I sat on the shaft, my eyes turned upwards.

I had found it: there it was twinkling millions of miles above me, mightiest star of the system to which we belong: of all stars, the one which has the most interest for me--the star Jupiter.
Why have I always taken an interest in thee, O Jupiter?
I know nothing about thee, save what every child knows, that thou art a big star, whose only light is derived from moons.

And is not that knowledge enough to make me feel an interest in thee?
Ay, truly, I never look at thee without wondering what is going on in thee; what is life in Jupiter?
That there is life in Jupiter who can doubt?
There is life in our own little star, therefore there must be life in Jupiter, which is not a little star.

But how different must life be in Jupiter from what it is in our own little star! Life here is life beneath the dear sun--life in Jupiter is life beneath moons--four moons--no single moon is able to illumine that vast bulk.

All know what life is in our own little star; it is anything but a routine of happiness here, where the dear sun rises to us every day: then how sad and moping must life be in mighty Jupiter, on which no sun ever shines, and which is never lighted save by pale moonbeams! The thought that there is more sadness and melancholy in Jupiter than in this world of ours, where, alas! there is but too much, has always made me take a melancholy interest in that huge distant star.
Two or three days passed by in much the same manner as the first.