Part 6

"No; that is Orion," replied his sister, "and the three bright stars mark his belt. Under it you can see a small cloud of mist, if you look at it through your opera glass. It is clinging around one of the faint stars in the sword. This is star-mist, from which other stars are being made, and it looks small only because it is so far away from us; but there is enough star-dust there to make thousands of bright stars. Astronomers called these clouds nebulæ."

"Who was Orion?" asked Harry. "Won't you tell me more about him?"

"He was a mighty hunter, and in the old maps you can see him represented as warding off the attack of the Bull, which is glaring at him with its bright red eye named Aldebaran. A story was told by the Grecians about this bull:

"Once upon a time there was a beautiful little girl named Europa, and she was a princess of Phœnicia. One day she was playing with some friends and gathering flowers in a meadow near the seashore. Suddenly a snow-white bull appeared, and the little children were very much afraid. But the princess was not afraid. She made a pretty garland of flowers and placed it around the bull's neck. When it knelt down in front of her as though to thank her, she jumped on its back, and it ran away with her down to the sea. Plunging under the waves, it swam with her to Crete. The Grecians thought they saw the bull outlined among the stars in the sky, but only its head and shoulders are there."

"But there are not any animals really in the sky, are there?" said Harry.

"No," said Mary, laughing at the question; "but if you look at the stars you can imagine you see outlines of bulls and serpents and all kinds of strange animals. Only you have to imagine very much, and this is exactly what the Grecians did.

"In the shoulder of the bull is the pretty little cluster of stars known as the Pleiades."

STORY OF THE PLEIADES.

"What is a cluster of stars?" asked Harry.

"Hundreds and thousands of stars forming a family party, as it were; and seen from earth they seem to be closely packed together. But if we could draw near to them, however, we should find that they were very far apart. If you look at the Pleiades through your opera glass you will see quite a number of little stars, and if you could see it through the large telescope at the Lick Observatory you would be able to count hundreds of stars. When the cluster had its photograph taken, not long ago, six thousand stars were counted, so you might call the Pleiades a 'ball of suns.' There are hundreds of these clusters, or 'family parties,' in the sky--mighty regiments marching across the star-depths."

"What do you mean, sister?" asked Harry in surprise.

"All the stars are moving," replied his sister. "Some in one direction, some in another; but the stars in the Pleiades are all drifting in the same direction.

"The Pleiades were said to be the seven daughters of Atlas, and were so beautiful that Orion pursued them across wood and dale, till the sisters called on Jupiter to help them. He changed them into doves, and afterward placed them among the stars. Orion still seems to be pursuing them among the stars; but, strange to say, they are drifting toward him now instead of away from him."

"Then he will soon catch them," said Harry, laughing at the idea. "I once heard something about the 'Lost Pleiad.' What does that mean?"

"One of the seven stars supposed to represent the sisters does not shine as brightly as the rest, so the Grecians called it the 'Lost Pleiad.'

"Some say the Lost Pleiad is Electra, who hid her face in her hands so that she might not see the burning of Troy. But she seems to have recovered from her fright, as her star now glows as brightly as the rest. Others said it was Merope, who married a mortal while her sisters married gods.

"An Iroquois legend accounts for the Lost Pleiad by saying it is a little Indian boy in the sky who is very homesick. When he cries he covers his face with his hands and thus hides his light."

"Do tell me about him," said Harry, looking forward to a treat, as he always enjoyed these Indian stories.

"The story is as follows," said Mary:

STORY OF THE SEVEN LITTLE INDIAN BOYS.

"Once upon a time seven little Indian boys lived in a log cabin in the woods. Every evening when the stars peeped out of the sky these children would take hold of hands and dance around, while they sang the 'Song of the Stars,' and the stars learned to love them. They would often beckon to the little boys, inviting them to come up to the sky; but the children loved their home on earth too well.

"But one day they found fault with everything. The oatmeal was too hot at breakfast, there was an absence of pie at dinner-time; and the distressing news that they were only to have corn and beans for supper was a climax to their 'tale of woe.'

"Meanwhile their mother calmly ate her supper, while her seven little boys looked on in hungry dismay. When supper-time was over they filed slowly and sadly out of the cabin. Their mother felt sorry for them, it is true; but she knew that if she gave in now she would have to give in always. She watched her boys as they danced as usual that evening and sang their song to the stars; and then she hurried into the cabin and cleared away the uneaten corn and beans.

