On the equator above Fomalhaut, and close to the meridian, appears a curious group of stars in the form of a letter Y. They mark the hand and urn of Aquarius, the “Waterman.” A few degrees westward from this figure shines the Alpha (α) of the constellation, bearing the strange name Sadalmelik, the “King’s Luck,” or “Lucky One.” It is situated in the Waterman’s right shoulder, while Beta (β), some twelve degrees farther west, marks the left shoulder. Beta’s distinctive name is Sadalsuud, the “Luckiest of the Lucky.” Several other stars in this constellation have names implying good-fortune. The Arabs saw the Y-shaped figure, already referred to, as a tent, and the star Gamma (γ) in this group is called Sadachbiah, from an Arabic phrase which Professor Whitney translates “Felicity of Tents.” Upon this R. H. Allen remarks that the star probably got its name from the fact that it rose with its companions in the morning twilight of spring, “when, after the winter’s want and suffering, the nomads’ tents were raised on the freshening pastures, and the pleasant weather set in.” The star Zeta (ζ), in this same figure, is a long-period binary, probably 750 years, and a beautiful telescopic object, the distance being a little more than 3″, while the two stars are nearly equal, and very white, although one of them seems whiter than the other.
It will be observed that the outline of the constellation Aquarius is very curious, somewhat resembling that of the State of Louisiana tipped on its side. The broader part of it runs down toward Fomalhaut, and the northern part extends westward, like an L added to a house, between Equuleus and Capricornus. The latter, the constellation of the “Goat,” is relatively small and compact. Its two most interesting stars are Alpha (α), or Algedi, the “Goat,” and Beta (β), or Dabih (signification uncertain), both in one of the horns of the imaginary animal. Each of these stars is a wide double. The distance between the Alphas is 373″, and that between the Betas 205″, the latter being more than a tenth of the apparent diameter of the moon. A good eye sees at once that Alpha is double; but the two stars in Beta cannot be seen without a glass, because one of them is below the sixth magnitude, the minimum visible for the naked eye. Each of the stars in Beta is a telescopic double. The Goat heads westward, and the stars Delta (δ) and Gamma (γ) are in his tail. This constellation has given us our Tropic of Capricorn, because the place of the winter solstice was once within its boundaries, although now we find it far west, in Sagittarius.
Above the head of Capricornus we recognize our old acquaintance Altair, in the Eagle, and east of this the singular little constellation of Delphinus, the “Dolphin,” often called “Job’s Coffin,” a name for which I have never been able to find any explanation. Like all small constellations whose stars are comparatively close together, it immediately attracts the eye. None of its stars exceeds the fourth magnitude; but three of them, Alpha, Beta, and Gamma, are telescopic doubles, the last named being particularly beautiful on account of the contrast of colors, gold and green; distance 11″.
Directly north of Altair is the very small constellation of Sagitta, the “Arrow,” interesting when viewed with an opera-glass for its row of little stars from which, as from a maypole lying horizontally, depend loops of still smaller stars looking like garlands. In ancient times this was sometimes called “Cupid’s Arrow,” but they did not venture to represent the little god himself. Above Sagitta are the small stars constituting the double constellation of Vulpecula et Anser, the “Little Fox and the Goose.”
Simply pausing to recognize the presence of the Northern Cross, we turn to the eastern side of the meridian, where we find Pegasus, with his Great Square. This is one of the most conspicuous figures in the sky. The star at the northeastern corner of the square is Alpheratz, of which I have spoken in the Introduction, as belonging in common to Andromeda and Pegasus. When we come to Cassiopeia I shall point out a remarkable fact relating to Alpheratz and its twin, Gamma Pegasi, about 15 degrees directly south. Every lover of the “classics” of course feels a thrill of pleasure in seeing Pegasus in the sky, “in wild flight and free.” One can spare many of the heroes for the sake of giving him room. Shakespeare’s references to the constellations are much less frequent and definite than one could wish, but he has clearly mentioned one or two, and it may be that he had the starry eidolon of the Winged Horse in his eye when he wrote, in Troilus and Cressida:
“But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
The strong-ribbed bark through liquid mountains cut,
Bounding between the two moist elements
Like Perseus’ horse.”
