I stop when the breach is large enough to allow me to see the state of things within.
What is this state of things?
I pause to give the reader time to reflect and to think out for himself a means of safety that will protect the egg and afterwards the grub in the perilous conditions which I have set forth.

Seek, think and contrive, such of you as have inventive minds.

Have you guessed it?
Do you give it up?
I may as well tell you.
The egg is not laid upon the provisions; it is hung from the top of the cupola by a thread which vies with that of a Spider's web for slenderness.

The dainty cylinder quivers and swings to and fro at the least breath; it reminds me of the famous pendulum suspended from the dome of the Pantheon to prove the rotation of the earth.

The victuals are heaped up underneath.
Second act of this wondrous spectacle.