There are forty-eight well known constellations, but of these only about a dozen are easy to know. I think a dozen is quite enough for children to learn. And therefore, I shall tell you how to find only the showiest and most interesting.

The best way to begin is to describe the ones that you can see almost every night in the year, because you may want to begin any month in the year, and you might be discouraged if I talked about things n.o.body could see in that month. There are five constellations you can nearly always see, and these are all near the Pole star.

Doubtless you think you know two of them already--the Big and the Little Dipper. Ah, I forgot to tell you that these dippers are not the real thing. They are merely parts of bigger constellations and their real names are Great Bear and Little Bear. The oldest names are the right ones. Thousands of years ago, when the Greeks named these groups of stars, they thought they looked like two bears. I can't see the resemblance.

But for that matter all the figures in the sky are disappointing. The people who named the constellations called them lions, and fishes, and horses, and hunters, and they thought they could see a dolphin, a snake, a dragon, a crow, a crab, a bull, a ram, a swan, and other things. But nowadays we cannot see those creatures. We can see the stars plainly enough, and they do make groups, but they do not look like animals. I was greatly disappointed when I was told this; but I soon got over it, because new wonders are always coming on. I think the only honest thing to do is to tell you right at the start that you cannot see these creatures very well. You will spoil your pleasure unless you take these resemblances good-naturedly and with a light heart. And you will also spoil your pleasure if you scold the ancients for naming the constellations badly. n.o.body in the world would change those old names now. There is too much pleasure in them. Besides, I doubt if we could do much better. I believe those old folks were better observers than we.

And I believe they had a lighter fancy.

Let us, too, be fanciful for once. I have asked my friend, Mrs. Thomas, to draw her notion of some of these famous creatures of the sky. You can draw your idea of them too, and it is pleasant to compare drawings with friends. There is only one way to see anything like a Great Bear. You have to imagine the Dipper upside down and make the handle of the Dipper serve for the Bear's tail. What a funny bear to drag a long tail on the ground! Miss Martin says he looks more like a chubby hobby-horse. You will have to make the bowl of the Dipper into hind legs and use all the other stars, somehow, to make a big, clumsy, four-legged animal. And what a monster he is! He measures twenty-five degrees from the tip of his nose to the root of his tail. Yes, all those miscellaneous faint stars you see near the Big Dipper belong to the Great Bear.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Orion fighting the Bull. Above are Orion's two dogs]

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Little Bear, the Queen in her chair, the Twins and the Archer]

How the Great Bear looked to the people who named it thousands of years ago, we probably shall never know. They left no books or drawings, so far as I know. But in every dictionary and book on astronomy you can find these bears and other animals drawn so carefully and beautifully that it seems as if they _must_ be in the sky, and we must be too dull to see them. It is not so. Look at the pictures in this book and, you will see that the stars do not outline the animals. Many of them come at the wrong places. And so it is with all the costly books and charts and planispheres. It is all very interesting, but it isn't true. It's just fancy. And when you once understand that it isn't true, you will begin to enjoy the fancy. Many a smile you will have, and sometimes a good laugh. For instance, the English children call the Dipper "Charles's wain" or "the wagon." And the Romans called it "the plough." They thought of those seven stars as oxen drawing a plough.

Well, that's enough about the two Bears. I want to tell you about the other three constellations you can nearly always see. These are the Chair, the Charioteer, and Perseus (p.r.o.nounced _per'soos_).

The Chair is the easiest to find, because it is like a very bad W, and it is always directly opposite the big Dipper, with the Pole star half way between the two constellations. There are five stars in the W, and to make the W into a Chair you must add a fainter star which helps to make the square bottom of the chair. But what a crazy piece of furniture! I have seen several ways of drawing it, but none of them makes a comfortable chair. I should either fall over backward, or else the back of the chair would prod me in the small of my back. The correct name of this constellation is Ca.s.siopeia's Chair.

I think this is enough to see and enjoy in one night. To-morrow night let us look for the Charioteer.

I love the Charioteer for several reasons. One is that it makes a beautiful pentagon, or five-sided figure, with its five brightest stars.

Another is that it contains the second-brightest star in the northern part of the heavens, Capella. The only star in the north that is brighter is Vega, but Vega is bluish white or creamy.

If you haven't already found the five-sided figure, I will tell you how to find Capella. Suppose you had a gun that would shoot anything as far as you wish. Shoot a white string right through the Pointers and hit the Pole star. Then place your gun at the Pole star and turn it till it is at right angles to that string you shot. Aim away from the big Dipper, shoot a bullet forty-five degrees and it will hit Capella.

