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Discovering Diverse Content Through
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near him than in those which were at a distance. When M.
Labillardiere was on Mount Teneriffe, he saw the contours of his
body traced on the clouds beneath him in all the colours of the solar
bow. He had previously witnessed this phenomenon on the Kesrouan
in Asia Minor. The rainbows of Greenland are said to be frequently of
a pale white, fringed with a brownish yellow, arising from the rays of
the sun being reflected from a frozen cloud.

The following is a summary view of the principal facts which have

been ascertained respecting the rainbow:—1. The rainbow can only
be seen when it rains, and in that point of the heavens which is
opposite to the sun. 2. Both the primary and secondary bows are
variegated with all the prismatic colours—the red being the highest
colour in the primary, or brightest bow, and the violet the highest in
the exterior. 3. The primary rainbow can never be a greater arc than
a semicircle; and when the sun is set, no bow, in ordinary
circumstances, can be seen. 4. The breadth of the inner or primary
bow—supposing the sun but a point—is 1° 45´; and the breadth of
the exterior bow 3° 12´, which is nearly twice as great as that of the
other; and the distance between the bows is 8° 55´. But since the
body of the sun subtends an angle of about half a degree, by so
much will each bow be increased, and their distance diminished; and
therefore the breadth of the interior bow will be 2° 15´, and that of
the exterior, 3° 42´, and their distance 8° 25´. The greatest
semidiameter of the interior bow, on the same grounds, will be 42°
17´, and the least of the exterior bow 50° 43´. 5. When the sun is
in the horizon, either in the morning or evening, the bows will
appear complete semicircles. On the other hand, when the sun’s
altitude is equal to 42° 2´ or to 54° 10´, the summits of the bows
will be depressed below the horizon. Hence, during the days of
summer, within a certain interval each day, no visible rainbows can
be formed, on account of the sun’s high altitude above the horizon.
6. The altitude of the bows above the horizon, or surface of the
earth, varies, according to the elevation of the sun. The altitude, at
any time, may be taken by a common quadrant, or other angular
instrument; but, if the sun’s altitude at any particular time be known,
the height of the summit of any of the bows may be found, by
subtracting the sun’s altitude from 42° 2´ for the inner bow, and
from 54° 10´, for the outer. Thus, if the sun’s altitude were 26°, the
height of the primary bow would 16° 2´, and of the secondary, 28°
10´. It follows, that the height and the size of the bows diminish as
the altitude of the sun increases. 7. If the sun’s altitude is more than
42 degrees, and less than 54°, the exterior bow may be seen though
the interior bow is invisible. 8. Sometimes only a portion of an arch
will be visible while all the other parts of the bow are invisible. This
happens when the rain does not occupy a space of sufficient extent
to complete the bow; and the appearance of this position, and even
of the bow itself, will be various, according to the nature of the
situation, and the space occupied by the rain.

The appearance of the rainbow may be produced by artificial means,

at any time when the sun is shining and not too highly elevated
above the horizon. This is effected by means of artificial fountains or
Jet d’eaus, which are intended to throw up streams of water to a
great height. These streams, when they spread very wide, and blend
together in their upper parts, form, when falling, a shower of
artificial rain. If, then, when the fountain is playing, we move
between it and the sun, at a proper distance from the fountain, till
our shadow point directly towards it, and look at the shower,—we
shall observe the colours of the rainbow, strong and vivid; and, what
is particularly worthy of notice, the bow appears, notwithstanding
the nearness of the shower, to be as large, and as far off, as the
rainbow which we see in a natural shower of rain. The same
experiment may be made by candle-light, and with any instrument
that will form an artificial shower.

Lunar Rainbows.—A lunar bow is sometimes formed at night by the

rays of the moon striking on a rain-cloud, especially when she is
about the full. But such a phenomenon is very rare. Aristotle is said
to have considered himself the first who had seen a lunar rainbow.
For more than a hundred years prior to the middle of the last
century, we find only two or three instances recorded in which such
phenomena are described with accuracy. In the philosophical
transactions for 1783, however, we have an account of three having
been seen in one year, and all in the same place, but they are by no
means common phenomena. I have had an opportunity within the
last twenty years of witnessing two phenomena of this description—
one of which was seen at Perth, on a sabbath evening, in the
autumn of 1825, and the other at Edinburgh, on Wednesday, the 9th
of September 1840, about eight o’clock in the evening—of both
which I gave a detailed description in some of the public journals.
The Moon, in both cases, was within a day or two of the full; the
arches were seen in the northern quarter of the heavens, and
extended nearly from east to west, the moon being not far from the
southern meridian. The bows appeared distinct and well defined, but
no distinct traces of the prismatic colours could be perceived on any
of them. That which appeared in 1825 was the most distinctly
formed, and continued visible for more than an hour. The other was
much fainter, and lasted little more than half an hour, dark clouds
having obscured the face of the moon. These bows bore a certain
resemblance to some of the luminous arches which sometimes
accompany the Aurora Borealis, and this latter phenomenon has not
unfrequently been mistaken for a Lunar rainbow; but they may be
always distinguished by attending to the phases and position of the
moon. If the moon be not visible above the horizon, if she be in her
first or last quarter, or if any observed phenomenon be not in a
direction opposite to the moon, we may conclude with certainty that,
whatever appearance is presented, there is no lunar rainbow.

