of creation is characteristic of our race. The issue is not
whether we shall ignore the question altogether, like Eve in the
presence of Raphael; but whether in studying it we shall confine
our speculations within the limits set by sound scientific
reasoning. Essaying to do this, I invite the reader's attention to
what science may suggest, admitting in advance that the sphere of
exact knowledge is small compared with the possibilities of
creation, and that outside this sphere we can state only more or
less probable conclusions.

The reader who desires to approach this subject in the most
receptive spirit should begin his study by betaking himself on a
clear, moonless evening, when he has no earthly concern to disturb
the serenity of his thoughts, to some point where he can lie on
his back on bench or roof, and scan the whole vault of heaven at
one view. He can do this with the greatest pleasure and profit in
late summer or autumn--winter would do equally well were it
possible for the mind to rise so far above bodily conditions that
the question of temperature should not enter. The thinking man who
does this under circumstances most favorable for calm thought will
form a new conception of the wonder of the universe. If summer or
autumn be chosen, the stupendous arch of the Milky Way will pass
near the zenith, and the constellation Lyra, led by its beautiful
blue Vega of the first magnitude, may be not very far from that
point. South of it will be seen the constellation Aquila, marked
by the bright Altair, between two smaller but conspicuous stars.
The bright Arcturus will be somewhere in the west, and, if the
observation is not made too early in the season, Aldebaran will be
seen somewhere in the east. When attention is concentrated on the
scene the thousands of stars on each side of the Milky Way will