My telescope is mounted in an apartment adjoining my cabin, with an elevated exposure, and has some extra contrivances for the convenience of adjustment, designed and constructed by myself. The instrument can be raised and lowered at pleasure, and is protected by a movable dome, which is easily laid aside by means of a couple of pullies. It is a good one, and for its size has remarkable power. I have been enabled to reach with it double stars of the sixth magnitude, frequently observing even Orion, with its beautiful double and multiple systems. I can easily discover with it the most distant planet Neptune, and by their progressive displacement, I have seen and recognized with it most of the asteroids. I can get with it a fine view of Jupiter, that magnificent planet fourteen hundred times larger than our Earth, and have observed the black spots upon its surface, and the transit of its moons. The grand spectacle of Saturn and its rings is brought to my observation with remarkable clearness. I have so frequently looked into the dismal caverns and upon the towering mountains of our satellite, the Moon, that its marks and bounds are as familiar to me as the neighboring hills. But life is short, and amid all this illimitable sea of worlds, I have fixed my attention upon but one, for that special study which my few remaining years will permit. The heavenly body which most engages my attention is, excepting our satellite, the nearest one to us, our neighboring planet Mars.

I believe that body to be inhabited by beings in many respects like those of the earth. My conclusion is adduced from many known facts concerning it. Mars has an atmosphere like ours. Its density does not differ materially from the Earth. The heat it derives from the sun, possibly modified by atmospheric conditions, is quite likely the same as ours. It has zones of varying temperature, and seasons of summer and winter like the Earth. Its days are about the same length as ours. The ice and snow of its polar regions are plainly perceptible, and vary in arrears exactly in accordance with its changing positions and distances from the sun. From which we may infer, without a doubt, that its atmosphere contains moisture of the same chemical composition as ours, and is condensed into rain and snow as with us.

There are striking points of difference, however, between Mars and the Earth. Its diameter is a little less than half that of our planet, and its surface is only about a quarter of ours, while its volume is but a seventh part of our globe. Furthermore, instead of a single satellite like ours it has two moons, which revolve in opposite directions around it, neither of which in point of size can be compared to ours.

My knowledge of astronomy not being profound, it has been the greatest pleasure and gratification to me to verify, by my own observations, the calculations and theories of the abler scientists. Appertaining to Mars, it is perhaps needless to say that there is a diversity of opinion among astronomers touching its physical conditions. The unusual red color of its reflected light, its bright and dark spots, and the variation which is observed in the forms overspreading its disc, are differently accounted for. It is among such questions as these, then, that my imagination and ingenuity are free to exercise themselves, and the desire to settle some of these disputed points to my own satisfaction increases the eagerness of my observation.

I have watched for many years, with anticipations of pleasure, when Mars would be in opposition,—or in other words, when, during its revolution upon its orbit, it comes nearest to the Earth. These occurrences of about every two years are holidays of pleasure and enjoyment to me. There are, however, rarer oppositions of Mars, which occur only twice in a century, when the distance between us is reduced to the smallest limit; and it has been my good fortune to get a finer view of this heavenly body at this shorter distance than will few human beings at present alive.

It can well be imagined what a supremely interesting event this was to me. Days before its culmination did I watch its progress approaching nearer and nearer to the Earth. Each succeeding night exhibited to me its slowly magnifying proportions, and the greater distinctness of objects on its surface. Here was a world of beings, no doubt, with aims and enterprises like ours, rolling headlong through the heavens with a known velocity of fifty-four thousand miles an hour. This planet was now approaching, hourly, its greatest possible proximity to the Earth. That I should lose no time in devouring, as I may say, this unusual spectacle, I had provided my telescope with a kind of clockwork contrivance, by which it exactly kept pace with Mars on its westward course. During these few days, I had forgotten everything else in my eagerness to feast my eyes on this rare show. The nights had been favorable to observation; and each evening after turning my instrument on the rapidly approaching planet, my interest became so transfixed and absorbed that all my ordinary physical wants were suppressed. I had lost in these few days of mental excitement all inclination for food and sleep. No one could be freer from superstition than I, yet my mind was uneasy under an unaccountable premonition. It gave some anxiety to think that on the very night of culmination, when my interest would be at its height, a change of weather might cut off the scene. But aside from this, in my somewhat feverish condition, I could not restrain a sense of some impending and momentous event in my personal affairs. Some strange influence seemed to be disturbing the usual tranquil and placid condition of my mind. I aroused myself from this, however, and became thoroughly myself when the sun went down on the evening of my hope, and left an atmosphere that was as perfect as I could wish for. The sky was calm and clear, with just enough moisture in the air to increase its transparency. The ordinary evening sounds appeared stilled. Neither nighthawk nor owl seemed abroad, and the usual rustling of leaves and swaying of tree-tops was suppressed by a calm that struck me as strange. The day had been moderately warm, and the sun-distilled odors of the firs and pines, condensed by the coolness of twilight, were filling the air with an agreeable perfume, as though Nature was burning incense in the celebration of some ancient rite, during which every living and breathing thing about seemed bowed in silent reverence. I had never known until now what assurance there was in the natural sounds which nightly fell upon my ears. In my mountain home no feeling of loneliness ever came over me before. I felt an especial longing now for the sound of a human voice, for a companion upon whom I might discharge myself of the suggestions and beliefs appertaining to the subject of my investigation and study. My mind was filled with conclusions touching the physical condition of Mars, which each new observation tended to corroborate. I had my theory to give of its rose-colored light. I had seen the clouds moving upon its surface, its polar snows, and its very atmosphere. I had no doubt whatever, now, that it was inhabited, and the anticipation of soon seeing it in its most favorable opposition with the Earth, was accompanied with a yearning that some human creature might share with me the rare spectacle.