The rainbow is an object which has engaged universal attention, and

its beautiful colours and form have excited universal admiration. The
poets have embellished their writings with many beautiful allusions
to this splendid meteor; and the playful school-boy, while viewing
the ‘bright enchantment,’ has frequently run ‘to catch the falling
glory.’ When its arch rests on the opposite sides of a narrow valley,
or on the summits of two adjacent mountains, its appearance is both
beautiful and grand. In all probability, its figure first suggested the
idea of arches, which are now found of so much utility in forming
aqueducts and bridges, and for adorning the architecture of palaces
and temples. It is scarcely possible seriously to contemplate this
splendid phenomenon, without feeling admiration and gratitude
towards that wise and beneficent Being, whose hands have bent it
into so graceful and majestic a form, and decked it with all the pride
of colours. “Look upon the rainbow,” says the son of Sirach,15 and
praise Him that made it: very beautiful it is in the brightness thereof.
It compasseth the heaven about with a glorious circle, and the
hands of the Most High have bended it." To this grand etherial bow,
the inspired writers frequently allude as one of the emblems of the
majesty and splendour of the Almighty. In the prophecies of Ezekiel,
the throne of Deity is represented as adorned with a brightness “like
the appearance of the bow that is in the cloud in the day of rain—
the appearance of the likeness of the glory of Jehovah.” And, in the
visions recorded in the Book of the Revelations, where the Most High
is represented as sitting upon a throne; “there was a rainbow round
about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald,” as an emblem of his
propitious character and of his faithfulness and mercy. After the
deluge, this bow was appointed as a sign and memorial of the
covenant which God made with Noah and his sons, that a flood of
waters should never again be permitted to deluge the earth and its
inhabitants;—and as a pledge of inviolable fidelity and Divine
benignity. When, therefore, we at any time behold “the bow in the
cloud,” we have not only a beautiful and sublime phenomenon
presented to the eye of sense, but also a memorial exhibited to the
mental eye, assuring us, that, “While the earth remaineth, seed-time
and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day
and night, shall not cease.”16
 ——On the broad sky is seen
“A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow
Conspicuous, with seven listed colours gay
Betokening peace with God and covenant new.—
He gives a promise never to destroy
The earth again by flood, nor let the sea
Surpass his bounds, nor rain to drown the world.”
Milton. Par. Lost, Book XI.

SECT. 4.—REFLECTIONS ON THE BEAUTY AND UTILITY OF

COLOURS.

Colour is one of the properties of light which constitutes, chiefly, the

beauty and sublimity of the universe. It is colour, in all its diversified
shades, which presents to our view that almost infinite variety of
aspect which appears on the scene of nature, which gives delight to
the eye and the imagination, and which adds a fresh pleasure to
every new landscape we behold. Every flower which decks our fields
and gardens is compounded of different hues; every plain is covered
with shrubs and trees of different degrees of verdure; and almost
every mountain is clothed with herbs and grass of different shade
from those which appear on the hills and landscape with which it is
surrounded. In the country, during summer, nature is every day, and
almost every hour, varying her appearance, by the multitude and
variety of her hues and decorations, so that the eye wanders with
pleasure over objects continually diversified, and extending as far as
the sight can reach. In the flowers with which every landscape is
adorned, what a lovely assemblage of colours, and what a wonderful
art in the disposition of their shades! Here, a light pencil seems to
have laid on the delicate tints; there, they are blended according to
the nicest rules of art. Although green is the general colour which
prevails over the scene of sublunary nature, yet it is diversified by a
thousand different shades, so that every species of tree, shrub and
herb, is clothed with its own peculiar verdure. The dark green of the
forests is thus easily distinguished from the lighter shades of
cornfields and the verdure of the lawns. The system of animated
nature likewise, displays a diversified assemblage of beautiful
colours. The plumage of birds, the brilliant feathers of the peacock,
the ruby and emerald hues which adorn the little humming-bird, and
the various embellishments of many species of the insect tribe,
present to the eye, in every region of the globe, a scene of
diversified beauty and embellishment. Nor is the mineral kingdom
destitute of such embellishments. For some of the darkest and most
unshapely stones and pebbles, when polished by the hand of art,
display a mixture of the most delicate and variegated colours. All
which beauties and varieties in the scene around us are entirely
owing to that property, in every ray of light, by which it is capable of
being separated into the primitive colours.

