Before the close of the century when selenography first became possible, Hevel of Dantzig, Scheiner, Langrenus (cosmographer to the King of Spain), Riccioli, the Jesuit astronomer of Bologna, and Dominic Cassini, the celebrated French astronomer, greatly extended the knowledge of the moon’s surface, and published drawings of various phases, and charts, which, though very rude and incomplete, were a clear advance upon what Galileo, with his inferior optical means, had been able to accomplish.  Langrenus, and after him Hevel, gave distinctive names to the various formations, mainly derived from terrestrial physical features, for which Riccioli subsequently substituted those of philosophers, mathematicians, and other celebrities; and Cassini determined by actual measurement the relative position of many of the principal objects on the disc, thus laying the foundation of an accurate system of lunar topography; while the labours of T. Mayer and Schroter in the last century, and of Lohrmann, Madler, Neison (Nevill), Schmidt, and other observers in the present, have been mainly devoted to the study of the minuter detail of the moon and its physical characteristics.

As was manifest to the earliest telescopic observers, its visible surface is clearly divisible into strongly contrasted areas, differing both in colour and structural character.  Somewhat less than half of what we see of it consists of comparatively level dark tracts, some of them very many thousands of square miles in extent, the monotony of whose dusky superficies is often unrelieved for great distances by any prominent object; while the remainder, everywhere manifestly brighter, is not only more rugged and uneven, but is covered to a much greater extent with numbers of quasi-circular formations, differing widely in size, classed as walled-plains, ring-plains, craters, craterlets, crater-cones, &c. (the latter bearing a great outward resemblance to some terrestrial volcanoes), and mountain ranges of vast proportions, isolated hills, and other features.

Though nothing resembling sheets of water, either of small or large extent, have ever been detected on the surface, the superficial resemblance, in small telescopes, of the large grey tracts to the appearance which we may suppose our terrestrial lakes and oceans would present to an observer on the moon, naturally induced the early selenographers to term them Maria, or “seas”—­a convenient name, which is still maintained, without, however, implying that these areas, as we now see them, are, or ever were, covered with water.  Some, however, regard them as old sea-beds, from which every trace of fluid, owing to some unknown cause, has vanished, and that the folds and wrinkles, the ridges, swellings, and other peculiarities of structure observed upon them, represent some of the results of alluvial action.  It is, of course, possible, and even probable, that at a remote epoch in the evolution of our satellite these lower regions were occupied by water, but that