CHAPTER LVII.—SECOND SIGHT.

Second sight, as it is called, is of a very puzzling character indeed. To such an extent is this the case that some clever people have been led to believe that a special gift—some abnormal power—must be brought into play to bring about its apparently marvellous results. The writer hopes, before the boys who read this have got to the end, that they may have a much clearer idea of the ingenious and, if rightly applied, innocent trickery than such persons seem to possess.

The word ‘abnormal’ has been mentioned, and it is almost applicable to the title of this chapter, as the memory must be developed beyond its ordinary tension by constant practice to give that ease and quickness without which second sight, or ‘clairvoyance,’ is but a sorry exhibition. It is wonderful, however (as all matters relating to our organisation are), what little spur memory needs to meet any strain put upon it. Generally, ‘Where there’s a will there’s a way.’

This exceedingly clever and subtle mode of conveying by words or letters what is in the mind of one person to the comprehension of another is not an invention of yesterday, though it has now attained to great perfection. It was introduced into England by the Italian conjurer Pinetti at the Haymarket Theatre in the year 1784. He announced that Signora Pinetti, seated in one of the front boxes with a handkerchief over her eyes, would ‘guess’ at everything imagined or proposed to her by the audience. The clever French magician, Robert Houdin, took up the trick, and ‘worked’ it with his son; and our own Scotch ‘professor,’ Anderson, followed in his wake, the ‘Wizard of the North’s’ daughter being the clairvoyante in this case. Robert Heller was also a capital exponent of second sight, with the assistance of his sister; and the Taylors, father and son, a few years ago astonished the lieges with their most befogging entertainment at the Polytechnic. Then M. Heriott and ‘Little Louie’ were perhaps the most noted in this peculiar line of business, the latter phenomenon startling even those who understood the system by her marvellous aptitude, and the precocity that could cram such a mass of intricate knowledge into so small a head.

We have stated that clairvoyance lies between two persons. These are, first, the interlocutor, who sees the articles hereafter to be described by the person in collusion with him; and, secondly, the latter gifted being, who, with eyes bandaged, can yet grasp mentally, through the medium of the questions put, the nature of the answers to be given. Of course, all eyes are attracted to the clairvoyante, and all attention deliberately turned thereto, though the most difficult position is really occupied by the one asking the questions, he having to decide instantly as to his choice of words, and put them in such a natural, unstudied, and off-hand style—and so quickly withal—as to effectually nonplus those unlearned in the art and mystery.

Most public performers work with a code of their own, merely taking the idea, or ground-work, which past professors have laid down; and they elaborate and add to their word signals from day to day as the necessities of their position are thrust upon them. The best way, also, for any ‘going in’ for this fascinating bit of innocent deception is to adopt the same course, and when their code is, as nearly as they can imagine, perfect, to study and practise diligently, and make sure they are sufficiently ‘well-up’ and glib in their respective parts, so as to guard against being made a laughing-stock, and exposing the method at the same time. The interlocutor should be able to put the questions without hesitation or mistake (as, in the latter case, he runs the clairvoyante off the rails also), and with such nonchalance as to put the spectators off their guard.

Memory, of course, plays an important part in the matter, but not quite to the extent one might at first imagine. One hundred signals would exhaust the list of ordinary articles carried about the person; and a system of grouping—to be explained hereafter—will simplify the code, and yet more effectually mystify an audience, as presenting less variety in the questions put. After you have a large collection of miscellaneous articles coded (and you can never have too many, if well chosen), numbers—signalled by means of letters, not words—and an alphabet for the spelling of surnames, etc., will require great attention; but patience and perseverance will surmount all obstacles, and without these you had better not attempt second-sight at all.

As we have said, most persons who ‘go in’ for public clairvoyance compile a code of their own, and hence, after giving what we consider the best under the circumstances, we shall mention those of two public performers, who have given to the world their systems, one through the pages of a leading American magazine (Scribner’s), the other written by Mr. Washington Irving Bishop, who published a book on Second Sight, containing a résumé of his own professional signals; and as both of these differ from the following, and from each other in most important respects, they will be treated separately, so that the reader may elect which system to pursue before entering upon the (at first toilsome, but afterwards pleasant) path of laws.

We will now proceed to give examples of an easy code for miscellaneous articles: following which we will have a system of grouping, a code for numbers, and an alphabet; and we shall conclude with the application of all these.

In the miscellaneous articles let us understand that ‘Tell’ indicates articles of attire; ‘What,’ those taken from the pockets; ‘Do,’ those carried in the hands; ‘Can’ and ‘Will,’ jewellery, and other articles of adornment; and ‘Anything,’ various articles not enumerated in the foregoing.

‘TELL.’—ARTICLES OF ATTIRE.

‘WHAT.’—ARTICLES FROM THE POCKETS.

‘DO.’—ARTICLES CARRIED.

‘CAN’ AND ‘WILL.’—JEWELLERY, FLOWERS, ETC.

