Drawing.—Few observers are good draughtsmen; but it is astonishing how seldom we meet with real endeavours to excel in this respect. Every amateur should practise drawing, however indifferent his efforts may be. Delineations, even if roughly executed, are often more effective than whole pages of description. Pictorial representations form the leading attraction of astronomical literature, and are capable of rendering it more interesting to the popular mind than any other influence. They induce a more apt conception of what celestial objects are really like than any amount of verbal matter can possibly do. For this reason it becomes the obvious duty of every observer to cultivate sketching and drawing, at least in a rudimentary way. He will frequently find it essential to illustrate his descriptions, so as to ensure their ready comprehension. In fact, a thoroughly efficient observer must of necessity become a draughtsman. It should, however, be his invariable aim to depict just what he sees and in precisely the form in which it impresses his eye. Mere pictorial embellishments must be disregarded, and he should be careful not to include doubtful features, possibly existing in the imagination alone, unless he intends them simply for his own guidance in future investigations. If he sees but little, and it is faithfully delineated, it will be of more real value than a most elaborate drawing in which the eye and imagination have each played a part. It is an undoubted fact that some of the most striking illustrations in astronomical handbooks are disfigured by features either wrongly depicted or having no existence whatever. There is very great need for caution in representing such markings only as are distinctly and unmistakably visible. In all cases where the object is new or doubtful the observer should await duplicate observations before announcing it. It is better that new features should evade discovery than that delusive representations should be handed down to posterity. As regards selenographical drawings I would refer the reader to what Mr. Eiger advises on p. 21 and 22 of volume v. of the ‘Journal of the Liverpool Astronomical Society.’ My own plan in sketching at the telescope is to first roughly delineate the features bit by bit as I successively glimpse them, assuring myself, as I proceed, as to general correctness in outline and position; then, on completion, I go indoors to a better light and make copies while the details are still freshly impressed on the mind. To soften details a small piece of blotting-paper must be wrapped round the pointed end of the pencil, and the parts requiring to be smoothed gently touched or rubbed until the desired effect is attained. This simple method, properly applied, will enable delicate markings to be faithfully reproduced, and it certainly adds in no small degree to the merit of a drawing.
Friendly Indulgences.—Every man whose astronomical predilections are known, and who has a telescope of any size, is pestered with applications from friends and others who wish to view some of the wonders of the heavens. Of course it is the duty of all of us to encourage a laudable interest in the science, especially when evinced by neighbours or acquaintances; but the utility of an observer constituting himself a showman, and sacrificing many valuable hours which might be spent in useful observations, may be seriously questioned. The weather is so bad in this country that we can ill spare an hour from our scanty store. Is it therefore desirable to satisfy the idle curiosity of people who have no deep-seated regard for astronomy, and will certainly never exhibit their professed interest in a substantial manner? Assuredly not. The time of our observers is altogether too valuable to be employed in this fashion. Yet it is an undisputed fact that some self-denying amateurs are unwearying in their efforts to accommodate their friends in the respect alluded to. My own impression is that, except in special cases, the observer will best consult the interests of astronomy, as well as his own convenience and pleasure, by declining the character of showman; for depend upon it a person who appreciates the science in the right fashion will find ways and means to procure a telescope and gratify his tastes to the fullest capacity. Some years ago I took considerable trouble on several evenings in showing a variety of objects to a clerical friend, who expressed an intention to buy a telescope and devote his leisure to the science. I spent many hours in explanations &c.; but some weeks later my pupil informed me his expenses were so heavy that he really could not afford to purchase instruments. Yet I found soon after that he afforded £30 in a useless embellishment of the front of his residence, and it so disgusted me that I resolved to waste no more precious time in a similar way.