To the same cause, likewise, are to be ascribed those beautiful and

diversified appearances, which frequently adorn the face of the sky,
—the yellow, orange and ruby hues which embellish the firmament
at the rising of the sun, and when he is about to descend below the
western horizon; and those aerial landscapes, so frequently beheld
in tropical climes, where rivers, castles and mountains, are depicted
rolling over each other along the circle of the horizon. The clouds,
especially in some countries, reflect almost every colour in nature.
Sometimes they wear the modest blush of the rose; sometimes they
appear like stripes of deep vermillion, and sometimes as large
brilliant masses tinged with various hues; now they are white as
ivory, and now as yellow as native gold. In some tropical countries,
according to St. Pierre, the clouds roll themselves up into enormous
masses as white as snow, and are piled upon each other, like the
Cordeliers of Peru, and are moulded into the shape of mountains, of
caverns and of rocks. When the sun sets behind this magnificent
aërial net-work, a multitude of luminous rays are transmitted
through each particular interstice, which produce such an effect, that
the two sides of the lozenge illuminated by them, have the
appearance of being begirt with a fillet of gold; and the other two
which are in the shade, seem tinged with a superb ruddy orange.
Four or five divergent streams of light, emanating from the setting
sun up to the zenith, clothe with fringes of gold the undeterminate
summits of this celestial barrier, and proceed to strike with the
reflexes of their fires the pyramids of the collateral aerial mountains,
which then appear to consist of silver and vermilion.—In short,
colour diversifies every sublunary scene, whether on the earth or in
the atmosphere, it imparts a beauty to the phenomena of falling
stars, of luminous arches, and the coruscations of the Aurora
Borealis, and gives a splendour and sublimity to the spacious vault of
heaven.

Let us now consider for a moment, what would be the aspect of

nature, if, instead of the beautiful variety of embellishments which
now appear on every landscape, and on the concave of the sky,—
one uniform colour had been thrown over the scenery of the
universe. Let us conceive the whole of terrestrial nature to be
covered with snow, so that not an object on earth should appear
with any other hue, and that the vast expanse of the firmament
presented precisely the same uniform aspect. What would be the
consequence? The light of the sun would be strongly reflected from
all the objects within the bounds of our horizon, and would produce
a lustre which would dazzle every eye. The day would acquire a
greater brightness than it now exhibits, and our eyes might, after
some time, be enabled freely to expatiate over the surrounding
landscape; but every thing, though enlightened, would appear
confused, and particular objects would scarcely be distinguishable. A
tree, a house or a church, near at hand, might possibly be
distinguished, on account of its elevation above the general surface
of the ground, and the bed of a river by reason of its being
depressed below it. But we should be obliged rather to guess, and to
form a conjecture as to the particular object we wished to
distinguish, than to arrive at any certain conclusion respecting it;
and if it lay at a considerable distance, it would be impossible, with
any degree of probability, to discriminate any one object from
another. Notwithstanding the universal brightness of the scene, the
uniformity of colour thrown on every object, would most certainly
prevent us from distinguishing a church from a palace, a cottage
from a knoll or a heap of rubbish, a splendid mansion from rugged
rocks, the trees from the hills on which they grow, or a barren desert
from rich and fertile plains. In such a case, human beings would be
confounded, and even friends and neighbours be at a loss to
recognize one another.

The vault of heaven, too, would wear a uniform aspect. Neither

planets nor comets would be visible to any eye, nor those millions of
stars which now shine forth with so much brilliancy, and diversify the
nocturnal sky. For, it is by the contrast produced by the deep azure
of the heavens and the white radiance of the stars, that those bodies
are rendered visible. Were they depicted on a pure white ground,
they would not be distinguished from that ground, and would
consequently be invisible, unless any of them occasionally assumed
a different colour. Of course, all that beautiful variety of aspect which
now appears on the face of sublunary nature—the rich verdure of
the fields, the stately port of the forest, the rivers meandering
through the valleys, the splendid hues that diversify and adorn our
gardens and meadows, the gay colouring of the morning and
evening clouds, and all that variety which distinguishes the different
seasons, would entirely disappear. As every landscape would exhibit
nearly the same aspect, there would be no inducement to the poet
and the philosopher to visit distant countries to investigate the
scenes of nature, and journeyings from one region to another would
scarcely be productive of enjoyment. Were any other single colour to
prevail, nearly the same results would ensue. Were a deep ruddy
hue to be uniformly spread over the scene of creation, it would not
only be offensive to the eye, but would likewise prevent all
distinction of objects. Were a dark blue or a deep violet to prevail, it
would produce a similar effect, and at the same time, present the
scene of nature as covered with a dismal gloom. Even if creation
were arrayed in a robe of green, which is a more pleasant colour to
the eye—were it not diversified with the different shades it now
exhibits, every object would be equally undistinguishable.
Such would have been the aspect of creation, and the
inconveniences to which we should have been subjected, had the
Creator afforded us light without that intermixture of colours which
now appears over all nature, and which serves to discriminate one
object from another. Even our very apartments would have been
tame and insipid, incapable of the least degree of ornament, and the
articles with which they are furnished, almost undistinguishable, so
that in discriminating one object from another, we should have been
as much indebted to the sense of touch as to the sense of vision.
Our friends and fellow men would have presented no objects of
interest in our daily associations. The sparkling eye, the benignant
smile, the modest blush, the blended hues of white and vermillion in
the human face, and the beauty of the female countenance, would
all have vanished, and we should have appeared to one another as
so many moving marble statues cast nearly in the same mould. But,
what would have been worst of all, the numerous delays,
uncertainties and perplexities to which we should have been
subjected, had we been under the necessity, every moment, of
distinguishing objects by trains of reasoning, and by circumstances
of time, place, and relative position? An artist, when commencing his
work in the morning, with a hundred tools of nearly the same size
and shape around him, would have spent a considerable portion of
his time before he could have selected those proper for his purpose,
or the objects to which they were to be applied; and in every
department of society, and in all our excursions from one place to
another, similar difficulties and perplexities would have occurred. The
one half of our time must thus have been employed in uncertain
guesses, and perplexing reasonings, respecting the real nature and
individuality of objects, rather than in a regular train of thinking and
of employment; and after all our perplexities and conjectures, we
must have remained in the utmost uncertainty, as to the thousands
of scenes and objects, which are now obvious to us, through the
instrumentality of colours, as soon as we open our eyes.

