beyond it are bottomless; that is, the bottom
becomes impossible or difficult to fathom. In
other localities, at the foot of lofty sea-
washed cliffs composed of primitive rock,
these immeasurable depths are immediately
met with. The space inclosed within these
gigantic walls of granite constitutes the
veritable basin of the ocean. The fact is
inexplicable on the theory of a gradual upheaving
of the earth's outer shell; because the
edge of the ocean's basin is not inclined,
but vertical. Its sides are exactly like the
broken edge of an exploded bomb. A portion
of the terrestrial crust has clearly been either
forced out or knocked in; but it cannot have
been driven in, because its borders would be
oblique and not perpendicular; they would
offer a resemblance to a chain of mountains
overthrown. But if this very large portion
of the earth's shell has not been crushed
in (and it is most probable that it has not),
but has been blown out and away;—where
has it gone to? We behold it shining overhead.

Thirdly; if the moon be a confused
agglomeration of solid and melted substances
violently discharged from off and out of
the earth, it ought to be bristling with
mountains proportionally loftier than our
own; and such is the fact. It ought to have
a volcanic aspect; and such is the fact.
Containing heaps of pumice-stone and ashes
exploded pell-mell, its density ought to be less
lhan the earth's; and such is the fact.

But now that we are on the moon, let
us take advantage of the opportunity and
look around. It is the abomination of
desolation, a solid, desert, silent heap of ruins,
never refreshed by a drop of moisture nor
fanned by a breath of air. The monotonous
black sky is never overspread with mists nor
traversed by the lightning's flash. The hills
never echo the pealing of thunder, the cries
of wild animals, nor the howling of tempests.
There is a perfect stillness and a perfect
immobility to which that of the tomb offers no
comparison. There is no atmosphere, no
respirable air; there are no seas, lakes, nor
rivers; no clouds, rain, nor dew. No change
of seasons; no showers, hail, nor snow, since
there is no water.

An atmosphere is the link which
connects animals with vegetables; what the one
give out into the air, the others absorb
from it; in point of fact, it may be said,
that, as far as their organic elements are
concerned, plants and animals, deriving their
substance from the air, are nothing else but
condensed air. But the moon has no
atmosphere, and consequently no plants or animals.
There is not the slightest truce of vegetation,
not even the grey or yellow lichens which are
found on the sunburnt rocks of an African
desert. There is no heaped-up pile of
materials which is not due to unaided chance;
there is not the least apparent symmetry of
form which can indicate any purpose on the
part of an operator. There are only lofty
barren mountains, the fragments of our
exploded globe, cemented together by volcanic
lava or split into unfathomable chinks and
crevices. The laud has the aspect of a
volcanic country; it merely bears the impress
of its birth. There are vast circular crater-
like hollows; but they are merely concavities
and depressions produced by the contraction
of the moon's substance during the
process of cooling. We see others like them,
on a smaller scale, in a multitude or
matters; in metal, rosin, fat, and wax,
which gradually pass from a liquid to a
solid state by the loss of heat. The moon
has become torpid by the radiation of the
whole of her native warmth. She has
died of cold, if you will; she is frozen to
death.

On earth we have no veritable death, like
that which reigns throughout the moon; we
have only change of form and constitution.
We have not that condition of absolute
repose, that unalterable stillness, that
unchanging rigidity, that sterile, atmosphere-
less, arid state of fixed solidity, which
constitutes the death of the moon. What we
call a dead body, is not dead; an ancient
Egyptian mummy tries hard to attain a real
death, in vain. Were it truly dead, it would
remain the same as it was at the moment
when death seized it, for thousands and
thousands of years; it would continue the same
dead body for ever. But it corrupts; it
decomposes. Now corruption is a force, a potent
agent, which is the harbinger of life to corne;
and thus the corruptible puts on incorruption,
and the mortal puts on immortality. In
the moon, there appears to be neither life,
nor death, nor change, nor renovation; there
is stable equilibrium—a negation of every
vital movement—and that is all.

Only one face of the moon is visible to
dwellers on earth, namely that which is
constantly turned towards us. This face has
been carefully mapped, and names have been
given to all the most considerable mountains
(for whom the greatest philosophers have
stood godfather), as well as to numerous
plains and hollows, which were called by the
first observers, seas. Of the mountains, one
thousand and ninety-five have had their
height accurately measured. Thirty-nine of
them are loftier than Mont Blanc; six are
higher than Cotopaxi; and two reach an
elevation only a little inferior to that of the
topmost summits of the Himalayas. The
satellite is therefore comparatively a much
more mountainous country than the planet;
to carry out the same proportions, the height
to which our mountains tower would have to
be very nearly quadrupled. Only fancy a
magnified Mont Blanc of four times the
perpendicular altitude of that which overlooks
the vale of Chamouni!

At the foot of the lunar mountains there
generally exist cavities of prodigious depth;