elevation of the land; and in answer to a question of J. T.
Maston, replied:

"My worthy friend, we cannot do better than sink our Columbiad
in these high grounds."

"To get nearer the moon, perhaps?" said the secretary of the Gun Club.

"Not exactly," replied Barbicane, smiling; "do you not see that
among these elevated plateaus we shall have a much easier work
of it? No struggles with the water-springs, which will save us
long expensive tubings; and we shall be working in daylight
instead of down a deep and narrow well. Our business, then, is
to open our trenches upon ground some hundreds of yards above
the level of the sea."

"You are right, sir," struck in Murchison, the engineer; "and, if I
mistake not, we shall ere long find a suitable spot for our purpose."

"I wish we were at the first stroke of the pickaxe," said the president.

"And I wish we were at the _last_," cried J. T. Maston.

About ten A.M. the little band had crossed a dozen miles.
To fertile plains succeeded a region of forests. There perfumes
of the most varied kinds mingled together in tropical profusion.
These almost impenetrable forests were composed of pomegranates,
orange-trees, citrons, figs, olives, apricots, bananas, huge vines,
whose blossoms and fruits rivaled each other in color and perfume.
Beneath the odorous shade of these magnificent trees fluttered and