"Alas! she did not hear the song her children sang to the stars. When the stars beckoned as usual to the little boys, inviting them to come up to the sky, they had accepted the invitation. As they danced round and round their heads and their hearts grew lighter, and in a few moments they were soaring like birds through the air. Just then their mother went to the cabin door to tell them it was time to come home; and imagine her horror when she saw her children slowly disappearing in the sky!

"And now every evening the lonely mother gazes at seven bright stars in the sky, which she fondly believes are her seven little boys, but which are really the seven stars known to us as the Pleiades. One star in the group does not shine as brightly as the rest, and this must be one of the little Indians who is homesick."

"I shall never forget that story," said Harry, who had enjoyed every word of it; "and now I wish you would tell me about that very bright star on the other side of Orion. I can only just see it, but it is so beautiful. It is bluish-white, and twinkles so brightly."

"That is Sirius, the brightest star in this part of the sky," replied Mary, "and ever so much larger than the sun."

"What makes it twinkle?" asked Harry.

WHY THE STARS TWINKLE.

"When we look at the stars we have to see them through the great ocean of air that surrounds the earth," replied Mary. "Like the Atlantic Ocean, when the ocean of air is disturbed there are waves, and we have to look at the stars through the waves. That is why their light seems to dance about so. When the air is still then the starlight is steady, but when it moves the stars twinkle. If we could go to the moon, where there is not any air, we would not see the stars twinkle."

"Then I should rather stay here," said Harry, "because I like to watch them dancing about. They seem so merry, I am sure they are laughing at us, sister. Is there a story about Sirius?"

"It is part of a group of stars named the 'Great Dog,'" she replied; "and higher up you will see the 'Little Dog.' These are the hounds that Orion always took with him when he went hunting. They seem to have even followed him to the sky.

"Sirius is also known as the Dog-star, because when it was seen by the Egyptians in the east just before dawn it was thought to announce the overflow of the Nile. Therefore the Egyptians watched this star, which warned them, like a faithful dog, of the coming deluge. It was their watch-dog or sentinel.

"Now I am going to tell you about the Twins, two brothers who loved each other dearly while on earth. They were named Castor and Pollux. Castor was killed in battle. Pollux could not bear to remain on earth without him, so Jupiter placed him in the sky next to his brother.

"If you look through the glass you can see that Pollux is a golden-yellow star and Castor has a green tinge."

"Are all the stars colored?" asked Harry.

THE FLOWERS OF HEAVEN.

"Yes," replied his sister, "and they are as varied in color as the flowers of the earth. The stars may be called 'The flowers of heaven.' Longfellow says so beautifully:

"'Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.'

"Some of the natives of Australia believe that when the flowers die on earth they rise on the winds and float away to the fair fields of heaven, where they flourish forever in immortal beauty. We cannot see the colors of these flowers of heaven very well, on account of the air that surrounds the earth. If it were removed, then the dark sky would seem to be covered with starry flowers of all the colors of the rainbow."

"How beautiful!" said Harry thoughtfully. "How I wish we could see them that way!"

"But even as it is," said his sister, "you can see some of these colors. Look at white Sirius, that sometimes seems to me tinged with blue, and then at red Aldebaran in the eye of the bull, and a creamy star called Capella just near the Twins. So you can see some of the colors. And now a few more words about Castor, which is a double star. That is, it is made up of two bright stars, and they go around each other.

"Professor Ball was once showing the stars through his telescope to some friends, when he pointed out this double star to them. First of all, he told them to note the different colors of the stars, for one was white, the other green. All double stars are of complementary colors. One may be green and the other red, one blue and the other orange.

"Then Professor Ball told his visitors that the stars went round each other.

"'Oh, yes!' said one of the visitors. 'I saw them going round in the telescope.'

"But it was the twinkling that made the stars appear to dance around each other. In reality, he would have had to remain with his eye at the telescope more than a hundred years before he could have seen the stars go completely around each other."

NUMBER OF THE STARS.

"I wonder how many stars there are in the sky, sister," said Harry. "Do you think we could count them?"

"I read somewhere," replied his sister, "that the stars are as plentiful as the sands on the seashore. Still, in the whole sky, the number bright enough to be seen without a telescope is only from six to seven thousand in a clear, moonless sky. With an opera glass you can bring the number up to one hundred thousand. A small telescope can show about three hundred thousand, while with a telescope such as the one at the Lick Observatory the number would be nearly one hundred million. But it is possible to photograph the stars, and millions of stars have had their pictures taken. Probably we would never have known anything about them but the camera caught them, and now they are being named and labeled, so that they cannot escape us again. In fact, some of the stars are so far away that if we had not captured them in this way they would have remained hidden to us forever."

