one hundred and forty-six thousand miles of the surface of the sun, a distance of only one sixth part of the sun's diameter. The heat which it must have received was estimated to be equal to twenty-eight thousand times that which the earth receives in the same time, and two thousand times hotter than red-hot iron. This temperature would be sufficient to volatilize the most obdurate substances, and to expand the vapor to vast dimensions; and the opposite effects of the extreme cold to which it would be subject in the regions remote from the sun would be adequate to condense it into its former volume. This explanation, however, does not account for the direction of the tail, extending, as it usually does, only in a line opposite to the sun. Some writers, therefore, suppose that the nebulous matter of the comet, after being expanded to such a volume that the particles are no longer attracted to the nucleus, unless by the slightest conceivable force, are carried off in a direction from the sun, by the impulse of the solar rays themselves. But to assign such a power to the sun's rays, while they have never been proved to have any momentum, is unphilosophical; and we are compelled to place the phenomena of comets' tails among the points of astronomy yet to be explained.
Since comets which approach very near the sun, like the comet of 1680, cross the orbits of all the planets, the possibility that one of them may strike the earth has frequently been suggested. Still it may quiet our apprehensions on this subject, to reflect on the vast amplitude of the planetary spaces, in which these bodies are not crowded together, as we see them erroneously represented in orreries and diagrams, but are sparsely scattered at immense distances from each other. They are like insects flying, singly, in the expanse of heaven. If a comet's tail lay with its axis in the plane of the ecliptic when it was near the sun, we can imagine that the tail might sweep over the earth; but the tail may be situated at any angle with the ecliptic, as well as in the same plane with it, and the chances that it will not be in the same plane are almost infinite. It is also extremely improbable that a comet will cross the plane of the ecliptic precisely at the earth's path in that plane, since it may as probably cross it at any other point nearer or more remote from the sun. A French writer of some eminence (Du Sejour) has discussed this subject with ability, and arrived at the following conclusions: That of all the comets whose paths had been ascertained, none could pass nearer to the earth than about twice the moon's distance; and that none ever did pass nearer to the earth than nine times the moon's distance. The comet of 1770, already mentioned, which became entangled among the satellites of Jupiter, came within this limit. Some have taken alarm at the idea that a comet, by approaching very near to the earth, might raise so high a tide, as to endanger the safety of maritime countries especially: but this writer shows, that the comet could not possibly remain more than two hours so near the earth as a fourth part of the moon's distance; and it could not remain even so long, unless it passed the earth under very peculiar circumstances. For example, if its orbit were nearly perpendicular to that of the earth, it could not remain more than half an hour in such a position. Under such circumstances, the production of a tide would be impossible. Eleven hours, at least, would be necessary to enable a comet to produce an effect on the waters of the earth, from which the injurious effects so much dreaded would follow. The final conclusion at which he arrives is, that although, in strict geometrical rigor, it is not physically impossible that a comet should encounter the earth, yet the probability of such an event is absolutely nothing.