If that plan doesn't work, try this. Start with the star that is at the bottom of the Dipper and nearest the handle. Draw a line half-way between the two Pointers and keep on till you come to the first bright star. This is Capella, and the distance is about fifty degrees.

Capella means "a kid," or "little goat," and that reminds me of the third reason why I enjoy so much the constellation of which Capella is the brightest star. In the old times they sometimes called this five-sided figure "the goat-carrier." And the shepherds thought they could see a man carrying a little goat in his left hand. I am sure you can see the kid they meant. It is a triangle of faint stars which you see near Capella. That's enough for to-night.

To-morrow night let us look for Perseus. I dare say you know that old tale about Perseus rescuing the princess who was chained upon a rock.

(He cut off the snaky head of Medusa and showed it to the dragon that was going to devour the princess, and it turned the monster to stone.

Remember?) Well, there are constellations named after all the people in that story, but although they contain many showy stars, I could never make them look like a hero, a princess, a king, and a queen. I do not even try to trace out all of Perseus. For I am satisfied to enjoy a very beautiful part of it which is called the "Arc of Perseus."

An arc, you know, is a portion of a circle. And the way to find this arc is to draw a curve from Capella to Ca.s.siopeia. On nights that are not very clear I can see about seven stars in this Arc of Perseus. And the reason I love it so much is that it is the most beautiful thing, when seen through an opera-gla.s.s, that I know. You could never imagine that a mere opera-gla.s.s would make such a difference. The moment I put it to my eyes about a dozen more stars suddenly leap into my sight in and near the Arc of Perseus. That's enough. No more stories to-night.

WINTER CONSTELLATIONS

By winter constellations I mean those you can see in winter at the pleasantest time--the early evening. And I want you to begin with the Northern Cross. I hope you can see this before Christmas, for, after that, it may be hidden by trees or buildings in the west and you may not see it again for a long while. This is because the stars seem to rise in the east and set in the west. To prove this, choose some brilliant star you can see at five or six o'clock; get it in line with some bush or other object over which you can just see it. Put a stake where you stand, and then go to the same spot about eight o'clock or just before you go to bed. You can tell at once how much the star seems to have moved westward.

Another thing, every star rises four minutes later every night, and therefore the sky looks a little different at the same hour every evening. The stars in the north set for a short time only, but when those toward the south set they are gone a long time. For instance, the brightest star of all is Sirius, the Dog Star, which really belongs to the southern hemisphere. There are only about three months in the year when children who go to bed by seven o'clock can see it--January, February, and March.

So now you understand why I am so eager that you should not miss the pleasure of seeing the famous Northern Cross. But although it is a big cross, and easy to find, after you know it, I have never yet known a boy who could show it to another boy simply by pointing at it. The surest and best way to find it is learn three bright stars first--Altair, Vega, and Deneb.

Altair is the brightest star in the Milky Way. It is just at the edge of the Milky Way, and you are to look for three stars in a straight line, with the middle one brightest. Those three stars make the constellation called "the Eagle." The body of the eagle is Altair, and the other two stars are the wings. I should say that Altair is about five degrees from each of his companions. It is worth half an hour's patient search to find the Eagle. Now these three stars in the Eagle point straight toward the brightest star in the northern part of the sky--Vega.

To make sure of it, notice four fainter stars near it which make a parallelogram--a sort of diamond. These stars are all part of a constellation called "the Lyre." If you try to trace out the old musical instrument, you will be disappointed; but here is a game worth while.

Can you see a small triangle made by three stars, of which Vega is one?

Well, one of those stars is double, and with an opera-gla.s.s you can see which it is. On very clear nights some people with very sharp eyes can see them lying close together, but I never could.

At last we are ready to find the celebrated Northern Cross. First draw a line from Altair to Vega. Then draw a line at right angles to this, until you come to another bright star--Deneb--which is about as far from Vega as Vega is from Altair. Now this beautiful star, Deneb, is the top of the Northern Cross. I can't tell you whether the Cross will be right or wrong side up when you see it, or on its side. For every constellation is likely to change its position during the night, as you know from watching the Dipper. But you can tell the Cross by these things. There are six stars in it. It is like a kite made of two sticks.

There are three stars in the crosspiece and four in the long piece.

Deneb, the brightest star in the cross, is at the top of the long stick.

But you mustn't expect to see a perfect cross. There is one star that is a little out of place, and sometimes my fingers fairly "itch to put it where it belongs." It is the one that ought to be where the long stick of your kite is tacked to the crosspiece. And one of the stars is provokingly faint, but you can see it. Counting straight down the long piece, it is the third one from Deneb that is faint. It is where it ought to be, but I should like to make it brighter. Have you the Cross now? If not, have patience. You can't be a "true sport" unless you are patient. You can't be a great ball-player, or hunter, or any thing else, without resisting, every day, that sudden impulse to "quit the game"

when you lose. Be a "good loser," smile and try again. That is better than to give up, or to win by cheating or sharp practice.