"What do you mean, sister?" said Harry, his eyes filled with surprise.

"I mean, dear, that some stars are so far away that their light has not yet reached us. Don't you remember what I told you about Jupiter's moons: that they are so far away that light takes about half an hour in coming from them to the earth. Well, the stars are hundreds of times as far away as Jupiter's moons. So far away are they that even from the nearest--a star seen in the southern hemisphere--light takes four years and four months in reaching us, although light travels more than 186,000 miles a second."

DISTANCE OF THE STARS.

"Look at the Pole Star some night, and you will not see it as it is now, but as it was more than sixty-two years ago. All this time its light has been on its way to Planet Earth. If a planet travels around the Pole Star, or Polaris, as it is sometimes called, and an astronomer on that planet looked at the earth he would not see it as it is now, but as it was more than sixty-two years ago. There are other stars so far away that light takes hundreds of years in coming here. Perhaps they faded out long ago, but the message is still on its way. It does seem strange to think of people who may be living on distant worlds in space, watching our little world, but we need not fear. The earth is so small that it could not be seen at all, even from the nearest star. At that distance Giant Sun would not look quite as bright as Sirius does to us, and giant Planet Jupiter would only appear as a faint speck of light near the sun."

"How far away everything seems to be!" said Harry. "Yet you said just now that we could tell what the stars are made of. How can we do that?"

WHAT ARE THE STARS MADE OF?

"The stars are made of iron, copper, zinc, and other such metals, but the heat is so intense that these metals are turned into vapor. You have seen the steam coming from the spout of a kettle when water is boiling, and you know then that the water is scalding hot. But imagine heat so great that masses of iron and copper are not only melted but turned into vapor. Then you have some idea of the intense heat that prevails on the stars. The rains that fall on earth are made up of drops of water, but the rainfalls on the stars must be drops of melting iron, while the clouds that form are sheets of molten metal."

"How wonderful!" said Harry; "and how do we know this, as the stars are so far away?"

"By means of a little instrument known as the spectroscope, or light-sifter. But you must wait till you are a little older before I can explain that to you, as it is something very difficult to understand. At any rate, I can tell you this, that when we want to find out what a star is made of we catch a ray of its light and examine it with the light-sifter. As Professor Ball quoted in one of his lectures:

"'Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Now we find out what you are, When unto the midnight sky We the spectroscope apply.'"

"And can you tell how old the stars are?" asked Harry; "because when you were talking about the planets you said some are old and some are young."

"This same little spectroscope tells us that as well, and we can recognize the stars that are in their infancy, and others that are middle-aged or nearly worn-out."

"How strange to think of worn-out stars," said Harry; "yet I suppose they must grow old sometime, just as we do; only I suppose they take ever so much longer growing up."

"Hundreds of years," said Mary, laughing at the idea of grown-up stars. "There are young stars and old stars, and even the star that gives us light and heat will grow cold and dead some day, and not warm its planets any longer. But that will be millions of years hence, long after we are dead and gone."

OUR ISLAND UNIVERSE.

"So it is all over the heavens. Our little universe is like an island in space. There are other islands like our own, with their millions of stars and star-clusters and star-mist, passing through the periods of youth, middle age, old age, and decay. Our little universe is not eternal. It cannot last forever, but as long as it does we should feel glad that we are here to enjoy it.

"Now, Harry, I really think we have had quite a long ramble in starland for one evening, and I believe two little stars I know need a rest."

"They are a little tired," said Harry, smiling; "two little worn-out stars, sister; and perhaps they do want to let the curtains down over them for awhile."

"I believe they do," said Mary softly; and the stars were hidden by their curtains almost before she had said the words.

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe-- Sailed on a river of crystal light Into a sea of dew. "Where are you going, and what do you wish?" The old man asked of the three. "We have come to fish for the herring-fish That live in this beautiful sea. Nets of silver and gold have we," Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

The old Moon laughed and sang a song As they rocked in the wooden shoe, And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew. The little stars were the herring-fish That lived in the beautiful sea, "Now cast your net wherever you wish, Never afeared are we." So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw For the stars in the twinkling foam; Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, Bringing those fishermen home. 'Twas all so pretty a tale, it seemed As if it could not be. And some folks thought 'twas a dream they dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea. But I shall name you the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed. So shut your eyes while mother sings Of wonderful sights that be; And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea, Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

--Eugene Field.

