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We may have been already led to infer that there is a kind of evolution in the planets’ life, which we may compare, by a not wholly fanciful analogy, to ours; for we have seen worlds growing into conditions which may fit them for habitability, and again other worlds where we may surmise, or may know, that life has come. To learn of at least one which has completed the analogy, by passing beyond this term to that where all life has ceased, we need only look on the moon.

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The study of the moon’s surface has been continued now from the time of Galileo, and of late years a whole class of competent observers has been devoted to it, so that astronomers engaged in other branches have oftener looked on this as a field for occasional hours of recreation with the telescope than made it a constant study. I can recall one or two such hours in earlier observing days, when, seated alone under the overarching iron dome, the world below shut out, and the world above opened, the silence disturbed by no sound but the beating of the equatorial clock, and the great telescope itself directed to some hill or valley of the moon, I have been so lost in gazing that it seemed as though a look through this, the real magic tube, had indeed transported me to the surface of that strange alien world. Fortunately for us, the same spectacle has impressed others with more time to devote to it and more ability to render it, so that we not only have most elaborate maps of the moon for the professional astronomer, but abundance of paintings, drawings, and models, which reproduce the appearance of its surface as seen in powerful telescopes. None of the latter class deserves more attention than the beautiful studies of Messrs. Nasmyth and Carpenter, who prepared at great labor very elaborate and, in general, very faithful models of parts of its surface, and then had them photographed under the same illumination which fell on the original; and I wish to acknowledge here the special indebtedness of this part of what I have to lay before the reader to their work, from which the following illustrations are chiefly taken.

Let us remember that the moon is a little over twenty-one hundred miles in diameter; that it weighs, bulk for bulk, about two-thirds what the earth does, so that, in consequence of this and its smaller size, its total weight is only about one-eightieth of that of our globe; and that, the force of gravity at its surface being only one-sixth what it is here, eruptive explosions can send their products higher than in our volcanoes. Its area is between four and five times that of the United States, and its average distance is a little less than two hundred and forty thousand miles.

FIG. 66.—THE FULL MOON.

This is very little in comparison with the great spaces we have been traversing in imagination; but it is absolutely very large, and across it the valleys and mountains of this our nearest neighbor disappear, and present to the naked eye only the vague lights and shades known to us from childhood as “the man in the moon,” and which were the puzzle of the ancient philosophers, who often explained them as reflections of the earth itself, sent back to us from the moon as from a mirror. It, at any rate, shows that the moon always turns the same face toward us, since we always see the same “man,” and that there must be a back to the moon which we never behold at all; and, in fact, nearly half of this planet does remain forever hidden from human observation.

The “man in the moon” disappears when we are looking in a telescope, because we are then brought so near to details that the general features are lost; but he can be seen in any photograph of the full moon by viewing it at a sufficient distance, and making allowance for the fact that the contrasts of light and shade appear stronger in the photograph than they are in reality. If the small full moon given in [Fig. 66], for instance, be looked at from across a room, the naked-eye view will be recovered, and its connection with the telescopic ones better made out. The best time for viewing the moon, however, is not at the full, but at the close of the first quarter; for then we see, as in this beautiful photograph ([Fig. 65]) by Mr. Rutherfurd, that the sunlight, falling slantingly on it, casts shadows which bring out all the details so that we can distinguish many of them even here,—this photograph, though much reduced, giving the reader a better view than Galileo obtained with his most powerful telescope. The large gray expanse in the lower part is the Mare Serenitatis, that on the left the Mare Crisium, and so on; these “seas,” as they were called by the old observers, being no seas at all in reality, but extended plains which reflect less light than other portions, and which with higher powers show an irregular surface. Most of the names of the main features of the lunar surface were bestowed by the earlier observers in the infancy of the telescope, when her orb

“Through optic glass the Tuscan artist ‘viewed’