ly impressed with the truth of certain things which lie outside the discoveries of reason or the investigations of science, and which bear on the whole conduct of his life here, and on his hopes regarding life hereafter. He believes these truths to be divine, and, accordingly, that no legitimate deduction of human reason is liable to come in conflict with them. But the precise mode in which a conviction of the truth of these things was arrived at depends, to a considerable extent, on each man's idiosyncrasy. His natural bent of mind, his early training, his later associations, have all a good deal to do with it. Divine truth is one thing; our own apprehension of it, and the steps by which in our own minds it has been arrived at, are another. These are liable to human imperfection, and we may not attribute to them the infallibility which belongs to that which is divine. We are not to confound the scaffolding with the building; nor, if we are anxious for the safety of the edifice, need we therefore fear that, if the scaffolding were tampered with, the whole might come tumbling down, nor should we regard as a dynamiter a fellow-workman who would remove a pole

or two.

That truth must be self-consistent, come from where it may, is an axiom which nobody would dispute; the only question can be, What is truth? Now, there are truths which we know by intuition, such as the axioms of mathematics; and there are others, again, which, though we do not perceive them by intuition, yet demonstrably follow from what we do so perceive; such, for example, are the propositions of mathematics. Then there are other conclusions which we accept as the result of the application of our reason to a study of Nature. Here the evidence is not demonstrative, and the conclusion may have all degrees of support, from such overwhelming evidence as that on which we accept universal gravitation, to what hardly raises the conclusion above the rank of a conjecture. On the other hand, there are conclusions which we accept on totally different grounds; namely, because we think that they have been revealed. Why we accept a revelation at all, is a very wide question which I can not here enter into. That we do accept it is implied in the membership of this Institute. But, granting the acceptance of revelation, the question remains, What and how much is involved in revelation? That is a question respecting which there are differences of opinion among those who frankly accept a revelation, and with it the supernatural.

Now, the primary object of the establishment of the Victoria Institute was to examine the questions as to which there was a prima facie appearance of conflict between the conclusions of science and the teachings of revelation. In order that such examination may be usefully carried out, it must be undertaken in a thoroughly impartial spirit, with a readiness honestly to follow truth wherever it may lead. It will not do to assume that the immunity from error which belongs to the divine belongs also to our apprehension of what constitutes the

divine, and that therefore, if a conflict there be, the error must be on the side of science. It is true that many statements, which are really little more than scientific conjectures, are represented, at least by those who take their science at second or third hand, as if they were the well-established conclusions of science. But it is true also that the progress of science has corrected the assertions of a crude theology. We are disposed nowadays to smile at the idea of any opposition between the Copernican system and the teaching of revelation; but we need not go back to the days of the persecution of Galileo to find an example of a well-supported scientific conclusion having met with a similar opposition, issuing in a similar result.

Το gauge thoroughly the amount of evidence on which an asserted scientific conclusion rests, one ought to be well acquainted with the branch of science to which it relates. Still, one can get a fair general notion of the evidence by an amount of reading which is by no means prohibitive, or by conversing with those who have made that branch a special study. It may be that the impression thus left on the mind will be that the votaries of science, carried away by an excess of zeal in the attempt to discover the causes of natural phenomena, have really, though honestly, overestimated the evidence. It may be, on the other hand, that the inquirer will perceive the evidence to be weighty and substantial, in which case it behooves him to reconsider the supposition with which he started, that the conclusion was opposed to the teaching of revelation.

One should always bear in mind the great responsibility one incurs, and the mischief one may do, by representing as bound up with revelation that which really forms no part of it. Being by hypothesis no part of it, but only erroneously tacked on to it, it may be false, and, being false, it may be in opposition to a conclusion supported by the weightiest evidence, it matters not of what kind, but say scientific. What, then, will be the effect of the error committed by the upholder of revelation? The educated man of science may see through the fallacy; but will it not put a weapon into the hands of the infidel lecturer wherewith to attack revealed religion?

But whether we can agree or can not agree with the conclusions at which the scientific investigator may have arrived, let us, above all things, beware of imputing evil motives to him; of charging him with adopting his conclusions for the purpose of opposing what is revealed. Scientific investigation is eminently truthful. The investigator may be wrong, but it does not follow that he is other than truth-loving. If on some subjects which we deem of the highest importance he does not agree with us and yet it may be he agrees with us more than we suppose let us, remembering our own imperfections, both of understanding and of practice, bear in mind that caution of the Apostle : "Who art thou that judgest another man's servant? To his own master he standeth or falleth."—Nature.

IN

ASTRONOMY WITH AN OPERA-GLASS.

THE STARS OF AUTUMN.

BY GARRETT P. SERVISS.

N the "Fifth Evening" of that delightful, old, out-of-date book of Fontenelle's, on the "Plurality of Worlds," the Astronomer and the Marchioness, who have been making a wonderful pilgrimage through the heavens during their evening strolls in the park, come at last to the starry systems beyond the "solar vortex," and the Marchioness experiences a lively impatience to know what the fixed stars shall turn out to be, for the Astronomer has sharpened her appetite for marvels.

