ould recommend a
balloon excursion. The higher you get, the smaller and more
insignificant do earthly things appear. A balloon is the best pulpit
imaginable from which to preach a sermon upon the littleness of mundane
realities, first--because no one can hear you, and your congregation
cannot therefore be held responsible for indifference to your teaching;
and second--because at that height you are fully impressed with the
truth of what you say.

Aspirations of whatever kind, all longings and emotions of the
"Excelsior" order, all appeals to "look aloft," come handier when you
can "do" them in an aerial car.

You will pardon this philosophic digression in respect to the peculiar
feelings of a man who has just been "up in a balloon." Our air-ship had
been anchored in the _Champ de Mars_ two days, waiting for a fair wind.
An hour before we started, a Yorkshireman, who had evidently never seen
such a creation before, annoyed me with incessant questions as to what
it was. His large, wondering, stupid eyes never ceased gazing at the
monster as it tugged heavily at the stake which held it. "Na' wha' maun
_that_ be?" he exclaimed, starting back as it gave a very violent jerk.
I could stand it no longer, and thus broke forth:--

"See here, my good fellow, you've got plenty of cheek to be bothering me
with your confounded ridiculous questions; and so I'll answer you once
for all. What you see tied fast there is called a balloon, and it's only
a French method of drawing Englishmen's teeth." He left me--I trust not
in anger; but that was the last I saw of the Yorkshireman.

We got off, (M. GODARD and I) about four o'clock P.M., and ascended
steadily till Paris, with its rim of fortifications, looked more like
the crater of a volcano than anything else. I brought out my opera-glass
as we moved in the direction of Versailles, and reconnoitred the
situation. In a field adjoining the palace I saw an object that looked
like a post driven into the ground, and capped with a large-sized
clam-shell. GODARD levelled his glass and examined it. His lip curled
proudly with scorn as he said:--

"That is the butcher himself, WILLIAM of Prussia. The clam-like
appearance you notice is due to the baldness of his head."

I only said: "Can it be possible?" and we moved on. How my blood
throbbed as we cavorted through the blue depths of heaven! I was far
from feeling blue myself, and GODARD said that if anything I was green.
The bearings of the