ing balloons into the heavens. We
are now prepared to enter fully into the romantic history of our subject
which from this point rapidly unfolds itself.

Some eleven months only after the two Montgolfiers were discovered
toying with their inflated paper bag, the younger of the two brothers
was engaged to make an exhibition of his new art before the King at
Versailles, and this was destined to be the first occasion when
a balloon was to carry a living freight into the sky. The stately
structure, which was gorgeously decorated, towered some seventy
feet into the air, and was furnished with a wicker car in which the
passengers were duly installed. These were three in number, a sheep, a
cock, and a duck, and amid the acclamations of the multitude, rose a few
hundred feet and descended half a mile away. The cock was found to have
sustained an unexplained mishap: its leg was broken; but the sheep
was feeding complacently, and the duck was quacking with much apparent
satisfaction.

Now, who among mortals will come forward and win the honour of being the
first to sail the skies? M. Pilitre de Rozier at once volunteered, and
by the month of November a new air ship was built, 74 feet high, 48 feet
in largest diameter, and 15 feet across the neck, outside which a wicker
gallery was constructed, while an iron brazier was slung below all.
But to trim the boat properly two passengers were needed, and de Rozier
found a ready colleague in the Marquis d'Arlandes. By way of precaution,
de Rozier made a few preliminary ascents with the balloon held captive,
and then the two intrepid Frenchmen took their stand on opposite sides
of the gallery, each furnished with bundles of fuel to feed the furnace,
each also carrying a large wet sponge with which to extinguish the
flames whenever the machine might catch fire. On casting off the balloon
rose readily, and reaching 3,000 feet, drifted away on an upper current.

The rest of the narrative, much condensed from a letter of the Marquis,
written a week later, runs somewhat thus: "Our departure was at
fifty-four minutes past one, and occasioned little stir among the
spectators. Thinking they might be frightened and stand in need of
encouragement, I waved my arm. M. de Rozier cried, 'You are doing
nothing, and we are not rising!' I stirred the fire, and then began to
scan the river, but Pilitre cried again, 'See the river; we are dropping
into it!' We again urged the fire, but still clung to the r