"The  surface  of  the  moon,  when  viewed in her mean
     libration, even  with  telescopes  of  very  limited  power,
     exhibits  three  oceans  of  vast breadth and circumference,
     independently of seven large collections of water, which may
     be  denominated  seas.   Of inferior waters, discoverable by
     the higher classes of instruments, and usually called lakes,
     the  number is so great that no attempt has yet been made to
     count them.  Indeed, such a task would be  almost  equal  to
     that  of  ennumerating the annular mountains which are found
     upon every part of her surface, whether composed of land  or
     water.     The  largest  of  the  three  oceans  occupies  a
     considerable portion of the hemisphere between the  line  of
     her  northern axis and that of her eastern equator, and even
     extends many degrees south of the latter.    Throughout  its
     eastern boundary, it so closely approaches that of the lunar
     sphere, as to leave  in  many  places  merely  a  fringe  of
     illuminated  mountains,  which are here, therefore, strongly
     contra-distinguished from the dark and shadowy aspect of the
     great  deep.    But  peninsulas,  promontories,  capes,  and
     islands, and a thousand other terrestrial figures, for which
     we  can  find  no  names  in the poverty of our geographical
     nomenclature,  are  found  expanding,  sallying  forth,   or
     glowing  in  insular  independence, through all the `billowy
     boundlessness' of this magnificent ocean.
          One  of  the  most remarkable of these is a promontory,
     without a name, I believe, in the lunar charts, which starts
     from  an  island  district deniminated Copernicus by the old
     astronomers, and abounding,  as  we  eventually  discovered,
     with  great  natural curiosities.  This promontory is indeed
     most singular.  Its northern extremity is shaped  much  like
     an  imperial  crown, having a swelling bow, divided and tied
     down in its centre by a band of hills which is  united  with
     its  forehead  or  base.  The two open spaces formed by this
     division are two lakes, each eighty miles wide; and  at  the
     foot  of  these, divided from them by the band of hills last
     mentioned,  is  another  lake,  larger  than  the  two   put
     together,   and  nearly  perfectly  square.    THis  one  is
     followed, after another hilly division,  by  a  lake  of  an
     irregular  form; and this one yet again, by two narrow ones,
     divided longitudinally, which are  attenuated  northward  to
     the  main  land.    Thus the skeleton promontory of mountain
     ridges runs 396 miles into the  ocean,  with  six  capacious
     lakes,  enclosed  within  its stony ribs.  Blunt's excellent
     lunar chart gives this great work of nature  with  wonderful
     fidelity,  and  I  think  you might accompany my description
     with  an  engraving  from  it,   much   to   your   reader's
     satisfaction.
          "Next to this, the most remarkable  formation  in  this
     ocean  is a strikingly brilliant annular mountain of immense
     altitude  and  circumference,  standing  330  miles   E.S.E,
     commonly  known  as  Aristarchus (No. 12), and marked in the
     chart as a large  mountain,  with  a  great  cavity  in  its
     centre.   That cavity is, now, as it was probably wont to be
     in ancient ages, a volcanic  crater,  awfully  rivaling  our
     Mounts  Etna  and  Versuvius  in the most terrible epochs of
     their reign.  Unfavorable as the state of the atmosphere was
     to  close examination, we could easily mark its illumination
     of the water over a circuit of sixty  miles.    If  we  have
     before retained any doubt of the power of lunar volcanoes to
     throw fragments of their craters so far  beyond  the  moon's
     attraction  that  they  would  necessarily gravitate to this
     earth,  and  thus  account  for  the  multitude  of  massive
     aerolites which have fallen and been found upon our surface,
     the view which we had of  Aristarchus  would  have  set  our
     scepticism  forever at rest.  This mountain, however, though
     standing 300 miles in the ocean, is not absolutely  insular,
     for  it  is  connected  with the main land by four chains of
     mountains, which branch from it as a common centre.
