hat when the machine had risen
clear from the ground about twenty yards the gentleman spoke to this
deponent and to the rest of the people with his trumpet, wishing
them goodbye and saying that he should soon go out of sight. And this
deponent further on his oath sayeth that the machine in which the
gentleman came down to earth appeared to consist of two distinct parts
connected together by ropes, namely that in which the gentleman appeared
to be, a stage boarded at the bottom, and covered with netting and ropes
on the sides about four feet and a half high, and the other part of the
machine appeared in the shape of an urn, about thirty feet high and of
about the same diameter, made of canvas like oil skin, with green, red,
and yellow stripes.

NATHANIEL WHITBREAD.

Sworn before me this twentieth day of September, 1784, WILLIAM BAKER.

It was a curious fact, pointed out to the brave Italian by a resident,
that the field in which the temporary descent had been made was called
indifferently Etna or Italy, "from the circumstance which attended the
late enclosure of a large quantity of roots, rubbish, etc., having been
collected there, and having continued burning for many days. The common
people having heard of a burning mountain in Italy gave the field that
name."

But the voyage did not end at Etna. The, as yet, inexperienced aeronaut
now cast out all available ballast in the shape of sand, as also his
provisions, and rising with great speed, soon reached a greater altitude
than before, which he sought to still farther increase by throwing down
his plates, knives, and forks. In this somewhat reckless expenditure he
thought himself justified by the reliance he placed on his oar, and it
is not surprising that in the end he owns that he owed his safety in
his final descent to his good fortune. The narrative condensed concludes
thus:--

"At twenty minutes past four I descended in a meadow near Ware. Some
labourers were at work in it. I requested their assistance, but they
exclaimed they would have nothing to do with one who came on the Devil's
Horse, and no entreaties could prevail on them to approach me. I at last
owed my deliverance to a young woman in the field who took hold of
a cord I had thrown out, and, calling to the men, they yielded that
assistance at her request which they had refused to mine."

As may be supposed, Lunardi's return to London resembled a royal
progress. Indeed, he was welcomed as a conqueror