d dictatorial conduct. His act was stigmatised as
"un-American." There was nearly a riot round Stony Hill, but Barbicane
was not to be moved. When, however, the Columbiad was quite finished,
this state of closed doors could no longer be kept up; besides, it would
have been in bad taste, and even imprudent, to offend public opinion.
Barbicane, therefore, opened the inclosure to all comers; but, in
accordance with his practical character, he determined to coin money out
of the public curiosity.

It was, indeed, something to even be allowed to see this immense
Columbiad, but to descend into its depths seemed to the Americans the
_ne plus ultra_ of earthly felicity. In consequence there was not one
visitor who was not willing to give himself the pleasure of visiting the
interior of this metallic abyss. Baskets hung from steam-cranes allowed
them to satisfy their curiosity. It became a perfect mania. Women,
children, and old men all made it their business to penetrate the
mysteries of the colossal gun. The price for the descent was fixed at
five dollars a head, and, notwithstanding this high charge, during the
two months that preceded the experiment, the influx of visitors allowed
the Gun Club to pocket nearly 500,000 dollars!

It need hardly be said that the first visitors to the Columbiad were the
members of the Gun Club. This privilege was justly accorded to that
illustrious body. The ceremony of reception took place on the 25th of
September. A basket of honour took down the president, J.T. Maston,
Major Elphinstone, General Morgan, Colonel Blomsberry, and other members
of the Gun Club, ten in all. How hot they were at the bottom of that
long metal tube! They were nearly stifled, but how delightful--how
exquisite! A table had been laid for ten on the massive stone which
formed the bottom of the Columbiad, and was lighted by a jet of electric
light as bright as day itself. Numerous exquisite dishes, that seemed to
descend from heaven, were successively placed before the guests, and the
richest wines of France flowed profusely during this splendid repast,
given 900 feet below the surface of the earth!

The festival was a gay, not to say a noisy one. Toasts were given and
replied to. They drank to the earth and her satellite, to the Gun Club,
the Union, the Moon, Diana, Phoebe, Selene, "the peaceful courier of the
night." All the hurrahs, carried up by the sonorous waves of the immense
acoustic tube, reached its mouth with