It can't be less than 4000 feet in height." "I propose we called it _Barbican_!" cried Ardan enthusiastically.
"Agreed!" answered M'Nicholl, "unless we can find a higher one." "We must be before-hand with Schmidt of Athens!" exclaimed Ardan.

"He will leave nothing unnamed that his telescope can catch a glimpse of." "Passed unanimously!" cried M'Nicholl.
"And officially recorded!" added the Frenchman, making the proper entry on his map.
"_Salve, Mt.

Barbican!_" then cried both gentlemen, rising and taking off their hats respectfully to the distant peak.
"Look to the west!" interrupted Barbican, watching, as usual, while his companions were talking, and probably perfectly unconscious of what they were saying; "directly to the west! Now tell me what you see!" "I see a vast valley!" answered M'Nicholl.
"Straight as an arrow!" added Ardan.
"Running through lofty mountains!" cried M'Nicholl.
"Cut through with a pair of saws and scooped out with a chisel!" cried Ardan.
"See the shadows of those peaks!" cried M'Nicholl catching fire at the sight.

"Black, long, and sharp as if cast by cathedral spires!" "Oh! ye crags and peaks!" burst forth Ardan; "how I should like to catch even a faint echo of the chorus you could chant, if a wild storm roared over your beetling summits! The pine forests of Norwegian mountains howling in midwinter would not be an accordeon in comparison!" "Wonderful instance of subsidence on a grand scale!" exclaimed the Captain, hastily relapsing into science.
"Not at all!" cried the Frenchman, still true to his colors; "no subsidence there! A comet simply came too close and left its mark as it flew past." "Fanciful exclamations, dear friends," observed Barbican; "but I'm not surprised at your excitement.

Yonder is the famous _Valley of the Alps_, a standing enigma to all selenographers.