This general view of the flying spheres is full of interest. While quivering themselves with thunderous noises, all is silent about them; earthquakes may be struggling on their surfaces, but there is no hint of contention in the quiet of space. They are too distant from one another to exchange signals, except, perhaps, the fleet of asteroids that sail the azure between Mars and Jupiter. Some of these come near together, continuing to fill each other's sky for days with brightness, then one gradually draws ahead. They have all phases for each other—crescent, half, full, and gibbous. These hundreds of bodies fill the realm where they are with inexhaustible variety. Beyond are vast spaces—cold, dark, void of matter, but full of power. Occasionally a little spark of light looms up rapidly into a world so huge that a thousand of our earths could not occupy its vast bulk. It swings its four or eight moons with perfect skill and infinite strength; but they go by and leave the silence unbroken, the darkness unlighted for years. Nevertheless, every part of space is full of power. Nowhere in its wide orbit can a world find a place; at no time in its eons of flight can it find an instant when the sun does not hold it in safety and life.
The Outlook from the Earth.
If we come in from our wanderings in space and take an outlook from the earth, we shall observe certain movements, easily interpreted now that we know the system, but nearly inexplicable to men who naturally supposed that the earth was the largest, most stable, and central body in the universe.
We see, first of all, sun, moon, and stars rise in the east, mount the heavens, and set in the west. As I revolve in my pivoted study-chair, and see all sides of the room—library, maps, photographs, telescope, and windows—I have no suspicion that it is the room that whirls; but looking out of a car-window in a depot at another car, one cannot tell which is moving, whether it be his car or the other. In regard to the world, we have come to feel its whirl. We have noticed the pyramids of Egypt lifted to hide the sun; the mountains of Hymettus hurled down, so as to disclose the moon that was behind them to the watchers on the Acropolis; and the mighty mountains of Moab removed to reveal the stars of the east. Train the telescope on any star; it must be moved frequently, or the world will roll the instrument away from the object. Suspend a cannon-ball by a fine wire at the equator; set it vibrating north and south, and it swings all day in precisely the same direction. But suspend it directly over the north pole, and set it swinging toward Washington; in six hours after it is swinging toward Rome, in Italy; in twelve hours, toward Siam, in Asia; in nineteen hours, toward the Sandwich Islands; and in twenty-four, toward Washington again, not because it has changed the plane of its vibration, but because the earth has whirled beneath it, and the torsion of the wire has not been sufficient to compel the plane of the original direction to change with the turning of the earth. The law of inertia keeps it moving in the same direction. The same experimental proof of revolution is shown in a proportional degree at any point between the pole and the equator.
But the watchers on the Acropolis do not get turned over so as to see the moon at the same time every night. We turn down our eastern horizon, but we do not find fair Luna at the same moment we did the night before. We are obliged to roll on for some thirty to fifty minutes longer before we find the moon. It must be going in the same direction, and it takes us longer to get round to it than if if it were always in the same spot; so we notice a star near the moon one night—it is 13° west of the moon the next night. The moon is going around the earth from west to east, and if it goes 13° in one day, it will take a little more than twenty-seven days to go the entire circle of 360°.
Fig. 42.—Showing the Sun's Movement among the Stars.
In our outlook we soon observe that we do not by our revolution come to see the same stars rise at the same hour every night. Orion and the Pleiades, our familiar friends in the winter heavens, are gone from the summer sky. Have they fled, or are we turned from them? This is easily understood from Fig. 42.
When the observer on the earth at A looks into the midnight sky he sees the stars at E; but as the earth passes on to B, he sees those stars at E three minutes sooner every night; and at midnight the stars at F are over his head. Thus in a year, by going around the sun, we have every star of the celestial dome in our midnight sky. We see also how the sun appears among the successive constellations. When we are at A, we see the sun among the stars at G; but as we move toward B, the sun appears to move toward H. If we had observed the sun rise on the 20th of August, 1876, we should have seen it rise a little before Regulus, and a little south of it, in such a relation as circle 1 is to the star in Fig.
