Again, the heavier the gas, the less its molecular speed at a given temperature, because its kinetic energy which measures that temperature is one-half the molecule’s mass into the square of its speed. Thus their ponderosity prevents as many of them from following their more agile cousins of a different constitution. So that the lighter gases are sooner gone. Water-vapor leaves before oxygen. Nor is there any escape from this escape of the gases. It may take excessively long, but go they must until a solitary individual who happens to have had the wrong end of the last collision is alone left hopelessly behind.

Another factor also is concerned. The smaller the planet, the lower the utmost velocity it can control, and the quicker, therefore, it must lose its atmosphere. For a greater number of molecules must at every instant reach the releasing speed. Thus those bodies that are little shall, perforce, have less to cover themselves withal.

Now this inevitable depletion of their atmospheric envelopes, the aspects of the various planets strikingly attest. They do so in most exemplary fashion, according to law. The larger, the major planets, as we have already remarked, have a perfect plethora of atmosphere, more than we at least know what to do with in the way of cataloguing yet. The medium-sized, like our own Earth, have a very comfortable amount; Mars, an uncomfortable one, as we consider, and the smallest none at all. All the smaller bodies of our system are thus painfully deprived so far as we can discover. We are certain of it in the case of our Moon and Mercury, the only ones we can see well enough to be sure. In further evidence it has been shown at the Yerkes and at Flagstaff that no perceptible effect of air betrays itself in the spectroscopic imprint of the rings of Saturn, those tiny satellites of his, and very recently a spectrogram of Ganymede, Jupiter’s third moon, made at Flagstaff for the purpose by Mr. E. C. Slipher has proved equally void of atmospheric hint.

Spectrogram of Saturn—Photographed by Dr. V. M. Slipher, Lowell Observatory, October 11, 1904. Exposure 4ʰ on “27” gilt edge plate. Long camera placed beneath the slit. Titanium comparison spectrum. Enlargement by Mr. C. O. Lampland.

With the loss of water and of air, all possibility of development departs. Not only must every organism die, but even the inorganic can no longer change its state. In the extinction thus not only of inhabitants but of the habitat that made them possible, occurs a curious inversion of the order we are familiar with in the life history of organisms. In planets it is the grandchildren that die first, then the children, and lastly their surviving parent. And this is not accidental, but inevitably consequent upon their respective origins. For the offspring, as we may spell it with a hyphen, of any cosmic mass is of necessity smaller than that from which it issued. Being smaller, it must age quicker. In the natural order of events, then, its end must be reached first.

Such has been the course taken, or still taking, by the bodies of our solar family. The latest generation has already succumbed to this ebbing of vitality with time. Every one of the satellites of the planets—those of Neptune, Uranus, Saturn, Jupiter, and our own Moon—is practically dead; born so the smaller which never were alive. Our own Moon carries its decrepitude on its face. To all intents and purposes its life is past; and that it had at one time a very fiery existence, the great lunar craters amply testify. It is now, for all its flooding with radiance our winter nights, the lifeless statue of its former self.

The same inevitable end, in default of others, is now overtaking the planetary group. Its approach is stamped on the face of Mars. There we see a world dying of exhaustion. The signs of it are legible in the markings we descry. How long before its work is done, we ignore. But that it is a matter of time only, our study of the laws of the inexorable lead us to conclude. Mars has been spared the fate of Mercury and Venus to perish by this other form of planetary death.

Last in our enumeration of the causes by which the end of a world may be brought about, because the last to occur in order of time, is the extinction of the Sun itself. Certain to come and conclude the solar system’s history as the abode of life, if all the others should by any chance fail to precede it, it fittingly forms the climax, grand in its very quietude, of all that went before.