          The next great ocean is situated on the western side of
     the meridian line, divided nearly in the midst by  the  line
     of  the  equator,  and is about 900 miles in north and south
     extent.  It is marked C in the catalogue, and was fancifully
     called the Mare Tranquillitatis. It is rather two large seas
     than one ocean, for it is narrowed just under the equator by
     a  strait  not  more than 100 miles wide. Only three annular
     islands of a large size, and quite detached from its shores,
     are  to be found within it; though several sublime volcanoes
     exist on its northern boundary; one of the  most  stupendous
     of  which  is  within  120 miles of the Mare Nectaris before
     mentioned.
          Immediately  contiguous to this second great ocean, and
     separated from it only  by  a  concatenation  of  dislocated
     continents and islands, is the third, marked D, and known as
     the Mare Serenitatis.  It is nearly square, being about  330
     miles   in   length   and  width.    But  is  has  one  most
     extraordinary peculiarity, which  is  a  perfectly  straight
     ridge  of  hills,  certainly  not more than five miles wide,
     which starts in a direct  line  from  its  southern  to  its
     northern  shore,  dividing  it  exactly  in the midst.  This
     singular ridge is perfectly sui  generis,  being  altogether
     unlike  any  mountain  chain  either on this earth or on the
     moon  itself.    It  is  so  very  keen,  that   its   great
     concentration of the solar light renders it visible to small
     telescopes; but its character  is  so  strikingly  peculiar,
     that  we  could not resist the temptation to depart from our
     predetermined adherence to a general survey, and examine  it
     particularly.    Our  lens  Gx  brought  it within the small
     distance of 800 yards, and its whole width of four  or  five
     miles  snugly  within  that of our canvass.  Nothing that we
     had hitherto seen  more  highly  excited  our  astonishment.
     Believe   it   or   believe   it  not,  it  was  one  entire
     crystallization! -- its edge, throughout its whole length of
     340  miles,  is  an  acute  angle  of  solid quartz crystal,
     brilliant as a piece of Derbyshore spar just brought from  a
     mine, and containing scarcely a fracture or a chasm from end
     to end!  What a prodigious influence must our thirteen times
     larger  globe  have  exercised  upon this satellite, when an
     embryo in the womb of time, the passive object  of  chemical
     affinity!  We found that wonder and astonishment, as excited
     by objects  in  this  distant  world,  were  but  modes  and
     attributes of ignorance, which should give place to elevated
     expectations,  and  to   reverential   confidence   in   the
     illimitable power of the Creator.
          "The dark expanse of waters south of  the  first  great
     ocean has often been considered a fourth; but we found it to
     be merely a sea of the first class, entirely  surrounded  by
     land,  and  much  more  encumbered with the promontories and
     islands that it has been exhibited in any lunar chart.   One
     of  its  promontories runs from the vicinity of Pitatus (No.
     19),  in  a  slightly  curved  and  very  narrow  line,   to
     Bullialdus  (No. 22), which is merely a circular head to it,
     264  miles  from  its  starting  place.    This  is  another
     mountainous  ring,  a  marine volcano, nearly burnt out, and
     slumbering upon its cindres.  But Pictatus, standing upon  a
     bold  cape  of the southern shore, is apparently exulting in
     the might and majesty of its fires.   The  atmosphere  being
     now  quite  free from vapor, we introduced the magnifiers to
     examine a large bright circle of  hills  which  sweep  close
     beside  the western abutments of this flaming mountain.  The
     hills were either of snow-white marble  or  semi-transparent
     crystal,  we  could  not distinguish which, and they bounded
     another  of  those  lovely  green  valleys,  which,  however
     monotonous  in  my  descriptions, are of paradisiacal beauty
     and fertility, and like primitive Eden in the bliss of their
     inhabitants.
