on the other hand, presents an unparalleled instance of invariableness
and uniformity. She may well be called the favorite of the sun, and,
through the advantages of her situation, may be stimulated by him to
more intense vitality than falls to the lot of the earth.

It is open, at least to the writers of the interplanetary romances now
so popular, to imagine that on Venus, life, while encompassed with the
serenity that results from the circular form of her orbit, and the
unchangeableness of her climates, is richer, warmer, more passionate,
more exquisite in its forms and more fascinating in its experiences,
keener of sense, capable of more delicious joys, than is possible to it
amid the manifold inclemencies of the colder earth.

We have seen that there is excellent authority for saying that Venus's
atmosphere is from one and a half to two times as dense and as extensive
as ours. Here is an interesting suggestion of aerial possibilities for
her inhabitants. If man could but fly, how would he take to himself
wings and widen his horizons along with the birds! Give him an
atmosphere the double in density of that which now envelopes him, take
off a little of his weight, thereby increasing the ratio of his strength
and activity, put into his nervous system a more puissant stimulus from
the life-giving sun, and perchance he _would_ fly.

Well, on Venus, apparently, these very conditions actually exist. How,
then, do intellectual creatures in the world of Venus take wing when
they choose? Upon what spectacle of fluttering pinions afloat in
iridescent air, like a Raphael dream of heaven and its angels, might we
not look down if we could get near enough to our brilliant evening star
to behold the intimate splendors of its life?