"Nebulæ can be seen here that are invisible in many other instruments of equal or greater aperture. Double stars are separated at this observatory, that would seem to be beyond the power of a sixteen-inch glass. Closely packed clusters are dispersed into separate diamonds, rubies and sapphires. But no tongue or pen can describe the glories of the Milky Way. Imagine jet black velvet spread over with heaps, streamers and spirals, made up of every possible color of precious gem—with diamonds in excess. These stars all separately invisible to the unaided eye, are seen as individual points in the telescope. They glitter with supernal light, and scintillate in every hue of the spectrum. They are piled up by the million on the inconceivable blackness of infinite space, for never-ending space is black in the telescope. The Zodiacal light in autumnal evenings and mornings is seen extending almost to the zenith—a cone of pearly light.
Professor Larkin.
"Edgar Luciene Larkin was born in a log cabin, twelve miles north of Ottawa, La Salle County, Illinois, on April 5th, 1847.
"But why? To this moment it has been an inscrutable mystery why Nature allowed this event to occur. It happened on a farm. My parents were poor enough to furnish a topic to a writer of modern socialism, such as 'unequal distribution of wealth'; 'submerged nine-tenths'; 'why billionaires exist' and the like. The log hut was in a beautiful place, near a stream of clear, cool water—Indian Creek. It runs along through the north, from west to east, bending to the south, and discharges into the Illinois River at Ottawa. This stream is lined for miles with a magnificent forest, called the 'woods.' Stately trees of oak, ash, elm, maple, walnut and many other species waved in the winds, and in the autumn, colors beyond description fell on the leaves and they were all splashed with careless gold and scarlet. And the 'sear and yellow leaf' abounded. And 'Oh! those days in the woods!'—Nature days—whose memory now is enough to awaken the highest impulse in the mind. The neighbors did not find fault with my folks, and they were considered to be respectable, by even the nearest—not more than a mile away. Father was just ordinary, and the friends said that I 'took after him.' He farmed and mother merely kept house—the hut. These were pioneer days; a few cabins broke the distant line of horizon, to the west and south. As far as could be seen, even from the writer's perch in the top of a tall tree, there was one vast expanse of tall, green grass waving in the wind. But how beautiful! Climbing trees to see the 'waves roll' was ideal. The wind tumbled and tossed the grass into rolling waves, miles in length. The scene was wonderful; it was that of a prairie in Illinois. Just now, as we write, looking out of the window, the waves of the Pacific Ocean are seen thirty miles away. They are not more impressive than those majestic waves in the grass. For the writer became as expert in tree-climbing as his pre-historic and remote ancestors in South American forests. My mother—still living—is a woman of mental force and ability, of high morality and nobility of mind; but she could not bring me up right, that is, to be a farmer. The writer was sent to plow corn, and from subsequent events he now believes that he actually did; the weeds escaped entirely. I was transferred to the dairy department, and had sole charge of the cows. These loving creatures and the writer became fast friends. One was 'ring streaked,' and another 'spotted and speckled.' Old 'brindle' led the procession down to the creek for water, with the writer in the midst. And 'the lowing herds wound slowly o'er the lea,' in those happy childhood and bucolic days. A mighty event took place; grandfather put up a frame house, with boards outside, real boards of pine, brought to Ottawa on the new canal; and the boards were painted white!
PROF. EDGAR L. LARKIN, Director of the Lowe Observatory.
"My father died when I was eleven years of age, so mother and I went to live in the new white house, with the grandparents. But there was no schoolhouse; the settlers were poor, but finally one was erected. It was not red, in fact never had a coat of paint; and was about the size of a large room in a modern dwelling. Teachers were scarce and books likewise. Another event happened; a retired German physician came to 'farm it.' He had a library. I borrowed all the books he had in English, but the great volumes in German were as hieroglyphics. School opened in September, 1858, and the onerous, difficult and discouraging job of 'educating' the writer began.
"Then the greatest event of all occurred, on an auspicious day, October 5th, 1858, and I was asleep. Grandmother came in haste at about 10 P. M., aroused me and said, 'Oh! Edgar, come and see the comet.' When behold! the mighty comet of Donati seemed to span the heavens, and looked as though it came out of the black forests and extended to the zenith. Mortal eye has not seen a more wonderful display.
"Its blazing nucleus was then passing the star Arcturus, and the scene is now in the writer's mind as though it were but yesterday. Cuts of the comet at the time of passing Arcturus may be seen in works on astronomy. Next day the writer decided to begin the study of astronomy. But how without books? The teacher had a copy of Burritt's Geography of the Heavens and Atlas. The writer asked her to sell it; she would for $1.00, although it cost her more. But the dollar! Grandfather was perpetually paying for land. Dollars were exceedingly scarce. Grandmother had one gold dollar; this she gave me and the book was purchased. A surveyor living near had a four-inch lens. He placed it in a square tube of wood, and with one eyepiece made up a telescope, which he loaned to me. So the study of astronomy was commenced with this outfit in my eleventh year. The first work was to trace the path of the comet among the stars on the atlas. The pencil mark is on the atlas yet, with 1858 scrawled in boyish figures. Five terms of school of three months each were attended, when arrangements were made for me to go to a high school and later, an academy in Ottawa. Then came disaster, weakness of the eyes. School, reading, the telescope, all had to go; and with heavy heart the little telescope was returned to the good old surveyor. Grandfather died, the dear old home was broken up; we moved to a nearby village, Earlville, Ill. In my fourteenth year my eyesight became strong enough to permit two terms in a graded school of six months each.