American people cannot be expected to respond cordially to any periodical treating of the Fine Arts, which has not a sterling common sense for its animating principle. This seemingly commonplace basis of treatment is not inconsistent with the highest standard. It only claims that if there is a good reason for anything asserted or denied, that reason ought to be clearly and intelligently given. We have been bullied long enough by amateurs and connoisseurs. We are tired of being kicked by Mr. Ruskin and his peers, and demand that we should be treated as gentlemen and men. Will the Crayon help us to what we want? BOOKS RECEIVED. NOTES ON DUELS AND DUELLING, alphabetically arranged, with a Preliminary Historical Essay. By Lorenzo Sabine. Boston: Crosby, Nichols & Co. 12mo., pp. 394. BROTHER JONATHAN'S COTTAGE; or, A Friend to the Fallen. By Henry H. Tator. New York: Francis Hart. 12mo., pp. 235. FUDGE DOINGS: being Tony Fudge's Record of the Same. By Ik. Marvel. New York: Charles Scribner. 2 vols. 12mo., pp. 235 and 257. THE FOREST EXILES; or, the Perils of a Peruvian Family amid the Wilds of the Amazon. By Capt. Mayne Reid. Illustrated. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 12mo., pp. 360. COUNTRY LIFE, and Other Stories. By Cousin Mary. Illustrated. Boston: Phillips, Sampson & Co. 12mo., pp. 168. THE ANGEL CHILDREN; or, Stories from Cloud-land. By Charlotte M. Higgins. Boston: Phillips, Sampson & Co. 12mo. pp. 134. UPS AND DOWNS; or Silver Lake Sketches. By Cousin Cicely. New York: J. C. Derby. 12mo., pp. 341. ROMANCE OF BIOGRAPHY, illustrated in the Lives of LILIES AND VIOLETS; or, Thoughts in Prose and EXAMINATION OF THE PRINCIPLES OF BIBLICAL INTERPRETATION OF ERNESTI, &c.: A Treatise on the Figures of Speech. A treatise on the right and duty of all men to read the Scriptures. By Alexander Carson, LL. D. New York: Edward H. Fletcher. 12mo., pp. 468. THE JUDGMENTS OF GOD UPON THE NATIONS. Pius Ninth, the Last of the Popes. New York: E. H. Fletcher. 12mo., pp. 135. LITERARY FABLES OF YRIARTE. Translated from the Spanish. By Geo. H. Devereux. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 12mo., pp. 145. NELLY BRACKEN; a Tale of Forty Years Ago. By Annie Chambers Bradford. Philadelphia: Lippincott, Grambo & Co. 12mo., pp. 377. SERMONS; chiefly Practical. By the senior Minister of the West Church, in Boston. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 12mo., pp. 362. MAY AND DECEMBER; A Tale of Wedded Life. By Mrs. Hubback. Philadelphia: Lippincott, Grambo & Co. 2 vols. 12mo., pp. 270 and 250. THE AMERICAN SPORTSMAN; containing hints to sportsmen, notes on shooting, and the habits of the game-birds and wild fowl of America. By Elisha J. Lewis, M. D. Illustrated. Philadelphia: Lippincott, Grambo & Co. Svo., pp. 494. Phillips, Sampson & Co.'s Catalogue of Publications. THE BIBLE PRAYER-BOOK; for Family Worship, and for other private and public occasions By W. W. Everts. New York: Ivison & Phinney. 12mo., pp. 244. HISTORY AND OBSERVATIONS ON ASIATIC CHOLERA IN BROOKLYN, N. Y. IN 1854. By J. C. Hutchison, M. D. [From the New York Journal of Medicine.] New York. Stitched, 12mo., pp. 24. THE POETICAL WORKS OF THOMAS HOOD; with a biographical sketch. Edited by Epes Sargent. Boston: Phillips, Sampson & Co. 12mo., pp. 490. THR AMERICAN ALMANAC, and Repository of Useful Knowledge, for the year 1955. Boston: Phillips, Sampson & Co. 12mo., pp. 352. MY COURTSHIP AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. By Henry Wikoff. New York: J. C. Derby. 12mo., pp. 438. CORNELL'S PRIMARY GEOGRAPHY, forming part first of a systematic series of school geographies. By 8. S. Cornell. New York: D. Appleton & Co. Small 8vo., pp. 96. "FATHER CLARK," or, The Pioneer Preacher. Sketches and incidents of Rev. John Clark, by an Old Pioneer. New York: Sheldon, Lamport, & Blakem an. 12mo., pp. 257. A THIRD GALLERY OF PORTRAITS. By George Gilfillan. New York: Sheldon, Lamport & Blakeman. WOLFERT'S ROOST, and other papers, now first collected. By Washington Irving. New York: G. P. Putnam & Co. 12mo., pp. 353. NOTE. The letter from a correspondent on the affairs of the Smithsonian Institution, which appeared in our last number, being given merely as an ex-parte statement of opinion on the topics under consideration, and from a respectable source, was printed without careful scrutiny. We take no part in the controversybut we presume our respectable correspondent will regret, as we do, the admission of one paragraph, at least, grossly and unnecessarily offensive to the memory of Smithson.