broad plains, which are probably the bottoms of ancient seas that have now dried up, but these cover only about two fifths of the surface visible to us, and most of the remaining three fifths are exceedingly rugged and mountainous. Many of the mountains of the moon are, foot for foot, as lofty as the highest mountains on the earth, while all of them, in proportion to the size of the moon's globe, are much larger than the earth's mountains. It is obvious, then, that the sunshine as it creeps over these Alpine landscapes in the moon, casting the black shadows of the peaks and craters many miles across the plains, and capping the summits of lofty mountains with light, while the lower regions far around them are yet buried in night, must clearly reveal the character of the lunar surface. Mountains that can not be seen at all when the light falls perpendicularly upon them, or, at the most, appear then merely as shining points, picture themselves by their shadows in startling silhouettes when illuminated laterally by the rising sun.
But at full moon, while the mountains hide themselves in light, the old sea-beds are seen spread out among the shining table-lands with great distinctness. Even the naked eye readily detects these as ill-defined, dark patches upon the face of the moon, and to their presence are due the popular notions that have prevailed in all quarters of the world about the "Man in the Moon," the "Woman in the Moon," "Jacob in the Moon," the "Hare in the Moon," the "Toad in the Moon," and so on. But, however clearly one may imagine that he discerns a man in the moon while recalling the nursery rhymes about him, an opera-glass instantly puts the specter to flight, and shows the round lunar disk diversified and shaded like a map.
A feature of the full moon's surface that instantly attracts attention is the remarkable brightness of the southern part of the disk, and the brilliant streaks radiating from a bright point near the lower edge. The same simile almost invariably comes to the lips of every person who sees this phenomenon for the first time—"It looks like a peeled orange." The bright point, which is the great crater-mountain Tycho, looks exactly like the pip of the orange, and the light streaks radiating from it in all directions bear an equally striking resemblance to the streaks that one sees upon an orange after the outer rind has been removed. I shall have something more to say about these curious streaks farther on; in the mean time, let us glance at our first illustration, which is a small sketch-map of the moon.
The so-called seas are marked on the map, for the purpose of reference, by the letters which they ordinarily bear in lunar maps. The numerals indicate craters, or ring-plains, and mountain-ranges. The following key-list will enable the reader to identify all the objects that are lettered or numbered upon the map. I have given English translations of the Latin names which the old astronomers bestowed upon the seas:
