babblers hold their peace.'

I returned to the parsonage, very crestfallen. My uncle had beaten me
with the weapons of science. Still I had one hope left, and this was,
that when we had reached the bottom of the crater it would be
impossible, for want of a passage, to go deeper, in spite of all the
Saknussemm's in Iceland.

I spent that whole night in one constant nightmare; in the heart of a
volcano, and from the deepest depths of the earth I saw myself tossed
up amongst the interplanetary spaces under the form of an eruptive
rock.

The next day, June 23, Hans was awaiting us with his companions
carrying provisions, tools, and instruments; two iron pointed sticks,
two rifles, and two shot belts were for my uncle and myself. Hans, as
a cautious man, had added to our luggage a leathern bottle full of
water, which, with that in our flasks, would ensure us a supply of
water for eight days.

It was nine in the morning. The priest and his tall Megaera were
awaiting us at the door. We supposed they were standing there to bid
us a kind farewell. But the farewell was put in the unexpected form
of a heavy bill, in which everything was charged, even to the very
air we breathed in the pastoral house, infected as it was. This
worthy couple were fleecing us just as a Swiss innkeeper might have
done, and estimated their imperfect hospitality at the highest price.

My uncle paid without a remark: a man who is starting for the centre
of the earth need not be particular about a few rix dollars.