-EDItor. PUTNAM'S MONTHLY. 3 Magazine of Literature, Science. and Art. VOL. V.-APRIL, 1855.-NO. XXVIII. A TRIP TO THE MOON. THE HE huge bell of the cathedral rang out midnight. Like clear crystal drops fell the transparent silver notes from the bright sky, as if they were echoes of angels' voices. Behind the dusky mountains rose the full orb of the moon in golden splendor, and poured its fairy light over the vast plain. Faint hazy mists swept across the valley, and slowly the pale gossamer light sank deeper into the dark narrow streets of the city. Like a gigantic churchyard lay the silent town at the feet of the mysterious globe in the high heavenseach house a coffin in which slept a thousand joys or sorrows. Only through one low window shone the feeble glimmer of a night-lamp. A mother was watching her sickly babe; fierce fever glared in its glowing face and burning eyes, and restlessly the poor child tossed from side to side. At last it grew quiet, and seemed to slumber. The mother stepped to the window and looked with tearful eye up to the moon. A feeling of deepest loneliness chilled her sinking heart; all around her slept ten thousands in happy peace; the wicked had ceased from troubling and the weary were at rest; she only watched with anguish the flickering life of her beloved. "Oh," she sighed, "how peaceful and happy it must be up there in the silvery light of the moon! There is peace in her pale even light, quiet happiness in her calm, unbroken pilgrimage through the dark blue heavens And she wished she could wander in her sweet meadows and rest by her still waters. She prayed, half dreaming, half awake, that her soul might, hereafter, be allowed to rest from VOL. V.-22 the pain and sorrow of earthly life, in the calm sweet light of the moon, praising God and enjoying the peace that knows no end. For so we dream, even in our day, of paradisiacal peace and mysterious charms in the moon; as thousands of years ago, the nations of the earth revered in her a godlike being, who lighted up the long, sad nights with her sweet, silvery light, and in chaste beauty, wove strange spells over the hearts of men. They built temples in honor of the goddess, priests sang her praises in mighty anthems, sacrifices won her favor and disarmed her just wrath. Lofty were her thrones in the far East; Asia and the world worshiped her, and great was the Diana of the Ephesians! This faith, like alas! many a better faith, is found no longer among men. Superstition, alone, has remained. The Chinese beats his drums and gongs to keep the dragon from swallowing up his moon at the time of an eclipse, and the Wallachian peasant sees in her pale, faint glimmer how the vampire rises from his brother's grave. With us the telescope has stripped the moon of her divine attributes, and dry, sober calculations have torn all strange fancies and gay charms from the humble satellite of the earth. Now the moon is simply a little globe, not much larger than America, so that the longest journey, that could be undertaken there, would explore Asia from end to end. We can easily get there, for she is only about 240,000 miles from us, a mere trifle in comparison with the distance of the nearest star. Will you accompany us? There is no luggage required, for there are plenty of castles in the air, and as for provisions, have not our very first lessons taught us the precious substance of which the moon is made? Passengers are not expected to travel with a huge telescope under the arm, and a book of logarithms in their hand. We leave that to the munificent Earl of Rosse, who compels the chaste goddess to come down within the familiar distance of three hundred miles, even to bold Ireland! We have, besides, cunning astronomers, who marshal with ease millions of numbers, and