Away at the eastern end of the constellation, in the tail of the imaginary Lion, upon whose breast shines Regulus, is the star Beta (β) Leonis, also called Denebola. It is almost as bright as its leader, Regulus, and you will probably be able to catch a tinge of blue in its rays. South of Denebola, at a distance of nineteen minutes of arc, or somewhat more than half the apparent diameter of the moon, you will see a little star of the sixth magnitude, which is one of the several "companions" for which Denebola is celebrated. There is another star of the eighth magnitude in the same direction from Denebola, but at a distance of less than five minutes, and this you may be able to glimpse with a powerful field-glass, under favorable conditions. I have seen it well with a field-glass of 1.6-inch aperture, and a magnifying power of seven times. But it requires an experienced eye and steady vision to catch this shy twinkler.
When looking for a faint and difficult object, the plan pursued by telescopists is to avert the eye from the precise point upon which the attention is fixed, in order to bring a more sensitive part of the retina into play than that usually employed. Look toward the edge of the field of view, while the object you are seeking is in the center, and then, if it can be seen at all with your glass, you will catch sight of it, as it were, out of the corner of your eye. The effect of seeing a faint star in this way, in the neighborhood of a large one, whose rays hide it from direct vision, is sometimes very amusing. The little star seems to dart out into view as through a curtain, perfectly distinct, though as immeasurably minute as the point of a needle. But the instant you direct your eyes straight at it, presto! it is gone. And so it will dodge in and out of sight as often as you turn your eyes.
If you will sweep carefully over the whole extent of Leo, whose chief stars are marked with their Greek-letter names on our little map, you will be impressed with the power of your glass to bring into sight many faint stars in regions that seem barren to the naked eye. An opera-glass of 1.5 aperture will show ten times as many stars as the naked eye can see.
A word about the "Lion" which this constellation is supposed to represent. It requires a vivid imagination to perceive the outlines of the celestial king of beasts among the stars, and yet somebody taught the people of ancient India and the old Egyptians to see him there, and there he has remained since the dawn of history. Modern astronomers strike him out of their charts, together with all the picturesque multitude of beasts and birds and men and women that bear him company, but they can not altogether banish him, or any of his congeners, for the old names, and, practically, the old outlines of the constellations are retained, and always will be retained. The Lion is the most conspicuous figure in the celebrated zodiac of Dendera; and, indeed, there is evidence that before the story of Hercules and his labors was told this lion was already imagined shining among the stars. It was characteristic of the Greeks that they seized him for their own, and tried to rob him of his real antiquity by pretending that Jupiter had placed him among the stars in commemoration of Hercules's victory over the Nemæan lion. In the Hebrew zodiac Leo represented the Lion of Judah. It was thus always a lion that the ancients thought they saw in this constellation.
In the old star-maps the Lion is represented as in the act of springing upon his prey. His face is to the west, and the star Regulus is in his heart. The sickle-shaped figure covers his breast and head, Gamma being in the shoulder, Zeta in the mane of the neck, Mu and Epsilon in the cheek, and Lambda in the jaws. The fore-paws are drawn up to the breast and represented by the stars Zi and Omicron. Denebola is in the tuft of the tail. The hind-legs are extended downward at full length, in the act of springing. Starting from the star Delta in the hip, the row consisting of Theta, Iota, Tau, and Upsilon, shows the line of the hind-legs.
Leo had an unsavory reputation among the ancients because of his supposed influence upon the weather. The greatest heat of summer was felt when the sun was in this constellation:
"Most scorching is the chariot of the Sun,
And waving spikes no longer hide the furrows
When he begins to travel with the Lion."
Looking now westwardly from the Sickle of Leo, at a distance about equal to twice the length of the Sickle, your eye will be caught by a small silvery spot in the sky lying nearly between two rather faint stars. This is the famous Præsepe, or Manger, in the center of the constellation Cancer. The two stars on either side of it are called the Aselli, or the Ass's Colts, and the imagination of the ancients pictured them feeding from their silver manger. Turn your glass upon the Manger and you will see that it consists of a crowd of little stars, so small and numerous that you will probably not undertake to count them, unless you are using a large field-glass. Galileo has left a delightful description of his surprise and gratification when he aimed his telescope at this curious cluster and other similar aggregations of stars and discovered what they really were. Using his best instrument, he was able to count thirty-six stars in the Manger. The Manger was a famous weather-sign in olden times, and Aratus, in his "Diosemia," advises his readers to—
"... watch the Manger: like a little mist
Far north in Cancer's territory it floats.
Its confines are two faintly glimmering stars;
These are two asses that a manger parts,
Which suddenly, when all the sky is clear,
Sometimes quite vanishes, and the two stars
Seem to have closer moved their sundered orbs.
No feeble tempest then will soak the leas;
A murky manger with both stars
Shining unaltered is a sign of rain."