the fleet of asteroids that sail the azure between Mars and Jupiter.
Some of these come near together, continuing to fill each other's
sky for days with brightness, then one gradually draws ahead. They
have all phases for each other--crescent, half, full, and gibbous.
These hundreds of bodies fill the realm where they are with
inexhaustible variety. Beyond are vast spaces--cold, dark, void of
matter, but full of power. Occasionally a little spark of light
looms up rapidly into a world so huge that a thousand of our earths
could not occupy its vast bulk. It swings its four or eight moons
with perfect skill and infinite strength; but they go by and leave
the silence unbroken, the darkness unlighted for years.
Nevertheless, every part of space is full of power. Nowhere in its
wide orbit can a world find a place; at no time in its eons of
flight can it find an instant when the sun does not hold it in
safety and life.

_The Outlook from the Earth._

If we come in from our wanderings in space and take an outlook from
the earth, we shall observe certain movements, easily interpreted
now that we know the system, but nearly inexplicable to men who
naturally supposed that the earth was the largest, most stable,
and central body in the universe.

We see, first of all, sun, moon, and stars rise in the east, mount
the heavens, and set in the west. As I [Page 109] revolve in my
pivoted study-chair, and see all sides of the room--library, maps,
photographs, telescope, and windows--I have no suspicion that it is
the room that whirls; but looking out of a car-window in a depot at
another car, one cannot tell which is moving, whether it be his car
or the other. In regard to the world, we have come to feel its
whirl. We have noticed the pyramids of Egypt lifted to hide the sun;
the mountains of Hymettus hurled down, so as to disclose the moon
that was behind them to the watchers on the Acropolis; and the
mighty mountains of Moab removed to reveal the stars of the east.
Train the telescope on any star; it must be moved frequently, or the
world will roll the instrument away from the object. Suspend a
cannon-ball by a fine wire at the equator; set it vibrating north
and south, and it swings all day in precisely the same direction.
But suspend it directly over the north pole, and set it swinging
toward Washington; in six hours after it is swinging toward Rome, in
Italy; in twelve hours, toward Siam, in Asia; in nineteen hours,
toward t