In short, without colour, we could have had no books nor writings:

we could neither have corresponded with our friends by letters, nor
have known any thing with certainty, of the events which happened
in former ages. No written revelation of the will of God, and of his
character, such as we now enjoy, could have been handed down to
us from remote periods and generations. The discoveries of science,
and the improvements of art, would have remained unrecorded.
Universal ignorance would have prevailed throughout the world, and
the human mind have remained in a state of demoralization and
debasement. All these, and many other inconveniences and evils
would have inevitably followed, had not God painted the rays of light
with a diversity of colours, And hence we may learn, that the most
important scenes and events in the universe, may depend upon the
existence of a single principle in nature, and even upon the most
minute circumstances, which we may be apt to overlook, in the
arrangements of the material world.

In the existing state of things in the visible creation, we cannot but

admire the Wisdom and Beneficence of the Deity, in thus enabling us
to distinguish objects by so easy and expeditious a mode as that of
colour, which in a moment, discriminates every object and its several
relations. We rise in the morning to our respective employments,
and our food, our drink, our tools, our books, and whatever is
requisite for our comfort, are at once discriminated. Without the
least hesitation or uncertainty, and without any perplexing process of
reasoning, we can lay our hands on whatever articles we require.
Colour clothes every object with its peculiar livery, and infallibly
directs the hand in its movements, and the eye in its surveys and
contemplations. But, this is not the only end which the Divine Being
had in view, in impressing on the rays of light a diversity of colours.
It is evident, that he likewise intended to minister to our pleasures,
as well as to our wants. To every man of taste, and almost to every
human being, the combination of colours in flowers, the delicate
tints with which they are painted, the diversified shades of green
with which the hills and dales, the mountains and the vales are
arrayed; and that beautiful variety which appears in a bright summer
day, on all the objects of this lower creation—are sources of the
purest enjoyment and delight. It is colour, too, as well as magnitude,
that adds to the sublimity of objects. Were the canopy of heaven of
one uniform hue, it would fail in producing those lofty conceptions,
and those delightful and transporting emotions, which a
contemplation of its august scenery is calculated to inspire. Colours
are likewise of considerable utility in the intercourse of general
society. They serve both for ornaments, and for distinguishing the
different ranks and conditions of the community: they add to the
beauty and gracefulness of our furniture and clothing. At a glance,
they enable us at once to distinguish the noble from the ignoble, the
prince from his subjects, the master from his servant, and the widow
clothed with sable weeds from the bride adorned with her nuptial
ornaments.

Since colours, then, are of so much value and importance, they may
be reckoned as holding a rank among the noblest natural gifts of the
Creator. As they are of such essential service to the inhabitants of
our globe, there can be no doubt that they serve similar or
analogous purposes throughout all the worlds in the universe. The
colours displayed in the solar beams are common to all the globes
which compose the planetary system, and must necessarily be
reflected, in all their diversified hues, from objects on their surfaces.
The light which radiates from the fixed stars displays a similar
diversity of colours. Some of the double stars are found to emit light
of different hues;—the larger star exhibiting light of a ruddy or
orange hue, and the smaller one a radiance which approaches to
blue or green. There is therefore reason to conclude, that the
objects connected with the planets which revolve round such stars—
being occasionally enlightened by suns of different hues—will display
a more variegated and splendid scenery of colouring than is ever
beheld in the world on which we dwell; and that one of the
distinguishing characteristics of different worlds, in regard to their
embellishments, may consist in the splendour and variety of colours
with which the objects on their surfaces are adorned. In the
metaphorical description of the glories of the New Jerusalem,
recorded in the Book of Revelation, one of the chief characteristics of
that city is said to consist in the splendour and diversity of hues with
which it is adorned. It is represented as “coming down from heaven,
prepared as a bride adorned for her husband,” and as reflecting all
the beautiful and variegated colours which the finest gems on earth
can exhibit; evidently indicating, that splendour and variety of
colouring are some of the grandest features of celestial scenery.

