compounds'--God-a-mercy! If science makes such grotesque blunders about
radiant matters right under its nose, how can one think of taking its
opinion upon matters so remote as the stars--or even the moon, which is
comparatively near at hand?

Science says that the moon is a dead world, a cosmic ship littered with
the skeletons of its crew, and from which every rat of vitality has long
since escaped. It is the ghost that rises from its tomb every night, to
haunt its faithless lover, the world. It is a country of ancient
silver-mines, unworked for centuries. You may see the gaping mouths of
the dark old shafts through your telescopes. You may even see the
rusting pit tackle, the ruinous engine-houses, and the idle pick and
shovel. Or you may say that it is counterfeit silver, coined to take in
the young fools who love to gaze upon it. It is, so to speak, a bad
half-crown.

As you will! but I am of Endymion's belief--and no one was ever more
intimate with the moon. For me the moon is a country of great seaports,
whither all the ships of our dreams come home. From all quarters of the
world, every day of the week, there are ships sailing to the moon. They
are the ships that sail just when and where you please. You take your
passage on that condition. And it is ridiculous to think for what a
trifle the captain will take you on so long a journey. If you want to
come back, just to take an excursion and no more, just to take a lighted
look at those coasts of rose and pearl, he will ask no more than a glass
or two of bright wine--indeed, when the captain is very kind, a flower
will take you there and back in no time; if you want to stay whole days
there, but still come back dreamy and strange, you may take a little
dark root and smoke it in a silver pipe, or you may drink a little phial
of poppy-juice, and thus you shall find the Land of Heart's Desire; but