command the poor planets to appear in given places, threatening to deny their identity, if they do not appear within the minute. We are simple travellers, and, I fear, would not disdain a beanstalk, if we thought it the shortest road to heaven. Once, on the moon, however, we are immediately struck with awe and wonder at the strange landscapes that we suspected from below, even with unarmed eyes, in the dark and light spots on the moon's disc. Now the grey portions become plains, the light ones mountains. That these brilliant spots are mountains, we know from their shadows, which always fall on the side opposite the sun, and which lengthen in precise proportion as the sun sinks lower. The most dazzling points, however, are not mountains but towering precipices, whose steep, smooth sides reflect the light with greatest force. But how entirely different is this mountain scenery from that of the Alps or the Andes! Here we see no lofty, snow-covered peaks, no long, pleasing ridges and lovely valleys; not even the proud domes of the Cordilleras with their steep terraces are here represented. The whole surface of the moon is covered with circular walls, inclosing deep, dark caverns into which whole territories have sunk with their hills and mountains. Some of these huge abysses are more than fifty miles in diameter, others spread still wider, but all are engirt at the top by great walls of rock, which are serrated and often crowned by lofty peaks. The smallest and most regular are called craters, from their resemblance to the craters of the earth, but the form is all they have in common. Volcanoes the moon does not know, and the shining points on her night side, which Herschel loved so much to observe, are only the highest points of lofty mountains, resplendent in brilliant sunshine. On the southwestern part of the disc we see one of those gigantic, elevated tablelands, with which the moon abounds. They are evidently the oldest formations, fearfully torn and tarnished in every direction, full of craters, fissures and fractures and traversed by long furrow-like valleys; but in their midst we see, invariably, a most beautiful variety of landscapes, such as our earth boasts of: groups of mountains, broad, vast plains, gently swelling ridges, and fair valleys, dotted with numerous, wellrounded hills. By their side we notice one of those regular, and therefore probably more recent circular mountains, of which more than 1,500 are already known, and which, in some parts of the moon, stand so closely packed together, as to give to these regions the appearance of a honeycomb. Their walls are nearly all around of the same height; within, their straight, steep sides sink suddenly into the abyss; without they fall off more gradually in terraces, and send occasional spurs into the surrounding country. In the centre there rises commonly an isolated peak, sometimes merely a humble hill, at other times a lofty mountain or even a small cluster of conical eminences. These central heights never rise to a level with the circular ranges; some are nearly 5000 feet high, but then the impassable wall, that surrounds them without breach or pass, and shuts them off from the rest of the universe, towers aloft to the amazing height of 17,000 feet! If the number of these circular mountains is so great, that of small, burnt out craters is still more astounding; even a moderately powerful telescope shows us some 20,000. Inside they often sink to an incredible depth, into which their walls cast a deep, everlasting shadow, or where there reigns entire gloom, which the light of the sun, even at its highest, never reaches. Their tops, however, when fully lighted up at the time of full moon, shine in glorious splendor, reflecting the sun's rays with dazzling lustre. Others show only their margin illuminated, like a delicate ring of light, forming a magic circle around the dark, yawning crater. Now and then we see two or more strung together like rows of pearls, connected with each other by canals, or even two at a time surrounded by a common wall and combining their desolate horrors. Long chains of mountains, like the Alps and Andes of our mother earth, |