Having proved that the moon is a person, it becomes important to ascertain its sex. Our minds are made up on this point. The poets have always spoken of her as a lady. But it is no more than fair to notice some of the objections which have been urged against the probability of this hypothesis. It is well known that the fair sex, to a woman, are admirers of the moon; and, as ladies generally are not prone to speak in praise of beauties of their own sex, it has been supposed, therefore, that she cannot be of the feminine gender. This instance is, however, the exception to the general rule, we suppose. Some ill-natured person has endeavored to explain this fondness of ladies for the moon, by reminding us of the popular notion that the moon has a man in it. A most scandalous, malicious, and impertinent suggestion. As an offset to the arguments adduced by those who take the masculine side of the question, other cynical, crusty old bachelors have cited the lines of Addison— Soon as the Evening’s shades prevail The Moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening Earth Repeats the story of her birth— and ask triumphantly, who but a feminine could talk all night, and every night, and never tire withal. But as the context shows that all the stars and planets, some of whom are indubitably of the sterner sex, are alike infected with this _cacoethes loquendi_, this seems not to settle the question, unless it be satisfactorily shown, that only the males of the planetary system are obliged to wait “their turn,” to “confirm the tidings” spoken of. Meanwhile we shall believe the poets. The moon, then, is a lady, and a beauty. But loveliness, to be appreciated, should bear the stamp of rank. Many beautiful women grow up unadmired and unsought, because their parentage is obscure, and their station humble; while pert, vulgar faces pass for handsome, only because their possessors have also wealth and rank. A gilded frame makes a good picture in the eyes of nearly all the world.