be presented; the disc of Jupiter was changed just as theory required. Others again saw no distortion; the disc presented its natural form, and gave no indication of a refracting medium. What deduction are we to draw from such conflicting testimony? Where does the truth lie? The observers were all equally veracious, and they all appealed to the testimony of the senses. Which testimony are we to receive? Or must we hold that the evidence of the one side neutralises that of the other? The objective facts were undoubtedly the same to all; but a curious subjective law of our nature extricates us from the dilemma. The law is that of expectant attention, which explains so many of the facts of mesmerism. When the mind is possessed of some dominant idea, and when, in accordance with it, we have a strong expectation of some event, the senses, in these circumstances, become to a certain extent the sport of our subjective feelings. Taking this fact in our nature into account, and also the known character of the observers, the conclusion is, that the distortion of the disc of Jupiter was not real,—that it resulted merely from the excited state of the observers' feelings at the moment. Their foregone conclusion overpowered the legitimate testimony of sense. The testimony of the most competent observers was all against the existence of an atmosphere.
The advocates of a plurality of worlds have either abandoned the case of the moon as not one in point,