As the twilight faded, I looked with my naked eyes toward the east, and my other world was showing its red light near the horizon like a rising sun in miniature. At midnight it would reach its culmination, when viewing it through the least possible thickness of our atmosphere in its vertical position, I would see it as no human being could see it again for over half a century. The oppressive silence and tranquility remained unbroken, and as I seated myself in my observatory and adjusted the telescope, I felt myself not quite in my accustomed vigor of health. The temperature had perceptibly raised, when it had usually fallen as the night advanced. The air was sultry. A sensation of qualmishness came over me. It came to my mind now that I had abused myself by a long neglect of sleep and regular meals. But no sooner had I brought my instrument to a focus than I was myself again. Our beautiful neighbor was mounting the heavens, reflecting the sun’s light in a delicate crimson tint, and in size of outline beyond my expectation. I could plainly mark its rotation upon its axis by noting the slow movements of spots upon its disc, and their sudden disappearance over its limb. The hours seemed minutes to me. My fatigue and illness were forgotten. In my rapture of enjoyment the lingering wish increased that some fellow creature might share it with me. My telescope, in tracing the planet’s course had very nearly obtained a vertical position, when I was astonished to see the distant world suddenly disappear, and begin to vibrate back and forth over the aperture of my instrument. A moment’s reflection explained the matter. The Earth had shaken. So trifling, however, was the disturbance about me that it had not been felt. But I had lost my focus, and Mars was already on its backward journey. My grand holiday was over.

I immediately lowered the telescope and replaced its protecting dome. Gathering the few hasty notes I had prepared during my observation, for future reference and elaboration, I made my way to an apartment of my cabin which serves me for a library and bed chamber. A number of shelves filled with books occupy one of its sides. My bed rests in a corner. An easy chair stands besides a table in the center, and under a window, proportionately large, fronting the south, is placed a cushioned lounge of some pretentions to comfort and luxury. I threw myself upon this, after laying away my papers, and the lower panes of my window being on a level with my head, I looked out into the night.

The moon in its last quarter was just peeping over a near mountain. Its light, partly obstructed by a network of tree-tops, was throwing figures of light and shade over the adjacent opening, so that the ground appeared to have spread upon it a colossal carpet, with fantastic decorations of ebony and silver. The air had grown a trifle cooler. A gentle breeze was stirring out of the West, and the silence, that had recently fallen so mysteriously upon me, was being followed now by a normal condition of unrest. As the moon rose higher, its fanciful shadows upon the ground dissolved, and the level plateau adjacent to my window was uniformly covered with a clear, bright light. Looking again, and quite sensibly impressed with the changed condition of things about me, I descried the figure of a man, not far from my window; and, strange to say, I was neither alarmed nor startled at his presence. His face, of which I saw but little more than its profile, was turned upward looking at the moon, and its expression was unmistakably one of admiration and wonder. His long, and apparently well-cared-for hair and beard, reflected a golden sheen under the light above. His arms were folded, and his shape and attitude impressed me as being majestic.

While fixing my gaze intently on this strange form, an expression of something wanting about it took possession of me, when presently I observed with surprise, that although standing under the bright and unobstructed light of the moon, no shadow was visible about it. He remained for some time as immovable as a statue, gazing upon our satellite as one who had never before looked upon so wondrous a sight, and then, with the air of one on unfamiliar ground, he made an inquiring survey of my cabin, and then directed his careful footsteps toward my doorway.