SEVEN LITTLE INDIAN STARS.

BY MRS. S. M. B. PIATT.

Seven little Indian boys were they, Dancing with the moonbeams on a mound, In the wind they all were whirled away, And the fireflies searched the dews around.

Seven little Indian stars are they, Seven, and only one, my child, is dim. That's the Singer, their sad stories say; That's the Singer--let us pity him.

Oh, the little Singer! (You can see He's not shining as the others are.) Once, when all the stars made wishes, he Wished he didn't have to be a star.

--St. Nicholas, March, 1890.

WHY THE STARS TWINKLE.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

When Eve had led her lord away, And Cain had killed his brother, The stars and flowers,--the poets say,-- Agreed with one another

To cheat the cunning tempter's art And show the world its duty, By keeping on its wicked heart Their eyes of love and beauty.

A million sleepless lids, they say, Will be at least a warning; And so the flowers will watch by day, The stars from eve to morning.

On hills and prairies, fields and lawn, Their dewy eyes upturning, The flowers still watch from reddening dawn Till western skies are burning.

Alas! each hour of daylight tells A tale of shame so crushing, That some turn white as sea-bleached shells, And some are always blushing.

And when the patient stars look down, On all their light discovers, The traitor's smile, the murderer's frown, The lips of lying lovers,

They try to shut their saddening eyes And in the vain endeavor We see them twinkling in the skies, And so--they wink,--forever.

--Taken from The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table.

"GOD BLESS THE STAR!"

"Darling, I am feeling so tired this evening, won't you sit beside my bed and hold my hand in yours while you tell me about the stars?"

His sister Mary suggested lighting the lamp and reading a story, but he held her hand with gentle force, saying:

"Do not light the lamp. Leave the curtain up so that I can see the stars from my window, and tell me in your own words that story you told me of a star the other day--Dickens' story of a star. Don't you remember, sister?"

Still holding his little hand in hers, and giving it a loving pressure, she rested her head on the pillow beside his, and began, in low soft tones:

"There was once a beautiful bright star that shone down upon the home of a little boy and girl who wondered at its light. They learned to know it so well that every evening the one who saw it first would say, 'I see the star,' and before they went to sleep at night they would say 'Good-night' to the star, and, 'God bless the star!'

"But the little girl, while she was still very young, became very weak and feeble, so that she was unable to go to the window and look at the star, so the brother would stand there alone and watch for it. As soon as he saw it he would turn round to his sister, and say, 'I see the star,' and the little sister would answer gently, 'God bless my brother and the star!' One evening the brother looked at the star alone, for his little sister had passed away to her home among the stars. That was a sad and lonely evening for the brother, and at night he dreamed of his sister. Her face seemed to be looking at him from the bright star, and he could see a pathway of light reaching from it to his room.

"Along the pathway were people passing from this earth to the stars. Angels waited to receive them, and as they reached the star people came out to welcome them. Kissing their friends tenderly, they went away together down avenues of light. But there was one who waited patiently near the entrance of the star and asked the guide who led the people thither if her brother had not yet come.

"'Not yet,' he replied kindly, and as she turned sadly away the little brother reached out his arms toward her, and said, 'Here I am sister; I am coming to you.'

"As she turned her beaming eyes on him, the star was shining into the room, and he could see its rays of light through his tears. From that hour the child looked on that star as his future home, where he would some day meet his angel sister again.

"And he waited, oh! so patiently, and the years rolled slowly by. He grew to manhood, and still the star shone down upon him at night. Then he grew to be an old man with gray hair and wrinkled face, and his steps were slow and feeble. Others had gone before him to the star. A little brother who died while he was young--his mother--his daughter--and now surely his own time had come.

"One night he lay upon a bed of sickness, and as his children gathered around him he suddenly cried out, as he had long ago, 'I see the star.' Then they whispered to each other, 'He is dying,' and he heard them, and said: 'I am. My age is falling from me like a mantle, and I move toward the star as a child. And, O my Father, now I thank thee that the star has so often opened to receive those dear ones who await me!'

"And next day the star was shining, and it still shines, upon his grave."

* * * * *

Harry had been lulled to sleep by the sound of his sister's voice, and in the dim light Mary could see that he was smiling in his dreams. Were his dreams, she wondered, about Stories of Starland?

CROSSING THE BAR.

Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put off to sea.

But such a tide, as, moving, seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark.

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have cros't the bar.

--Tennyson.

YE GOLDEN LAMPS OF HEAVEN.