This time I turned up the small footpath of which I have already spoken.  It led in a zigzag manner through thickets of hazel, elder, and sweet-brier; after following its windings for somewhat better than a furlong, I heard a gentle sound of water, and presently came to a small rill, which ran directly across the path.  I was rejoiced at the sight, for I had already experienced the want of water, which I yet knew must be nigh at hand, as I was in a place to all appearance occasionally frequented by wandering people, who I was aware never take up their quarters in places where water is difficult to be obtained.  Forthwith I stretched myself on the ground, and took a long and delicious draught of the crystal stream, and then, seating myself in a bush, I continued for some time gazing on the water as it purled tinkling away in its channel through an opening in the hazels, and should have probably continued much longer had not the thought that I had left my property unprotected compelled me to rise and return to my encampment.

Night came on, and a beautiful night it was; up rose the moon, and innumerable stars decked the firmament of heaven.  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 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.  During the morning I worked upon my kettles, and employed the remaining part of the day as I best could.  The whole of this time I only saw two individuals, rustics, who passed by my encampment without vouchsafing me a glance; they probably considered themselves my superiors, as perhaps they were.