yielding to attraction. It is bad enough to have the day half a month long, but worse to have one that never ends, or, still worse, perpetual night.
In our diagnosis of the cause of death in planets, we now pass from paralysis to heart failure. For so we may speak of the next affection which ends in their taking off, since it is due to want of circulation and lack of breath. It comes of a planet's losing first its oceans and then its air.
To understand how this distressing condition comes about, we must consider one of the interesting scientific legacies of the nineteenth century to the twentieth: the kinetic theory of gases.
The kinetic theory of gases supposes them to be made up of minute particles all alike, which are perfectly elastic and are travelling hither and thither at great speeds in practically straight lines. In consequence, these are forever colliding among themselves, giving and taking velocities with bewildering rapidity, resulting in a state of confusion calculated to drive a computer mad. Somebody has likened a quiet bit of air to a boiler full of furious bees madly bent on getting out. The simile flatters the bees. To follow the vicissitudes of any one molecule in this hurly-burly would be out of the question; still more, it would seem, that of all of them at once. Yet no less Herculean a task confronts us. To find out about their motions, we are