On the whole, the subject of colours, when seriously considered, is

calculated to excite us to the adoration of the goodness and
intelligence of that Almighty Being whose wisdom planned all the
arrangements of the universe, and to inspire us with gratitude for
the numerous conveniences and pleasures we derive from those
properties and laws he has impressed on the material system. He
might have afforded us light, and even splendid illumination, without
the pleasures and advantages which diversified colours now
produce, and man and other animated beings might have existed in
such a state. But, what a very different scene would the world have
presented from what it now exhibits! Of how many thousands of
pleasures should we have been deprived! and to what numerous
inconveniences and perplexities should we have been subjected! The
sublimity and glories of the firmament, and the endless beauties and
varieties which now embellish our terrestrial system, would have
been for ever unknown, and man could have had little or no
incitement to study and investigate the works of his Creator. In this,
as well as in many other arrangements in nature, we have a sensible
proof of the presence and agency of that Almighty Intelligence “in
whom we live, and move, and have our being.” None but an
infinitely Wise and Beneficent Being, intimately present in all places,
could thus so regularly create in us by means of colour, those
exquisite sensations which afford so much delight, and which unite
us, as it were, with every thing around us. In the diversity of hues
spread over the face of creation, we have as real a display of the
Divine presence as Moses enjoyed at the burning bush. The only
difference is, that the one was out of the common order of Divine
procedure, and the other in accordance with those permanent laws
which regulate the economy of the universe. In every colour, then,
which we contemplate, we have a sensible memorial of the presence
of that Being “whose Spirit garnished the heavens and laid the
foundations of the earth,” and whose “merciful visitation” sustains us
every moment in existence. But the revelation of God to our senses,
through the various objects of the material world, has become so
familiar, that we are apt to forget the Author of all our enjoyments,
even at the moment when we are investigating his works and
participating of his benefits. “O that men would praise Jehovah for
his goodness, and for his wonderful works towards the children of
men.”
 PART II.
ON TELESCOPES.
 CHAPTER I.

HISTORY OF THE INVENTION OF TELESCOPES.

The telescope is an optical instrument for viewing objects at a

distance. Its name is compounded of two Greek words,—τηλε, which
signifies, at a distance, or far off, and σχοπειν, to view, or to
contemplate. By means of telescopes, remote objects are
represented as if they were near, small apparent magnitudes are
enlarged, confused objects are rendered distinct, and the invisible
and obscure parts of very distant scenes are rendered perceptible
and clear to the organ of vision. The telescope is justly considered
as a grand and noble instrument. It is not a little surprising that it
should be in the power of man to invent and construct an instrument
by which objects, too remote for the unassisted eye to distinguish,
should be brought within the range of distinct vision, as if they were
only a few yards from our eye, and that thousands of august objects
in the heavens, which had been concealed from mortals for
numerous ages, should be brought within the limits of our
contemplation, and be as distinctly perceived, as if we had been
transported many millions of miles from the space we occupy,
through the celestial regions. The celebrated Huygens remarks, in
reference to this instrument, that, in his opinion, ‘the wit and
industry of man has not produced any thing so noble and so worthy
of his faculties as this sort of knowledge; (namely of the telescope)
insomuch that if any particular person had been so diligent and
sagacious as to invent this instrument from the principles of nature
and geometry,—for my part, I should have thought his abilities were
more than human; but the case is so far from this, that the most
learned men have not yet been able sufficiently to explain the
reason of the effects of this casual invention.’
The persons who constructed the first telescopes, and the exact
period when they were first invented, are involved in some degree of
obscurity. It does not certainly appear that such instruments were
known to the ancients, although we ought not to be perfectly
decisive on this point. The cabinets of the curious contain some very
ancient gems, of admirable workmanship, the figures on which are
so small, that they appear beautiful through a magnifying glass, but
altogether confused and indistinct to the naked eye: and, therefore,
it may be asked, if they cannot be viewed, how could they be
wrought, without the assistance of glasses? And as some of the
ancients have declared that the moon has a form like that of the
earth, and has plains, hills, and valleys in it,—how could they know
this—unless by mere conjecture, without the use of a telescope? And
how could they have known that the Milky Way is formed by the
combined rays of an infinite number of stars? For Ovid states, in
reference to this zone, ‘its ground-work is of stars.’ But whatever
knowledge the ancients may have possessed of the telescope or
other optical glasses, it is quite evident that they never had
telescopes of such size and power as those which we now possess;
and that no discoveries in the heavens, such as are now brought to
light, were made by any of the ancient astronomers; otherwise some
allusions to them must have been found in their writings.

