But until then, it must be acknowledged, the curiosity of the numerous arrivals had only been moderately satisfied.  Many counted upon seeing the casting who only saw the smoke from it.  This was not much for hungry eyes, but Barbicane would allow no one to see that operation.  Thereupon ensued grumbling, discontent, and murmurs; they blamed the president for what they considered 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 a noise of thunder; then the multitude round Stony Hill heartily united their shouts to those of the ten revellers hidden from sight in the depths of the gigantic Columbiad.