A man on a desert island has a little sand, some goats and a few
miles of ocean around him--nothing else in sight.
But above him, and on the low plains of the horizon, the great
universe is spread out. Vega flashes overhead, beckoning to this
little solar system that is rolling on toward her.
The old, benevolent stars look through cold space at our little
sun that was not even hatched in their yesterday.
The Milky Way, that Mississippi of the sky, rolls across the
thousands of billions of miles of space.
The messenger-boy comets go on their long, elliptical errands.
The colored planets and moons, the nebular masses and the cold,
dead worlds lying in the silent morgue of eternity tell the
wonderful story of cosmic grandeur.
We should think that a man on a desert island, living constantly
in contemplation of God's real work, would want to study that
work.
The greatest book ON MEN that ever was written on this earth
is but an analysis of the emotions of imperfect human minds. A
good ASTRONOMY is a guide book of GOD'S kingdom.
Many Cook County litterateurs select Carlyle for a desert island
companion. Have they not observed that Carlyle's mind was fixed
on contemplation of the universe?--"the eternal silences" were
his friends. And when he seeks monkeyfied human soldiers, booted
and spurred, he asks, "What thinks Bootes of them, as he leads
his hunting dogs across the zenith in a leash of sidereal fire?"
O, Cook County thinkers, inhabitants of a small corner of this
small ant-hill, drop your alcohol-loving tentmaker--Omar--forget
your half-hearted fondness for Milton. Buy "Ball's Story of the
Heavens," or even some simpler astronomy; spend four dollars and
four weeks finding out how grand is our real home, the boundless,
beautiful universe.
THE MARVELLOUS BALANCE OF THE UNIVERSE--A LESSON IN THE TEXAS
FLOOD
A tidal wave and hurricane combined have destroyed thousands of
lives in one small corner of the globe.
After the first excitement and horror, the creditable outpouring
of help, there should be thankfulness in the hearts of the many
millions who live on safely.
Do you ever think of the wonderful protection, the marvellous
precision in celestial mechanics that guard you as you travel
through space? ----
The oceans, seas and lakes contain water enough to cover the
entire surface of the earth to a depth of six hundred feet, if
the earth's surface were actually round.
In huge reservoirs, which we call oceans, the earth's waters are
stored for our use. Those vast volumes of water rest on the
surface of a whirling sphere travelling through space at fearful
speed. The slightest derangement, the slightest lack of balance
in our motion round the sun, the slightest shifting of the poles,
and mountains of water miles high would sweep over the continents
and wipe out--not only one small city--but the entire human
race. ----
Our existence here requires a precision so great that our minds
can but feebly grasp it. Change the temperature of your body by
but a few degrees and you die. But you travel through space
safely, with a freezing ocean of ether about you. You travel in
company with suns that throw out endless billions of degrees of
heat. You are protected in a travelling hothouse, regulated
exactly to suit your feeble strength and all your wants. ----
Did you ever see the small, black nose of a pug dog pressed
against the window of a flying express train?
Have you ever seen that pug barking at the landscape whirling by?
Have you ever reflected on the utter inability of that pug to
realize the marvellous intelligence and power that are whirling
him along as he barks and wags his tail and enjoys himself
calmly?
Kind reader, you and all of us, whirling along in this
magnificently conducted express train called the earth--whirling
onward to a destiny worthy of our habitation--are so many poor
little pug dogs looking out at nature's marvels and looking out
with less than pug-dog appreciation.