M. Arago considers the last as the true explanation: it remained the great point to be proved. If it could be ascertained, that these red protuberances were not in actual contact with the moon, the demonstration would be complete. Speculation was busy, but nothing could be done in the way of verification until another eclipse took place. There was one in August 1850 total to the Sandwich Islands, at which, under direction of the French commandant at Tahiti, observations were made, the result being that the red prominences were seen to be separated by a fine line from the moon's circumference. Here was an important datum. It was confirmed by the observations of July 1851, by observers of different nations at different localities, who saw that the coloured peaks were detached from the moon; thus proving that they are not lunar mountains.
If it be further ascertained, that these luminous phenomena are not produced by the inflexion of rays passing over the asperities of the moon's disk, and that they have a real existence, then there will be a new atmosphere to add to those which already surround the sun; for clouds cannot support themselves in empty space.
We come next to that part of the subject which treats of the true place of the sun in the universe. In the year 448 b.c., Archelaüs, the last of the Ionian philosophers, without having made any measurements, taught that the sun was a star, but only somewhat larger than the others. Now, the nearest fixed star is 206,000 times further from us than the sun: 206,000 times 95,000,000 of miles—a sum beyond all our habits of thought. The light from the star Alpha of the Centaur is three years in its passage to the earth, travelling at the rate of 192,000 miles per second; and there are 86,400 seconds in a day, and 365 days in a year. Astounding facts! If the sun, therefore, were removed to the distance of a Centauri, its broad disk, which takes a considerable time in its majestic rising and setting above and below the horizon, would have no sensible dimensions, even in the most powerful telescopes; and its light would not exceed that of stars of the third magnitude—facts which throw the guess of Archelaüs into discredit. If our place in the material universe is thus made to appear very subordinate, we may remember, as M. Arago observes, that man owes the knowledge of it entirely to his own resources, and thereby has raised himself to the most eminent rank in the world of ideas. Indeed, astronomical investigations might not improperly excuse a little vanity on our part.'
Among the stars, Sirius is the brightest; but twenty thousand millions of such stars would be required to transmit to the earth a light equal to that of the sun. And if it were difficult to ascertain the nature and quality of the sun, it would appear to be still more so to determine these points with regard to the stars; for the reason, that the rays, coming from all parts of their disk, at once are intermingled, and of necessity produce white. This difficulty did not exist in similar investigations on the sun, because its disk is so large, that the rays from any one part of it may be examined while the others are excluded. Under these circumstances, further proof might seem to be hopeless; but advantage was taken of the fact, that there are certain stars which are sometimes light, sometimes dark, either from having a movement of rotation on their own axis, or because they are occasionally eclipsed by a non-luminous satellite revolving around them. It is clear, that while the light is waxing or waning, it comes from a part only of the star's disk; consequently, the neutralisation of rays, which takes place when they depart from the whole surface at once, cannot then occur; and from the observations on the portion of light thus transmitted, and which is found to remain white under all its phases, we are entitled to conclude, in M. Arago's words, that 'our sun is a star, and that its physical constitution is identical with that of the millions of stars strewn in the firmament.'
BARBARA'S SEA-SIDE EXCURSION.
It certainly appeared a most improbable circumstance, that any event should occur worthy of being recorded, to vary the even tenor of life which Mr and Mrs Norman enjoyed in the holy state of matrimony. They were young folks—they had married from affection—and, moreover, their union had been a strictly prudent one; for their income was more than sufficient for all their unaspiring wants and tastes; and it was also a 'certainty,' a great good in these days of speculation and going ahead. Charles Norman held a government situation, with a small but yearly increasing salary; his residence was at Pentonville; and his domestic circle comprised, besides his good, meek helpmeet, two little children, and an only sister, some years Charles's junior: indeed, Bab Norman had not very long quitted the boarding-school. Bab and Charles were orphans, and had no near relatives in the world; therefore Bab came home to live with her dear brother and his wife until she had a home of her own—a contingency which people whispered need not be far off, if Miss Barbara Norman so inclined. This piece of gossip perhaps arose from the frequent visits of Mr Norman's chosen friend, Edward Leslie—a steady and excellent young man, who filled an appointment of great trust and confidence in an old-established commercial house. Edward Leslie was not distinguished for personal attractions or captivating manners; but he was an honest, manly, generous-hearted fellow, and sensitive enough to feel very keenly sometimes that the pretty spoiled little Barbara laughed at and snubbed him. Notwithstanding Bab's folly, however, it would have given her great pain had Edward Leslie courted another. He was patient and forbearing; and she fluttered and frisked about, determined to make the most of her liberty while it lasted. 'Of course she meant to marry some day,' she said with a demure smile, 'but it would take a long time to make up her mind.'
Charles quite doted on his pretty sister, and often could not find it in his heart to rebuke her, because she was motherless, and had only him and Cary to look to; and Cary's office was not to rebuke any one, much less her dear little sister-in-law. So Barbara was spoiled and humoured; while the children were kept in high order—a proper discipline being exercised in the nursery, as became a well-regulated and nicely-decorated house. Cary thought Bab a beauty, and so did Charles; the young lady herself was not at all backward in estimating her own charms; and it was a pity to see them so often obscured by affectation, for Bab had a kind heart and an affectionate disposition. One day when Charles returned home after business-hours were over, Bab flew towards him with an unusually animated countenance, holding an open letter in her hand, and exclaiming: 'Oh, dear Charles, read this! You'll let me go—wont you? I never was at the sea-side in my life, you know; and it will do me such a deal of good.'
Charles smiled, took the letter, and tapping his sister's dimpled rosy cheek, he said fondly: 'I don't think, Bab, that you want "doing good to" so far as health is concerned. The sea-air cannot improve these roses.'