lse."

"The fellow that made the first voyage must have been very daring."

"The first ascent was made by Montgolfier in 1782, and he was followed
by Rosiers and d'Arlandes."

"With your permission, father," said Ernest, "I will claim priority in
aerial travelling for Icarus, Doedalus, and Phaeton."

"Certainly; you are justified in doing so. Gay-Lussac, a philosophic
Frenchman, rose, in 1804, to the height of seven thousand yards."

"He must have felt a little giddy," remarked Jack.

"Most of the functions of the body were affected, more or less, by the
extreme rarity of the air at that height. Its dryness caused wet
parchment to crisp. He observed that the action of the magnetic needle
diminished as he ascended, sounds gradually ceased to reach his ear,
and the wind itself ceased to be felt."

"That, of course," remarked Ernest, "was when he was travelling in the
same direction and at the same speed."

"Well," said Jack, "we can find materials here for a balloon; the
ladies have silk dresses, there is plenty of India-rubber--we used to
make boots and shoes of it; hydrogen gas can be obtained from a
variety of substances. What, then, is to prevent us paying a visit to
some of Ernest's friends in the skies?"

"Unfortunately for your project, Jack, no one has discovered the art
of guiding a balloon; consequently, instead of finding yourself at
_Cassiope_, you might land at _Sirius_, where your reception would be
somewhat cool."

"But what became of Herbert?" inquired one of the ladies.

"Singularly enough, he escaped all the dangers he so recklessly
braved, and all the bad speculations he embarked in turned out good.
Somehow or other, the moment he took part in a desperate scheme it
became profitable."

"Ah!" exclaimed Sophia, "his victim, like a guardian angel, continued
to watch over him."

"When the cholera appeared in England, he was sure to be found where
the cases were most numerous. He followed up the pest with so much
pertinacity and publicity, that it was no unusual thing to find it
announced in the newspapers that Philipson and the cholera had arrived
in such and such a town."

"The bane and the antidote," remarked Jack.

"If Cecilia had been one of those women who delight in horse-racing,
fox-hunting, opera-boxes, and public executions, she would have been
highly amused to see her old friend's name constantly turning up under
such extraordinary circumstances."

"Is she not dead, then?" inq