ptical illusion, produced by the refraction
of the terrestrial atmosphere. All the stars in the neighborhood of the
Earth, and many actually behind it, had their rays refracted, diffused,
radiated, and finally converged to a focus by the atmosphere, as if by a
double convex lens of gigantic power.

Whilst the travellers were profoundly absorbed in the contemplation of
this wondrous sight, a sparkling shower of shooting stars suddenly
flashed over the Earth's dark surface, making it for a moment as bright
as the external ring. Hundreds of bolides, catching fire from contact
with the atmosphere, streaked the darkness with their luminous trails,
overspreading it occasionally with sheets of electric flame. The Earth
was just then in her perihelion, and we all know that the months of
November and December are so highly favorable to the appearance of these
meteoric showers that at the famous display of November, 1866,
astronomers counted as many as 8,000 between midnight and four o'clock.

Barbican explained the whole matter in a few words. The Earth, when
nearest to the sun, occasionally plunges into a group of countless
meteors travelling like comets, in eccentric orbits around the grand
centre of our solar system. The atmosphere strikes the rapidly moving
bodies with such violence as to set them on fire and render them visible
to us in beautiful star showers. But to this simple explanation of the
famous November meteors Ardan would not listen. He preferred believing
that Mother Earth, feeling that her three daring children were still
looking at her, though five thousand miles away, shot off her best
rocket-signals to show that she still thought of them and would never
let them out of her watchful eye.

For hours they continued to gaze with indescribable interest on the
faintly luminous mass so easily distinguishable among the other heavenly
bodies. Jupiter blazed on their right, Mars flashed his ruddy light on
their left, Saturn with his rings looked like a round white spot on a
black wall; even Venus they could see almost directly under them, easily
recognizing her by her soft, sweetly scintillant light. But no planet or
constellation possessed any attraction for the travellers, as long as
their eyes could trace that shadowy, crescent-edged, diamond-girdled,
meteor-furrowed spheroid, the theatre of their existence, the home of so
many undying desires, the mysterious cradle of their race!

Meantime the Projectile cleave