While we had talked the afternoon had waned, and the sun had sunk below the horizon, the roseate atmosphere of the planet imparting a splendor to the cloud coloring, and a glory to the land and sea scape, never paralleled by an earthly sunset. Already the familiar constellations appearing in the sky reminded me how near, after all, I was to the Earth, for with the unassisted eye I could not detect the slightest variation in their position. Nevertheless, there was one wholly novel feature in the heavens, for many of the host of asteroids which circle in the zone between Mars and Jupiter were vividly visible to the naked eye. But the spectacle that chiefly held my gaze was the Earth, swimming low on the verge of the horizon. Its disc, twice as large as that of any star or planet as seen from the Earth, flashed with a brilliancy like that of Venus. “It is, indeed, a lovely sight,” said my companion, “although to me always a melancholy one, from the contrast suggested between the radiance of the orb and the benighted condition of its inhabitants. We call it ‘The Blindman’s World.’” As he spoke he turned toward a curious structure which stood near us, though I had not before particularly observed it. “What is that?” I asked. “It is one of our telescopes,” he replied. “I am going to let you take a look, if you choose, at your home, and test for yourself the powers of which I have boasted;” and having adjusted the instrument to his satisfaction, he showed me where to apply my eye to what answered to the eye-piece.