‘ANYTHING.’

Having treated of such miscellaneous articles as will generally be found in any assemblage of persons, we may now proceed to the system of grouping, which will greatly facilitate the working of the process. We give below examples, capable, of course, of great extension.

Money.

The same questions may be put as to

Metals.

Countries.

Etc., etc.

Precious Stones.

Dress Materials.

Etc., etc.

Flowers.

What made of.

Etc., etc.

Colours.

Rings.

Etc., etc.

Christian names, towns, animals, fishes, shape, etc., can also be arranged in the same manner.

The next process, after committing such grouped subjects to memory, is to study a code for numbers, which you will easily acquire in one lesson, the only difficulty you will find being in the rapid application of it. The numbers will be represented by letters thus:—

If one figure only is required the interlocutor will ask for the figure; if two figures he will ask for the number; if three he will precede his question with ‘good,’ and the clairvoyant will know that he has entered into hundreds. If there are four figures he will say, ‘Very good,’ and that will indicate thousands; if five, ‘Very good, sir,’ or ‘madam,’ equivalent to tens of thousands. For six figures ‘good again,’ hundreds of thousands; and ‘If you please’ will act as a full stop. Example: ‘Tell me now, if you please, what figures there are here?’—t m n (132) precede the full stop of ‘If you please,’ and the interlocutor has dropped the ‘good,’ which would have warned the clairvoyant that three figures had to be deciphered. Again, ‘There are figures here. Very good. Find the numbers, can you?’ ‘Yes,’ says the clairvoyant, taking the first four initial letters after ‘Very good;’ ‘eight thousand one hundred and twenty-seven;’ and great is the marvel of the audience thereat.

The last and most difficult problem of all appertaining to our subject—though, luckily, the most easily dispensed with for private performance—is the abstruse Alphabet, by which the clairvoyant may learn the name of a person or gain other particulars in a way quite unsuspected by the spectators. This is managed by taking B to represent A, C to stand for B, and so on, always being one letter in advance of the ordinary alphabet, save in the variations noted below. Thus—

To illustrate this, say the interlocutor has an address card with ‘William Brown’ printed upon it; he would first ask the Christian name by the grouping process, and then, to get at the surname might say, ‘Come, speak plainly at once, if you please, the gentleman’s name?’ C S P A O is translated into BROWN by the above system, and the answer is correct. This transposition of letters, as we have said, is very difficult, but if once acquired, brings the reward of being eminently puzzling with it.

In addition to all here set forth, the ‘cue’ is frequently given to the clairvoyant in a very simple manner as, ‘Is it large or small?’ ‘It is small.’ ‘Plain, or with stones?’ ‘There are stones in it.’ ‘Is it gold?’ ‘No; only gilt.’ ‘Does this belong to a gentleman or a lady?’ ‘To a lady.’ Besides this, intonations, dwellings upon certain words, a hesitating cough, or an apparently chance remark let fall to one of the audience, conveys much to the initiated, and allows of that variation which is so necessary in public exhibitions to prevent persons getting at the secret. One very old and extremely useful form of question—generally used at the close of an entertainment—is the Sequence, the interlocutor touching various articles worn or held in his immediate neighbourhood, and rapidly receiving replies from the clairvoyant, though his questions are of the simplest. This is done by numbering a set of such general articles as are sure to be met with. Thus, if it is wet weather, overcoats and umbrellas will be plentiful; if fine, sticks, parasols, and fans will be in the ascendant. Let three or four codes be arranged for these, so as to vary the sequence and avoid detection, thus:—

No. 1.—For a Fine Day.

No. 2.—For a Wet Day.

At a drawing-room entertainment such articles as we have here provided for would be quite out of place, as your visitors are not likely to carry their cloaks, hats, canes, or even opera-glasses with them. In such cases you can arrange with your clairvoyant five minutes before performance in what sequence you will take the more prominent articles on or about those ‘in front.’

A ‘head’ is chosen as the finale, so as to bring the curtain down with éclat, as the interlocutor can ask, ‘How many hairs are there on it?’ and the ready answer of, say, ‘Three thousand five hundred and sixty-five,’ will cause a hearty laugh. Besides this, all through the ‘business’ the person who interrogates will endeavour to amuse as well as to mystify his audience, to which end what is professionally known as his ‘patter’ (talk) is interlarded with ‘wheezes’ (jokes), and seemingly impromptu wit often of the most studied and built-up character. Some public performers also employ confederates, who lend an added wonder by producing very curious and out-of-the-way documents or other things, all of which, having been carefully studied beforehand, the clairvoyant can give full particulars of. The practice is, however, reprehensible; the art is sufficiently puzzling without such adventitious aids, and the secret is sure to leak out, when those who have been unable to fathom the business will jump to the conclusion that much more is due to confederacy than has really been the case.

