To hunt for a comet in the ocean of space is as fascinating a hobby in its way as angling for a wily fish, requiring in either case an unlimited supply of perseverance, patience, and spare time. In place of fishing tackle one requires a telescope with an aperture of four or six inches, though excellent work has been accomplished with smaller instruments. It should be erected in a position commanding a clear view of the horizon either eastward or westward, as comets travel in the wake of the rising or setting sun. During the daytime a glance at a map showing the region of the sky to be examined in the evening will save an endless waste of time, to say nothing of the disappointment when the suspected object proves to be a nebula and not a comet. On the other hand, fuzzy-looking objects resembling comets have been mistaken for nebulæ when in reality they _were_ comets. For instance, in looking over Sir William Herschel’s list of 1,000 nebulæ and clusters, presented by him to the Royal Society in 1786, suspicion is aroused by the following entry: “Some of the shape of a fan, resembling an electric brush, issuing from a lucid point, others of the cometic shape, with a seeming nucleus in the center, or like cloudy stars surrounded with a nebulous atmosphere.” (_Philosophical Transactions_, Vol. LXXIV, p. 442.) As we shall see later on, the descriptions tally with the appearance of comets which have been photographed. Nebulæ and clusters likely to be on the list of “suspects” have been charted in my father’s _New Star Atlas_, edition 1915, containing maps of all the stars down to the sixth magnitude (that is, all stars which can be seen with the naked eye), as well as the positions of nebulæ, clusters, and fainter stars which become visible with the aid of a small telescope. It is a compact, handy volume, serving as an excellent guide for the amateur comet-hunter in his rambles through starland in search of cometary prey. Provided with a copy of this book, and allowed the privilege of using the Brashear (name of the maker), Comet-Seeker, which is stationed on the main roof of the Yerkes Observatory at Williams Bay, Wisconsin, U. S. A., the writer spent many a delightful evening during the summer of 1910, scanning the evening sky for celestial wanderers. Unable to resist the temptation to linger by the way in admiration of double stars, clusters, and nebulæ strewn along the highways and byways of starland, comets missed recognition.[3] Nevertheless, the evenings spent with the little comet-seeker were a source of unqualified delight, though no comet hove in sight.