Among the moderns, the illustrious Friar Bacon appears to have

acquired some rude ideas respecting the construction of telescopes.
‘Lenses and specula’ says he, ‘may be so figured that one object
may be multiplied into many, that those which are situated at a
great distance may be made to appear very near, that those which
are small may be made to appear very large, and those which are
obscure very plain; and we can make stars to appear wherever we
will.’ From these expressions, it appears highly probable, that this
philosopher was acquainted with the general principle both of
telescopes and microscopes, and that he may have constructed
telescopes of small magnifying power, for his own observation and
amusement, although they never came into general use. He was a
man of extensive learning, and made so rapid a progress in the
sciences, when attending the university of Paris, that he was
esteemed the glory of that seat of learning. He prosecuted his
favourite study of experimental philosophy with unremitting ardour;
and in this pursuit, in the course of twenty years, he expended no
less than £2000 in experiments, instruments, and in procuring scarce
books. In consequence of such extraordinary talents, and such
astonishing progress in the sciences, in that ignorant age, he was
represented, by the envy of his illiterate fraternity, as having
dealings with the devil; and, under this pretence, he was restrained
from reading lectures, and at length, in 1278, when sixty-four years
of age, he was imprisoned in his cell, where he remained in
confinement for ten years. He shone like a single bright star in a
dark hemisphere—the glory of our country—and died at Oxford, in
the year 1294, in the eightieth year of his age. ‘Friar Bacon,’ says the
Rev. Mr. Jones, ‘may be considered as the first of English
philosophers; his profound skill in mechanics, optics, astronomy, and
chemistry, would make an honourable figure in the present age. But
he is entitled to further praise, as he made all his studies subservient
to theology, and directed all his writings, as much as could be, to the
glory of God. He had the highest regard for the sacred scriptures,
and was persuaded they contain the principles of all true science.’

The next person who is supposed to have acquired a knowledge of

telescopes, was Joannes Baptista Porta, of Naples, who flourished in
the sixteenth century. He discovered the Camera Obscura—the
knowledge of which might naturally have led to the invention of the
telescope; but it does not appear that he ever constructed such an
instrument. Des Cartes considers James Metius, a Dutchman, as the
first constructor of a telescope, and says, that ‘as he was amusing
himself with making mirrors and burning-glasses, he casually
thought of looking through two of his lenses at a time, and found
that distant objects appeared very large and distinct.’ Others say that
this great discovery was first made by John Lippersheim, a maker of
spectacles at Middleburg, or rather by his children, who were
diverting themselves with looking through two glasses at a time, and
placing them at different distances from each other. But Borellus,
who wrote a book ‘on the invention of the telescope,’ gives this
honour to Zacharias Jansen, another spectacle-maker in the same
town, who, he says, made the first telescope in 1590. Jansen was a
diligent inquirer into nature, and, being engaged in such pursuits, he
was trying what use could be made of lenses for those purposes,
when he fortunately hit upon the construction. Having found the
arrangement of glasses which produced the effect desired, he
enclosed them in a tube, and ran with his instrument to prince
Maurice, who, immediately conceiving that it might be of use to him
in his wars, desired the author to keep it a secret. Such are the rude
conceptions and selfish views of princely warriors, who would apply
every invention in their power for the destruction of mankind. But
the telescope was soon destined to more noble and honourable
achievements. Jansen, it is said, directed his instrument towards
celestial objects, and distinctly saw the spots on the surface of the
moon, and discovered many new stars, particularly seven pretty
considerable ones in the Great Bear. His son Joannes is said to have
noted the lucid circle near the lower limb of the moon, now named
Tycho, from whence several bright rays seem to dart in different
directions. In viewing Jupiter, he perceived two, sometimes three,
and at the most four small stars, a little above or below him, and
thought that they performed revolutions around him. This was,
probably, the first observation of the satellites of Jupiter, though the
person who made it was not aware of the importance of his
discovery.17

It is not improbable that different persons about Middleburgh hit

upon the invention, in different modes, about the same time.
Lippersheim seems to have made his first rude telescope by
adjusting two glasses on a board, and supporting them on brass
circles.18 Other workmen, particularly Metius and Jansen, in
emulation of each other, seem to have made use of that discovery,
and by the new form they gave it, made all the honour of it their
own. One of them, considering the effects of light as injurious to
distinctness, placed the glasses in a tube blackened within. The
other, still more cautious, placed the same glasses within tubes
capable of sliding one in another, both to vary the prospects, by
lengthening the instrument, according to the pleasure of the
observer, and to render it portable and commodious. Thus, it is
probable that different persons had a share in the invention, and
jointly contributed to its improvement. At any rate, it is undoubtedly
to the Dutch that we owe the original invention. The first telescope
made by Jansen, did not exceed fifteen or sixteen inches in length,
and therefore its magnifying power could not have been very great.

