then comprehend that there is more than one sense in which to understand the Scriptural declaration that "one star differeth from another in glory." Turn next to the star in the map of Leo marked Zeta (ζ). If your glass is a pretty large and good one, and your eye keen, you will easily see three minute companion stars keeping company with Zeta, two on the southeast, and one, much closer, toward the north. The nearest of the two on the south is faint, being only between the eighth and ninth magnitude, and will probably severely test your powers of vision. Next look at Epsilon (ε), and you will find near it two seventh magnitude companions, making a beautiful little triangle.
Away at the eastern end of the constellation, in the tail of the imaginary Lion, upon whose breast shines Regulus, is the star Beta (β) Leonis, also called Denebola. It is almost as bright as its leader, Regulus, and you will probably be able to catch a tinge of blue in its rays. South of Denebola, at a distance of nineteen minutes of arc, or somewhat more than half the apparent diameter of the moon, you will see a little star of the sixth magnitude, which is one of the several "companions" for which Denebola is celebrated. There is another star of the eighth magnitude in the same direction from Denebola, but at a distance of less than five minutes, and this you may be able to glimpse with a powerful field-glass, under favorable conditions. I have seen it well with a field-glass of 1·6-inch aperture, and a magnifying power of six times.
When looking for a faint and difficult object, the plan pursued by telescopists is to avert the eyes from the precise point upon which the attention is fixed, in order to bring a more sensitive part of the retina into play than that usually employed. Look toward the edge of the field of view, while the object you are seeking is in the center, and then, if it can be seen at all with your glass, you will catch sight of it, as it were, out of the corner of your eye. The effect of seeing a faint star in this way, in the neighborhood of a large one, whose rays hide it from direct vision, is sometimes very amusing. The little star seems to pop out into view as through a curtain, perfectly distinct, though as immeasurably minute as the point of a needle. But the instant you direct your eyes straight at it, presto! it is gone. And so it will dodge in and out of sight as often as you turn your eyes.
If you will sweep carefully over the whole extent of Leo, whose chief stars are marked with their Greek-letter names on our little map, you will be impressed with the power of your glass to bring into sight many faint stars in regions that seem barren to the naked eye. An opera-glass of 1·5 aperture will show ten times as many stars as the naked eye can see.
Looking now westwardly from the Sickle of Leo, at a distance about equal to twice the length of the Sickle, your eye will be caught by a small silvery spot in the sky lying nearly between two rather faint stars. This is the famous Præsepe, or Manger, in the center of the
