open and my mind released from sleep, I still heard that marvelous, half-
familiar song.

Could I be deceived? I determined to know beyond a doubt that I was awake.
I rose and, throwing on a dressing gown, turned up the light and walked
about the room. I looked in the mirror to see if my eyes were open, and
then ate a little fruit from a tempting dish that stood on the table. In
one corner of the room was an elegant writing desk. I opened it, found its
appointments complete, drew up a comfortable chair, and, choosing pen and
paper, determined to record my impressions for future perusal, if by any
means my memory should fail me. This is what I wrote:

"I, the undersigned, am in my private room in the house of Proctor, the
astronomer, province of ----, planet Mars. It is about the middle of the
night, precise date unknown. I am wide awake, in my usual health, appetite
good, heart a little fluttering but temperature and pulse normal. I have
been awakened from sleep by strains of distant music, which mingled with
my dreams but refused to be silenced when the rest of the dreams melted
away. Now, while I am writing, the delicious melody fills my ears. I never
before heard so sweet a voice, unless, indeed, I have heard the same voice
before. In regard to this I can form no present opinion. I must take
another time to consider it. Now I cannot think, I am so engrossed in
listening to the singer's entrancing notes. The song is so full of light
and cheer and sends such beautiful thoughts trooping through my brain that
I wish it may go on forever."

I signed my name to this with a firm hand, and then, as I leaned back in
my chair to close my eyes and drink in more deeply still this rare
enjoyment, darkness seemed to fall suddenly upon my spirit. The voice
ceased, and in a moment the last sweet echoes had died away.