The famous Galileo has frequently been supposed to have been the
inventor of the telescope, but he acknowledges that he had not the
honour of being the original inventor, having first learned from a
German, that such an instrument had already been made; although,
from his own account, it appears that he had actually re-invented
this instrument. The following is the account, in his own words, of
the circumstances which led him to construct a telescope. ‘Nearly
ten months ago (namely in April or May 1609) it was reported that a
certain Dutchman had made a perspective through which many
distant objects appeared distinct as if they were near: several effects
of this wonderful instrument were reported, which some believed
and others denied: but, having it confirmed to me a few days after
by a letter from the noble John Badoverie, at Paris, I applied myself
to consider the reason of it, and by what means I might contrive a
similar instrument, which I afterwards attained to by the doctrine of
refractions. And, first, I prepared a leaden tube, to whose
extremities I fitted two spectacle-glasses, both of them plain on one
side, and on the other side, one of them was spherically convex, and
the other concave. Then applying my eye to the concave, I saw
objects appear pretty large and pretty near me. They appeared three
times nearer and nine times larger in surface than to the naked eye:
and soon after I made another, which represented objects about
sixty times larger, and eight times nearer; and, at last, having spared
no labour nor expense, I made an instrument so excellent, as to
show things almost a thousand times larger, and above thirty times
nearer, than to the naked eye.’ In another part of his writings,
Galileo informs us that ‘he was at Venice when he heard of Prince
Maurice’s instrument, but nothing of its construction; that the first
night, after he returned to Padua, he solved the problem, and made
his instrument the next day; and soon after, presented it to the Doge
at Venice, who, to do him honour for his grand invention, gave him
the ducal letters which settled him for life in his lectureship at
Padua; and the Republic, on the twenty-fifth of August in the same
year (1610) more than tripled his salary as professor.’

The following is the account which this philosopher gives of the

process of reasoning, which led him to the construction of a
telescope:—‘I argued in the following manner. The contrivance
consists either of one glass or more—one is not sufficient, since it
must be either convex, concave, or plane; the last does not produce
any sensible alteration in objects, the concave diminishes them; it is
true that the convex magnifies, but it renders them confused and
indistinct; consequently one glass is insufficient to produce the
desired effect. Proceeding to consider two glasses, and bearing in
mind that the plane glass causes no change, I determined that the
instrument could not consist of the combination of a plane glass with
either of the other two. I therefore applied myself to make
experiments on combinations of the two other kinds; and thus
obtained that of which I was in search.’ If the true inventor is the
person who makes the discovery by reasoning and reflection, by
tracing facts and principles to their consequences, and by applying
his invention to important purposes, then, Galileo may be considered
as the real inventor of the telescope. No sooner had he constructed
this instrument—before he had seen any similar one—than he
directed his tube to the celestial regions, and his unwearied diligence
and ardour were soon rewarded by a series of new and splendid
discoveries. He descried the four satellites of Jupiter, and marked the
periods of their revolutions; he discovered the phases of Venus, and
thus was enabled to adduce a new proof of the Copernican system,
and to remove an objection that had been brought against it. He
traced on the lunar orb, a resemblance to the structure of the earth,
and plainly perceived the outlines of mountains and vales, casting
their shadows over different parts of its surface. He observed, that
when Mars was in quadrature, his figure varied slightly from a
perfect circle; and that Saturn consisted of a triple body, having a
small globe on each side—which deception was owing to the
imperfect power of his telescope, which was insufficient to show him
that the phenomenon was in reality a ring. In viewing the sun, he
discovered large dark spots on the surface of that luminary, by which
he ascertained that that mighty orb performed a revolution round its
axis. He brought to view multitudes of stars imperceptible to the
naked eye, and ascertained that those nebulous appearances in the
heavens which constitute the Milky Way, consist of a vast collection
of minute stars, too closely compacted together to produce an
impression on our unassisted vision.

The results of Galileo’s observations were given to the world in a

small work, entitled ‘Nuncius Sidereus,’ or, ‘News from the starry
regions,’ which produced an extraordinary sensation among the
learned. These discoveries soon spread throughout Europe, and
were incessantly talked of, and were the cause of much speculation
and debate among the circles of philosophers. Many doubted; many
positively refused to believe so novel and unlooked-for
announcements, because they ran counter to the philosophy of
Aristotle, and all the preconceived notions which then prevailed in
the learned world. It is curious, and may be instructive, to consider
to what a length of absurdity, ignorance and prejudice carried many
of those who made pretensions to learning and science. Some tried
to reason against the facts alleged to be discovered, others
contented themselves, and endeavoured to satisfy others, with the
simple assertion that such things were not, and could not possibly
be; and the manner in which they supported themselves in their
incredulity was truly ridiculous. ‘O my dear Kepler,’ says Galileo in a
letter to that astronomer, ‘how I wish we could have one hearty
laugh together. Here at Padua is the principal professor of
philosophy, whom I have repeatedly and urgently requested to look
at the moon and planets through my glass, which he pertinaciously
refuses to do, lest his opinions should be overturned. Why are you
not here? what shouts of laughter we should have at this glorious
folly! and to hear the professor of philosophy at Pisa labouring with
the Grand Duke with logical arguments, as if with magical
incantations, to charm the new planets out of the sky.’ Another
opponent of Galileo, one Christmann, says in a book he published,
‘We are not to think that Jupiter has four satellites given him by
nature, in order, by revolving round him, to immortalize the Medici
who first had notice of the observation. These are the dreams of idle
men, who love ludicrous ideas better than our laborious and
industrious correction of the heavens. Nature abhors so horrible a
chaos; and to the truly wise, such vanity is detestable.’ One Martin
Horky, a would-be philosopher, declared to Kepler, ‘I will never
concede his four new planets to that Italian from Padua, though I
should die for it;’ and he followed up this declaration, by publishing a
book against Galileo, in which he examines four principal questions
respecting the alleged planets; 1. Whether they exist? 2. What they
are? 3. What they are like? 4. Why they are? The first question is
soon disposed of by declaring positively that he has examined the
heavens with Galileo’s own glass, and that no such thing as a
satellite about Jupiter exists. To the second, he declares solemnly
that he does not more surely know, that he has a soul in his body
than that reflected rays are the sole cause of Galileo’s erroneous
observations. In regard to the third question, he says, that these
planets are like the smallest fly compared to an elephant; and finally,
concludes on the fourth, that the only use of them is to gratify
Galileo’s ‘thirst of gold,’ and to afford himself a subject of discussion.
Kepler, in a letter to Galileo, when alluding to Horky, says, ‘He
begged so hard to be forgiven, that I have taken him again into
favour upon this preliminary condition—that I am to show him
Jupiter’s satellites, AND HE IS TO SEE THEM, and own that they are
there.’

