begun by this time to check off the state of the
instruments. The thermometer and the barometer were all right, except
one self-recorder of which the glass had got broken. An excellent
aneroid barometer, taken safe and sound out of its wadded box, was
carefully hung on a hook in the wall. It marked not only the pressure of
the air in the Projectile, but also the quantity of the watery vapor
that it contained. The needle, oscillating a little beyond thirty,
pointed pretty steadily at "_Fair_."

The mariner's compasses were also found to be quite free from injury. It
is, of course, hardly necessary to say that the needles pointed in no
particular direction, the magnetic pole of the Earth being unable at
such a distance to exercise any appreciable influence on them. But when
brought to the Moon, it was expected that these compasses, once more
subjected to the influence of the current, would attest certain
phenomena. In any case, it would be interesting to verify if the Earth
and her satellite were similarly affected by the magnetic forces.

A hypsometer, or instrument for ascertaining the heights of the Lunar
mountains by the barometric pressure under which water boils, a sextant
to measure the altitude of the Sun, a theodolite for taking horizontal
or vertical angles, telescopes, of indispensable necessity when the
travellers should approach the Moon,--all these instruments, carefully
examined, were found to be still in perfect working order,
notwithstanding the violence of the terrible shock at the start.

As to the picks, spades, and other tools that had been carefully
selected by the Captain; also the bags of various kinds of grain and
the bundles of various kinds of shrubs, which Ardan expected to
transplant to the Lunar plains--they were all still safe in their places
around the upper corners of the Projectile.

Some other articles were also up there which evidently possessed great
interest for the Frenchman. What they were nobody else seemed to know,
and he seemed to be in no hurry to tell. Every now and then, he would
climb up, by means of iron pins fixed in the wall, to inspect his
treasures; whatever they were, he arranged them and rearranged them with
evident pleasure, and as he rapidly passed a careful hand through
certain mysterious boxes, he joyfully sang in the falsest possible of
false voices the lively piece from _Nicolo_:

_Le temps est beau, la route est belle,
La promenade est un plaisir_.