at top, as well as a good
deal from the neck.' At once I see the force of the argument, and
inwardly infer that I am in no way dependent upon chance, and not likely
to suffer from carelessness with Mr Coxwell. We are now far beyond all
ordinary sounds from the earth; a sea of clouds is below us, so dense
that it is difficult to persuade ourselves that we have passed through
them. Up to this time little or no inconvenience is met with; but on
passing above four miles, much personal discomfort is experienced;
respiration becomes difficult; the beating of the heart at times is
audible; the hands and lips become blue, and at higher elevations the
face also; and it requires the exercise of a strong will to make and
record observations. Before getting to our highest point, Mr Coxwell
counts the number of his sandbags, and calculates how much higher we can
go, with respect to the reserve of ballast necessary to regulate the
descent.

"Then I feel a vibration in the car, and, on turning round, see Mr
Coxwell in the act of lowering down the grapnel, then looking up at the
balloon, then scanning the horizon, and weighing apparently in his mind
some distant clouds through which we are likely to pass in going down.

"A glance suffices to show that his mind is made up how much higher it
is prudent to rise, and how much ballast it is expedient to preserve.

"The balloon is now lingering, as it were, under the deep blue vault of
space, hesitating whether to mount higher or begin its descent without
further warning. We now hold a consultation, and then look around from
the highest point, giving silent scope to those emotions of the soul
which are naturally called forth by such a wide-spread range of
creation.

"Our course is now about to change. But here I interpose with `No, no;
stop; not yet; let us remain so long that the instruments are certain to
take up the true temperature, and that no doubt can rest upon the
observations here. When I am satisfied I shall say, "Pull."'

"Then in silence--for here we respire with difficulty, and talk but
little--in the centre of this immense space, in solitude, without a
single object to interrupt the view for 200 miles or more all round,
abstracted from the earth, upheld by an invisible medium, our mouths so
dry that we cannot eat, a white sea below us, so far below, we see few,
if any, irregularities. I watch the instruments; but, forcibly
impelled, again look round from the centr