The following is a specimen of the reasoning of certain pretended

philosophers of that age against the discoveries of Galileo. Sizzi, a
Florentine astronomer, reasons in this strain: ‘There are seven
windows given to animals in the domicile of the head, through which
the air is admitted to the rest of the tabernacle of the body to
enlighten, to warm and to nourish it; two nostrils, two eyes, two
ears, and a mouth; so in the heavens, or the great world, there are
two favourable stars, two unpropitious, two luminaries, and Mercury
alone undecided and indifferent. From which and many other similar
phenomena in nature, such as the seven metals, &c., we gather that
the number of planets is necessarily seven. Moreover, the satellites
are invisible to the naked eye, and therefore can exert no influence
on the earth, and therefore would be useless, and therefore do not
exist. Besides, as well the Jews as other ancient nations have
adopted the division of the week into seven days, and have named
them from the seven planets. Now, if we increase the number of the
planets, this whole system falls to the ground.’ The opinions which
then prevailed in regard to Galileo’s observations on the moon, were
such as the following:—Some thought that the dark shades on the
moon’s surface arose from the interposition of opaque bodies
floating between her and the sun, which prevent his light from
reaching those parts; others imagined that, on account of her
vicinity to the earth, she was partly tainted with the imperfections of
our terrestrial and elementary nature, and was not of that entirely
pure and refined substance of which the more remote heavens
consist: and a third party looked on her as a vast mirror, and
maintained that the dark parts of her surface were the reflected
images of our earthly forests and mountains.

Such learned nonsense is a disgrace to our species, and to the

rational faculties with which man is endowed, and exhibits, in a most
ludicrous manner, the imbecility and prejudice of those who made
bold pretensions to erudition and philosophy. The statement of such
facts, however, may be instructive, if they tend to guard us against
those prejudices and pre-conceived opinions, which prevent the
mind from the cordial reception of truth, and from the admission of
improvements in society which run counter to long-established
customs. For the same principles and prejudices, though in a
different form, still operate in society and retard the improvement of
the social state, the march of science, and the progress of
Christianity. How ridiculous is it for a man, calling himself a
philosopher, to be afraid to look through a glass to an existing object
in the heavens, lest it should endanger his previous opinions! And
how foolish is it to resist any improvement or reformation in society,
because it does not exactly accord with existing opinions, and with
‘the wisdom of our ancestors.’

It is not a little surprising, that Galileo should have first hit on that
construction of a telescope which goes by his name, and which was
formed with a concave glass next the eye. This construction of a
telescope is more difficult to be understood, in theory, than one
which is composed solely of convex glasses; and its field of view is
comparatively very small, so that it is almost useless when
attempted to be made of a great length. In the present day, we
cannot help wondering that Galileo and other astronomers, should
have made such discoveries as they did with such an instrument, the
use of which must have required a great degree of patience and
address. Galileo’s best telescope, which he constructed ‘with great
trouble and expense,’ magnified the diameters of objects only thirty-
three times; but its length is not stated—which would depend upon
the focal distance of the concave eye-glass. If the eye-glass was two
inches focus, the length of the instrument would be five feet four
inches; if it was only one inch, the length would be two feet eight
inches, which is the least we can allow to it—the object-glass being
thirty-three inches focus, and the eye-glass placed an inch within
this focus. With this telescope, Galileo discovered the satellites of
Jupiter, the crescent of Venus, and the other celestial objects to
which we have already alluded. The telescopes made in Holland, are
supposed to have been constructed solely of convex glasses, on the
principle of the astronomical telescope; and, if so, Galileo’s telescope
was in reality a new invention.

Certain other claimants of the invention of the telescope, have

appeared, besides those already mentioned. Francis Fontana, in his
‘celestial observations,’ says, that he was assured by a Mr. Hardy,
advocate of the parliament of Paris, a person of great learning and
undoubted integrity, that on the death of his father, there was found
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