est records of history we learn that man has ever been
envious of the birds, and of all other winged creatures. He has longed
and striven to fly. He has also signally failed to do so.

We say "failed" advisedly, because his various attempts in that
direction have usually resulted in disappointment and broken bones. As
to balloons, we do not admit that they fly any more than do ships;
balloons merely float and glide, when not otherwise engaged in tumbling,
collapsing, and bursting.

This being so, we draw attention to the fact that the nearest approach
we have yet made to the sensation of flying is that achieved by rushing
down a long, smooth, steep hill-road on a well-oiled and perfect
ball-bearings bicycle! Skating cannot compare with this, for that
requires exertion; bicycling down hill requires none. Hunting cannot,
no matter how splendid the mount, for that implies a certain element of
bumping, which, however pleasant in itself, is not suggestive of the
smooth swift act of flying.

We introduce this subject merely because thoughts somewhat similar to
those which we have so inadequately expressed were burning in the brain
of a handsome and joyful young man one summer morning not long ago, as,
with legs over the handles, he flashed--if he did not actually fly--down
one of our Middlesex hills on his way to London.

Urgent haste was in every look and motion of that young man's fine eyes
and lithe body. He would have bought wings at any price had that been
possible; but, none being yet in the market, he made the most of his
wheel--a fifty-eight inch one, by the way, for the young man's legs were
long, as well as strong.

Arrived at the bottom of the hill the hilarious youth put his feet to
the treadles, and drove the machine vigorously up the opposite slope.
It was steep, but he was powerful. He breathed hard, no doubt, but he
never flagged until he gained the next summit. A shout burst from his
lips as he rolled along the level top, for there, about ten miles off,
lay the great city, glittering in the sunshine, and with only an
amber-tinted canopy of its usual smoke above it.

Among the tall elms and in the flowering hedgerows between which he
swept, innumerable birds warbled or twittered their astonishment that he
could fly with such heedless rapidity through that beautiful country,
and make for the dismal town in such magnificent weather. One aspiring
lark overhead seemed to repeat, with persistent inte