The constellation extends far westward from the Square, and in the imaginative sky pictures that illustrate old charts of the heavens the star Epsilon (ε) is in the nose of Pegasus, as he stretches out his neck to reach his foal, Equuleus. But the horse, with his feet toward the north, is shown upside down, unless you turn your back to the south when looking at him. The star Beta (β) is attractive on account of its neighbors forming a striking triangle with it; but the space within the Square is relatively vacant. Alpha (α) and Beta (β) are respectively Markab, the “Saddle,” and Scheat (signification uncertain).
South of the Square of Pegasus we see the western part of the constellation of Pisces, whose small stars run in streams toward the eastern horizon. Pisces furnishes one of the most remarkable examples of this phenomenon, in which the stars are seen arrayed in long, winding lines, like buttercups following a brook. Cetus is also seen rising south of Pisces; but we shall deal with these constellations later. Meanwhile we return to Alpheratz, at the northeast corner of the Square of Pegasus. The name is derived from an Arabic phrase meaning the “Horse’s Navel”; but the star is now generally associated with Andromeda, and is, indeed, the Alpha of that constellation, and shines on the maiden’s head. The star Delta (δ), in Andromeda, marks her breast, and her extended arms and chained hands are shown by rows and groups of small stars on the north and south. Beta (β), or Mirach, is in her girdle, and the two small stars northwest of it lead the eye to one of the most wonderful objects in the sky—the Great Andromeda Nebula. You may detect it as a misty speck with the naked eye; an opera-glass will show you plainly that it is a little luminous cloud. In [Chart X] its position is indicated by a little circle near the star Nu (ν). In a telescope it appears of a spindle shape, with a bright axis, but the best views of it are afforded by photography. On the photographic plate, exposed continuously for hours to its rays, it gradually builds up its marvellous form—the great central condensation, with the encircling spirals, emerging in all their strange splendor. It resembles a whirlwind of snow, and the appearance of swift motion and terrific force is startling. Its spectrum, instead of being that characteristic of gases, indicates that it consists principally of matter in a star-like state of condensation, and some have imagined that it is an outside universe, composed of stars too distant to be separately distinguished, and arrayed in mighty spirals, which recall the form of the Milky Way. The latest investigations show evidence, however, that it is partly nebular in constitution. These things once known, the contemplative eye is drawn to that misty speck as to a magnet.
The star Gamma (γ), or Almaack, the “Badger,” is in Andromeda’s foot. It is a wonderful triple star, whose largest member is orange in color, the second emerald-green, and the third blue. The two larger stars are easily seen with an ordinary telescope, the distance between them being about 10″, but the third is difficult, the distance from the second being, in 1908, only 0″.45. The last two form a binary, with a period of about fifty-four years. When they are nearest to each other no telescope can separate them. The colors of the two largest stars are very striking, and yet some eyes seem incapable of appreciating them. This is also true of many separate stars in the sky which possess distinctive tints. It is a fine test of the chromatic capacity of the eye to be able to enjoy the differences among the hues of the stars. Color-blindness is far more common than is usually suspected, and is apt to manifest itself in this way when not otherwise noticed. From theoretical considerations Holmgren has shown that three varieties of color-blindness may exist: first, where the sense is defective for only one color, either red, green, or violet; second, where two colors, either red and green or red and violet, are not perceived; and third, where the defect extends to three colors, including red, green, and violet. A person suffering from either of these forms of blindness would lose much of the peculiar beauty exhibited by certain stars and combinations of stars.
To the right of Almaack, as one faces north, is the little constellation of Triangulum, and beyond that, in the same direction, Aries, the “Ram,” clearly marked by three stars, the two smaller of which are quite close together. The largest star, Alpha (α), is called Hamal, the “Ram,” or “Sheep”; and the next largest, Beta (β), Sheratan, the “Sign,” this name being due to the fact that in the days of Hipparchus Sheratan marked the place of the Vernal Equinox, and consequently the point of beginning of the year, of which it was the sign. Gamma (γ), the companion of Sheratan, sometimes called Mesarthim (signification uncertain), is a beautiful telescopic double whose components are 8″.8 apart. The smaller one has a curious tint which Webb and others have described as “gray.”