"Tell me," says she, eagerly, "are they, too, inhabited like the planets, or are they not peopled? In short, what can we make of them?"

The Astronomer answers his charming questioner, as we should do to-day, that the fixed stars are so many suns. And he adds to this information a great deal of entertaining talk about the planets that may be supposed to circle around these distant suns, interspersing his conversation with explanations of "vortexes," and many quaint conceits, in which he is helped out by the ready wit of the Marchioness.

Finally, the impressionable mind of the Marchioness is overwhelmed by the grandeur of the scenes that the Astronomer opens to her view, her head swims, infinity oppresses her, and she cries for mercy.

"You show me," she exclaims, "a perspective so interminably long that the eye can not see the end of it. I see plainly the inhabitants of the earth; then you cause me to perceive those of the moon and of the other planets belonging to our vortex (system), quite clearly, yet not so distinct as those of the earth. After them come the inhabitants of planets in the other vortexes. I confess, they seem to me hidden deep in the background, and, however hard I try, I can barely glimpse them at all. In truth, are they not almost annihilated by the very expression which you are obliged to use in speaking of them? You have to call them inhabitants of one of the planets contained in one out of the infinity of vortexes. Surely we ourselves, to whom the same expression applies, are almost lost among so many millions of worlds. For my part, the earth begins to appear so frightfully little to me that henceforth I shall hardly consider any object worthy of eager pursuit. Assuredly, people who seek so earnestly their own aggrandizement, who lay schemes upon schemes, and give themselves so much trouble, know nothing of the vortexes! I am sure my increase of knowledge will redound to the credit of my idleness, and when

VOL. XXXII.-4*

people reproach me with indolence I shall reply: Ah! if you but knew the history of the fixed stars!""

It is certainly true that a contemplation of the unthinkable vastness of the universe, in the midst of which we dwell upon a speck illuminated by a spark, is calculated to make all terrestrial affairs appear contemptibly insignificant. We can not wonder that men for ages regarded the earth as the center, and the heavens with their lights as tributary to it, for to have thought otherwise, in those times, would have been to see things from the point of view of a superior intelligence. It has taken a vast amount of experience and knowledge to

convince men of the parvitude of themselves and their belongings. So, in all ages they have applied a terrestrial measure to the universe, and imagined they could behold human affairs reflected in the heavens and human interests setting the gods together by the ears.

This is clearly shown in the story of the constellations. The tre

mendous truth that on a starry night we look, in every direction, into an almost endless vista of suns beyond suns and systems upon systems, was too overwhelming for comprehension by the inventors of the constellations. So they amused themselves, like imaginative children, as they were, by tracing the outlines of men and beasts formed by those pretty lights, the stars. They turned the starry heavens into a scroll filled with pictured stories of mythology. Four of the constellations with which we are going to deal in this article are particularly interesting on this account. They preserve in the stars, more lasting than parchment or stone, one of the oldest and most pleasing of all the romantic stories that have amused and inspired the minds of men -the story of Perseus and Andromeda-a better story than any that modern novelists have invented. The four constellations to which I have referred bear the names of Andromeda, Perseus, Cassiopeia, and Cepheus, and are sometimes called, collectively, the Royal Family. In the autumn they occupy a conspicuous position in the sky, forming a group that remains unrivaled until the rising of Orion with his imperial cortège. The reader will find them in our circular map, occupying the northeastern quarter of the heavens.

This map represents the visible heavens at about midnight on September 1st, ten o'clock P. M. on October 1st, and eight o'clock P. M. on November 1st. At this time the constellations that were near the meridian in summer will be found sinking in the west, Hercules being low in the northwest, with the brilliant Lyra and the head of Draco suspended above it; Aquila, "the eagle of the winds," soars high in the southwest; while the Cross of Cygnus is just west of the zenith; and Sagittarius, with its wealth of star-dust, is disappearing under the horizon in the southwest.

Far down in the south the observer catches the gleam of a bright lone star of the first magnitude, though not one of the largest of that class. It is Fomalhaut, in the mouth of the Southern Fish, Piscis Australis. A slight reddish tint will be perceived in the light of this beautiful star whose brilliancy is enhanced by the fact that it shines without a rival in that region of the sky. Fomalhaut is one of the important "nautical stars," and its position was long ago carefully computed for the benefit of mariners. The constellation of Piscis Australis, which will be found in our second map, does not possess much to interest us except its brilliant leading star. In consulting Map 2, the observer is supposed to be facing south, or slightly west. of south, and he must remember that the upper part of the map reaches nearly to the zenith, while at the bottom it extends down to the horizon.

To the right, or west, of Fomalhaut, and higher up, is the constellation of Capricornus, very interesting on many accounts, though by no means a striking constellation to the unassisted eye. The stars Alpha (a), called Giedi, and Beta (B), called Dabib, will be readily