This is the last thing I want you to see in the northern part of the sky; and if you have done a good job, let us celebrate by having a story.

Once upon a time a cross didn't mean so much to the world as it does now. That was before Christ was born. In those old times people did not think of the Northern Cross as a cross. They thought of it as a Swan, and you can see the Swan if you turn the Cross upside down. Deneb will then be in the tail of the Swan, and the two stars which used to be at the tips of the crosspiece now become the wings. Is that a true story?

Yes. If we lived in Arabia the children there could tell us what Deneb means. It means "the tail."

Another story? Well, do you see the star in the beak of the Swan, or foot of the Cross? What color is it? White? Well, they say this white star is really made up of two stars--one yellow and the other blue. That is one reason I want to buy a telescope when I can afford it, for even the smallest telescope will show that. And Mr. Serviss says that even a strong field-gla.s.s will help any one see this wonder.

I can't tell you about all the winter constellations in one chapter. We have made friends of the northern ones. Now let's see the famous southern ones. And let's start a new chapter.

ORION, HIS DOGS, AND THE BULL

The most gorgeous constellation in the whole sky is Orion. I really pity any one who does not know it, because it has more bright stars in it than any other group. Besides, it doesn't take much imagination to see this mighty hunter fighting the great Bull. I dare say half the people in the United States know Orion and can tell him as quick as they see him by the famous "belt of Orion."

This belt is made of three stars, each of which is just one degree from the next. That is why the English people call these three stars "the ell and yard." Another name for them is "the three kings." You can see the "sword of Orion" hanging down from his belt.

As soon as you see these things you will see the four bright stars that outline the figure of the great hunter, but only two of them are of the first magnitude. The red one has a hard name--Betelgeuse (p.r.o.nounced _bet-el-guz'_). That is a Frenchified word from the Arabic, meaning "armpit," because this star marks the right shoulder of Orion. The other first-magnitude star is the big white one in the left foot. Its name is Rigel (p.r.o.nounced _re'-jel_) from an Arabian word meaning "the foot."

You can see the giant now, I am sure. Over his left arm hangs a lion's skin which he holds out to shield him from the bull's horns. See the shield--about four rather faint stars in a pretty good curve? Now look for his club which he holds up with his right hand so as to smite the bull. See the arm and the club--about seven stars in a rather poor curve--beyond the red star Betelgeuse? Now you have him, and isn't he a wonder!

It is even easier to see the Bull which is trying to gore Orion. Look where Orion is threatening to strike, and you will see a V. How many stars in that V? Five. And which is the brightest? That red one at the top of the left branch of the V? Yes. That V is the face of the Bull and that red star is the baleful eye of the angry Bull which is lowering his head and trying to toss Orion. The name of that red eye is Aldebaran (p.r.o.nounced _al-deb'-ar-an_).

I wish Aldebaran meant "red eye," but it doesn't. It is an old Arabian word meaning the "hindmost," or the "follower," because every evening it comes into view about an hour after you can see the famous group of stars called the Pleiades, which are in the shoulder of the Bull.

I do not care to trace the outline of this enormous bull, but his horns are a great deal longer than you think at first. If you will extend the two arms of that V a long way you will see two stars which may be called the tips of his horns. One of these stars really belongs in another constellation--our old friend the Charioteer, the one including Capella. Wow! what a pair of horns!

But now we come to the daintiest of all constellations--the Seven Sisters, or Pleiades (p.r.o.nounced _plee'-a-deez_).

I can see only six of them, and there is a famous old tale about the "lost Pleiad." But I needn't describe them. Every child finds them by instinct. Some compare them to a swarm of bees; some to a rosette of diamonds; some to dewdrops. But I would not compare them to a dipper as some do, because the real Little Dipper is very different. The light that seems to drip from the Pleiades is quivering, misty, romantic, magical. No wonder many children love the Pleiades best of all the constellations. No wonder the poets have praised them for thousands of years. The oldest piece of poetry about them that I know of was written about 1,500 years before Christ. You can find it in the book of Job. But the most poetic description of the Pleiades that I have ever read is in Tennyson's poem "Locksley Hall," in which he says they "glitter like a swarm of fireflies tangled in a silver braid."

There are a great many old tales about the lost Pleiad. One is that she veiled her face because the ancient city of Troy was burned. Another story says she ceased to be a G.o.ddess when she married a man and became mortal. Some people think she was struck by lightning. Others believe the big star, Canopus, came by and ran away with her. Still others declare she was a new star that appeared suddenly once upon a time, and after a while faded away.