Open-Air Observing.—Night air is generally thought to be pernicious to health; but the longevity of astronomers is certainly opposed to this idea. Those observers who are unusually susceptible to affections of the respiratory organs must of course exercise extreme care, and will hardly be wise in pursuing astronomical work out of doors on keen, wintry nights. But others, less liable to climatic influences, may conduct operations with impunity and safety during the most severe weather. Precautions should always be taken to maintain a convenient degree of warmth; and, for the rest, the observer’s enthusiasm must sustain him. A “wadded dressing-gown” has been mentioned as an effective protection from cold. I have found that a long, thick overcoat, substantially lined with flannel, and under this a stout cardigan jacket, will resist the inroads of cold for a long time. On very trying nights a rug may also be thrown over the shoulders and strapped round the body. During intense frosts, however, the cold will penetrate (as I have found while engaged in prolonged watches for shooting-stars) through almost any covering. As soon as the observer becomes uncomfortably chilly he should go indoors and thoroughly warm his things before a fire. He may then return fortified to his work and pursue it for another period before the frost again makes its presence disagreeably felt. On windy nights a knitted woollen helmet to cover the head, and reaching to the shoulders, is an excellent protection; but an observer had better not wear it more often than is imperative, or it becomes a necessity on ordinary nights. It is a great mistake to suppose that “a glass of something hot” before going into the night air is a good preventive to catching cold. It acts rather in the contrary way. The reaction after the system has been unduly heated only renders the observer more sensitive, and the inhalation of cold air is then very liable to induce affections of the throat.
A telescope permanently erected in the open, and exposed to all weathers, must soon lose its smart and bright appearance, but it need lose none of its efficiency, which is of far more importance; for it is intended for service, not for show. The instrument should be kept well painted and oiled. I find vaseline an excellent application for the screws and parts controlling the motions, as it is not congelative like common oils. The observer, before a night’s work and before darkness sets in, will do well to examine his instrument and see that it is in the best condition to facilitate work. Whole tribes of insects take up their habitation in the base or framework, and even in the telescope itself if they can effect a lodgment; and I have sometimes had to sweep away a perfect labyrinth of spiders’ webs from the interior of the main tube. On one occasion I could not see anything through the finder, try how I would. I afterwards discovered that a mason-wasp (Odynerus murarius) had adopted the vacuity in front of the eye-lens as a suitable site for her nest; and here she had formed her cells, deposited her eggs, and enclosed the caterpillars necessary for the support of the young when hatched. On another night I came hurriedly to the telescope to observe Jupiter with my single-lens eyepiece, power 252, but could make nothing out of it but a confused glare, subject to sudden extinctions and other extraordinary vagaries. I supposed that the branches of a tree, waving in the wind, must be interposed in the line of sight, but soon saw this could not possibly be the explanation. Looking again into the eyepiece, I caught a momentary glimpse of what I interpreted for the legs of an insect magnified into gigantic proportions and very distinct on the bright background formed by Jupiter much out of focus. On detaching the eyepiece and carrying it indoors to a light, an innocent-looking sample of the common earwig crawled out of it. The gyrations of the insect in its endeavours to find a place of egress from its confinement had clearly caused the effects alluded to. Telescopic observers are thus liable to become microscopic observers before they are conscious of the fact, and perhaps also in opposition to their intention. Other experiences might be narrated, especially as regards nocturnal observing in country or suburban districts, where the “serious student of the skies” may, like myself, find diversion to his protracted vigils by the occasional capture of a too-inquisitive hedgehog or some other marauding quadruped.
The Author’s Telescope: a 10-inch With-Browning Reflector.