          Dr. Herschel again predicted another of  his  sagacious
     theories.    He  said the proximity of the flaming mountain,
     Bullialdus, must be so great a local convenience to dwellers
     in  this  valley during the long periodical absence of solar
     light, as to render  it  a  place  of  populous  resort  for
     inhabitants  of all the adjacent regions, more especially as
     its bulwark of hills afforded an infallible security against
     any  volcanic  eruptions  that  could  occur.   We therefore
     applied our full power to explore it, and  rich  indeed  was
     our reward.
          "The very first object in  this  valley  that  appeared
     upon  our  canvass  was a magnificent work of art.  It was a
     temple -- a fane of devotion, or  of  science,  which,  when
     consecrated  to  the  Creator  is  devotion  of the loftiest
     order; for it exhibits his attributes purely free  from  the
     masquerade,    attire,   and   blasphemous   caricature   of
     controversial creeds, and has the seal and signature of  his
     own   hand   to   sanction  its  aspirations.    It  was  an
     equitriangular temple, built of  polished  sapphire,  or  of
     some  resplendent  blue  stone,  which, like it, displayed a
     myriad points of golden light twinkling and scintillating in
     the sunbeams.
          Our canvass, though fifty feet  in  diameter,  was  too
     limited to receive more than a sixth part of it at one view,
     and the first part that appeared was near the centre of  one
     of  its  sides,  being  three  square  columns,  six feet in
     diameter at its base, and gently tapering  to  a  height  of
     seventy feet.  The intercolumniations were each twelve feet.
     We instantly reduced our magnitude,  so  as  to  embrace  th
     whole  structure  in  one  view, and then indeed it was most
     beautiful.  The roof was composed of some yellow metal,  and
     divided  into  three compartments, which were not triangular
     planes inclining to the centre, but subdivided, curbed,  and
     separated,  so  as  to  present a mass of violently agitated
     flames rising from a  common  source  of  conflagration  and
     terminating in wildly waving points.
          This  design  was  too  manifest,  and  too  skillfully
     executed to be mistaken for a single monument.  Though a few
     openings in these  metallic  flames  we  perceived  a  large
     sphere  of a darker kind of metal nearly of a clouded copper
     color, which they enclosed and seemingly raged around, as if
     hieroglyphically  consuming  it.  The was the roof; but upon
     each of the three  corners  there  was  a  small  sphere  of
     apparently the same metal as the large centre one, and these
     rested upon a kind of cornice, quite new  in  any  order  of
     architecture  with which we are acquainted, but nevertheless
     exceedingly graceful and impressive.  It was  a  half-opened
     scroll,  swelling  off boldly from the roof, and hanging far
     over the walls in several convolutions.  It was of the  same
     metal as the flames, and on each side of the building it was
     open at both ends.  The columns,  six  on  each  side,  were
     simply  plain  shafts, without capitals or pedestals, or any
     description of ornament; nor  was  any  perceived  in  other
     parts  of the edifice.  It was open on each side, and seemed
     to contain neither seats, altars, nor offerings; but it  was
     a  light and airy structure, nearly a hundred feet high from
     its white glistening floor to its glowing roof, and it stood
     upon  a  round  green  eminence  on  the eastern side of the
     valley.
          We  afterwards,  however,  discovered two others, which
     were in every  respect  fac-similes  of  this  one;  but  in
     neither did we perceive and visitants besides flocks of wild
     doves which alighted upon its lustrous pinnacles.   Had  the
     devotees  of  these  temples  gone the way of all living, or
     were the latter merely historical monuments?  What  did  the
     ingenious  builders  mean by the globe surrounded by flames?
     Did they by this record any past calamity of their world, or
     predict  any  future  one of ours?  I by no means despair of
     ultimately solving not  only  these  but  a  thousand  other
     questions which present themselves respecting the objects of
     this planet; for not the millionth part of her  surface  has
     yet  been  explored,  and  we  have  been  more  desirous of
     collecting the greatest possible number of new  facts,  than
     of  indulging in speculative theories, however seductive for
     the imagination.