No. 7. July 2, 1903; Moon’s Age 7.24 Days.
“Pardon me,” said my friend, “but it was not of names like those that I was thinking. Observe how he who named the neighboring Palus Somnii, ‘Marsh of a Dream,’ exhibited an exquisite delicacy of fancy. It suggests something indefinitely strange, romantic, imaginative. That unknown astronomer, unknown at least to me, put a little of himself, a little of his inmost mind, into the name, and I thank him for it. I shall never forget the ‘Marsh of a Dream’ in the moon. It will haunt my own dreams. I shall be all my life seeking and never finding its meaning.”
“Since you are in so poetic a mood,” I responded, “I rejoice that besides its bald facts, its fireless volcanoes, and its dried-up plains, the moon possesses many things that can stir the imagination of the most sentimental observer. But, in order that we may not wander too far from the paths of science, let me recall your attention to the photograph. We have been going over ground already trodden by returning to the neighborhood of the Mare Crisium. I shall now lead you back to the terminator, where we shall find a little that is new. Still nearly hidden in night we perceive many great rings on which the sun is beginning to rise, and four of the most important ranges of mountains are coming into view. One of these, on the southern border of the Mare Serenitatis, is visible throughout its entire extent. It forms a portion of the coquettish ornaments with which the Moon Maiden has decorated her hair, as we shall see clearly in the next photograph. This range is named the Hæmus mountains. Near its center, quite at the edge of the ‘sea,’ is a bright crater ring, one of the most conspicuous on the moon. It is called Menelaus.”
“Menelaus?” exclaimed my friend. “Ah, then Riccioli did not confine his favoritism to the astronomers and philosophers in putting their names in the moon. Menelaus, if I remember my classical reading correctly, was the husband of Helen of Troy.”
“Yes, the brother of Agamemnon himself. You must admit that Riccioli occasionally felt his imagination a little awakened. He was not altogether destitute of the spirit of poetry.”
“But did he also put Helen in the moon?”
“I am sorry to say that he did not. It would have been a very suitable abode for her. However, if you like, you may recognize Helen in the Moon Maiden herself.”
“Thank you, that will be, indeed, an unexpected pleasure.”
“Meanwhile allow me to point out to you that there is a curious light streak, very faintly shown in the photograph, which crosses the Mare Serenitatis from Menelaus to the opposite shore, and reappears more distinctly, on the lighter-colored plain toward the north. This streak comes all the way from a great ring mountain named Tycho in the southern part of the moon. It is more than 2,000 miles long, and is one of the greatest mysteries of the lunar world. Tycho, which lies just on the sunrise line, is not well seen in this photograph. It has a great number of these strange streaks or rays proceeding from it in all directions. We shall study them in one of the photographs which are to come. One word in regard to the plain north of the Mare Serenitatis of which I have just spoken. It, too, has a name that is calculated to appeal to your lively imagination. It is called the Lacus Somniorum, which if my knowledge of Latin is correct, means ‘Lake of the Sleepers.’”