Method.—Nearly all the most successful observers have been men of method. The work they took in hand has been followed persistently and with certain definite ends in view. They recognized that there should be a purpose in every observation. Some amateurs take an incredible amount of pains to look up an object for the simple satisfaction of seeing it. But seeing an object is not observing it. The mere view counts for nothing from a scientific standpoint, though it may doubtless afford some satisfaction to the person obtaining it. A practical astronomer, with his own credit at stake and the interests of the science at heart, will require something more. In observing a comet he will either fix its position by careful measurement with reference to stars near, or critically examine its physical peculiarities, or perhaps both. In securing these data he will have accomplished useful work, which may quite possibly have an enduring value. In other branches of observation his aim will be similar, namely to acquire new materials with regard to place or to physical phenomena, according to the nature of the research upon which he happens to be engaged. Such results as he gathers are neatly tabulated in a form convenient for after comparisons. There have been instances, we know, where sheer carelessness has resulted in the loss of important discoveries. Lalande must have found Neptune (and mathematical astronomy would have been robbed of its greatest triumph) half a century before it was identified in Galle’s telescope, but his want of care enabled it to elude him just when he was hovering on the very verge of its discovery. Numerous other instances might be mentioned. Failure may either arise from imperfect or inaccurate records, from a want of discrimination, from neglect in tracing an apparent discordance to its true source, or from hesitation. I may be pardoned for mentioning a case within my own experience. On July 11, 1881, just before daylight, I stood contemplating Auriga, and the idea occurred to me to sweep the region with my comet eyepiece, but I hesitated, thinking the prospect not sufficiently inviting. Three nights later Schæberle at Ann Arbor, U.S.A., discovered a bright telescopic comet in Auriga! Before sunrise on October 4 of the same year I had been observing Jupiter, and again hesitated as to the utility of comet-seeking, but, remembering the little episode in my past experience, I instantly set to work, and at almost the first sweep alighted upon a suspicious object which afterwards proved itself a comet of short period. These facts teach one to value his opportunities. They cannot be lightly neglected, coming as they do all too rarely. The observer should never hesitate. He must endeavour to at least effect a little whenever an occasion offers; for it is just that little which may yield a marked success—greater, perhaps, than months of arduous labour may achieve at another time.
Perseverance.—Persistency in observation, apart from the value derived from cumulative results, increases the powers of an observer to a considerable degree. This is especially the case when the same objects are subjected to repeated scrutiny. A first view, though it may seem perfectly satisfactory in its conditions and results, does not represent what the observer is capable of doing with renewed effort. Let us suppose that a lunar object with complicated detail is to be thoroughly surveyed. The observer delineates at the first view everything that appears to be visible. But a subsequent effort reveals other features which eluded him before, and many additional details are gradually reached during later observations. Ultimately the observer finds that his first drawing is scarcely more than a mere outline of the formation as he sees it at his latest efforts. Details which he regarded as difficult at first have become comparatively conspicuous, and a number of delicate structures have been exhibited which were quite beyond his reach at the outset. The eye has become familiarized with the object, and its powers fairly brought out by training and experience. This training is very serviceable, but is seldom appreciated in the degree of its influence. Many a tyro has abandoned a projected series of observations on finding that his initiatory view falls wofully short of published drawings or descriptions. He considers himself hopelessly distanced, and regards it as impossible to attain—much less excel—the results achieved by his predecessors. He does not realize that their work is the issue of years of close application, and that it represents the collective outcome of many successive nights. I need hardly say that it is a great mistake to anticipate failure in this way. No telescopic work has been done in the past that will not be done better in the future. No observer can rate his capacity until he has rigorously tested it by experience. The eye must become accustomed to an object before it is able to do itself justice. Those who have been sedulously engaged in a certain research will, as a rule, see far more than others who are but just entering upon it—not from a natural superiority of vision, but because of the aptitude and power acquired by practice. No matter how meagre an observer’s primary attempts may be, he should by no means relax his efforts, but rather feel that his want of success must be remedied by experience. It is a common fault with observers that they leave too much to their instruments, and rely upon them for the results which really depend entirely upon their personal endeavours. A skilled workman will do good work with indifferent tools; for after all it is the character of the man that is evident in his results, and not so much the resources which art places in his hands.
Much also depends upon the feelings by which the amateur is actuated when he commences work. A few enter into it with a degree of energy and determination that knows no wearying and will accept no defeat. Others display a half-hearted enthusiasm, and are constantly doubting either their personal ability or their instrumental means. Many others, again, when the circumstances appear a little against them regard failure as inevitable. It need hardly be said, however, that every difficulty may be surmounted by perseverance, and that a man’s enthusiasm is often the measure of his success, and success is rarely denied to him whose heart is in his work.