Having gone through the drudgery, the hard study necessary to the full comprehension of the art, we now reach a stage when it may be put into practice, and can do nothing better than give an imaginary performance to show the application of the principles previously laid down.

A nice little speech will introduce yourself and confederate, the usual way being to modestly disclaim the supernatural for the wonders you are about to work. Suppose your assistant to be a young lady, she is blindfolded, and you proceed to business by requesting assistance from the spectators by the loan of any article they would wish to be described by your clairvoyante.

Then you go to work at once:—

Will you name this?—It is a ring.

Name the kind of ring?—It is a mourning ring.

Anything on it, please?—Yes, initials.

Be sure, if you please, and say what they are?—A. R.

Quite right. Can you tell this?—It is a watch.

Silver or gold?—Gold.

Anything on it?—Yes, there is a crest.

Quite correct. Now, the time, if you please, by it?—Twenty-one minutes to one.

Very good. Can you name this?—Yes, it is a coin.

What coin?—A sixpence.

The date, if you please? (The clairvoyante knows it is of this century, as only two letters are given.)—Eighteen hundred and eleven.

Can you tell this, please?—It is a medal.

Please name the metal?—Bronze.

Does she know? If you please to ask the young lady I have no doubt she will tell you the campaign it is for, sir. (Here the interlocutor, in speaking to the owner of medal, has given the cue to the clairvoyante by d s k, which stand for CRI.) When the question is put, she says, ‘It is a Crimean medal.’

Now, there is an initial here; tell me that.—M.

Look now, if you please, at the number of the regiment.—The fifty-second.

Will you look here, please?—You now have a flower.

What flower?—Lily of the valley.

What name has this?—It is a cigarette.

What is here?—A pen-knife.

Now, how many blades are there?—Two.

Very easy. Pray view only here, if you please, and tell me the name engraved upon the handle?—The name is Young.

What material is the handle made of?—Pearl.

What is this?—A pocket-book.

Anything here, please?—There is a letter inside.

Quite correct. If you please, tell me the initials of the person to whom it is addressed?—P. B.

What is this, now?—A railway season ticket.

Can you tell the month it expires in?—Here the clairvoyante takes c for the seventh month and answers ‘July.’

Very good. Be so kind, now, if you please, as to give us the number of it?—Nine thousand and seventy-two.

Will you tell this, please?-It is a brooch.

Anything in it, please?—A child’s portrait.

Anything in it, now, at the back?—Yes, hair.

What colour is it?—Brown.

What is this for?—To smoke. It is a cigar; you can have it.

Is that right, sir? Thank you! What kind of cigar is it?—A Manilla.

Do you know what this is for?—That would also suit you; it is a cane!

Thank you, miss, you are very kind! Tell this.—That is a hat.

Can you tell the colour?—White.

And this?—A parasol.

Name the colour.—Blue.

Name the material of the handle, please.—Ivory.

And this?—That is a programme.

And this?—An opera-glass.

This?—A stick.

This?—A flower.

Do you know what flower?—Yes; a camellia.

This?—An eye-glass.

This?—A breast-pin.

This?—A fan.

This?—A chain.

Find the carat?—The clairvoyante knows that f stands for 8, and answers ‘Eighteen.’

This?—That is a glove.

Do you know the colour?—Black.

And this?—A head.

Anything in it?—No.

And so the curtain comes down with a hearty laugh at the unfortunate wight whose cranium is thus stigmatised as empty!

Two other Systems.

An ‘Ex-conjurer,’ who has treated of The Secret of Second Sight in Scribner’s, says he was inducted into its mysteries twenty years since by a Polish Jew who claimed to have invented the system; or, at least, he had ‘treamed it’ (dreamed it), and that it was he who gave the code to Robert Heller. As to the first of these statements, the inventing, or ‘treaming’ it, we know that the Polish Jew perverted the truth, ‘Clairvoyance’ having been practised with success before he was born: for the second, we shall find from a portion that has gone before and some to follow that Heller’s code differed widely from ‘Ex-conjurer’s,’ whose system may be described as the triplet and spelling code. For the triplets he gives a long list of numbered articles, arranged alphabetically, such as follow:—

For the first article in the triplet the performer merely gives the cue to the number; to the second he adds here, and to the third that.

To work in with these he has also a numbered alphabet, both letters and figures being represented by certain words as below:—

ComerepresentsAand1
Look„B„2
Hurry up, or Tell me„C„3
Make haste, or Tell us„D„4
Well„E„5
Please„F„6
Say„G„7
Answer, Call, or Called„H„8
Now„I„9
Let me know„J„10
Can you see„K„11
Try„L„12
Right away„M„13
Do you know„N„14
Go on„O„15
Let us hear„P„16
At once„Q„17
See„R„18
Look sharp„S„19
Let us know„T„20
Quick„U„21
Will you look„V„22
Do you see„W„23
Be smart„X„24
I’d like to know„Y„25
What is it„Z„26
There„ 0
I want to know„ 100

This code ‘Ex-conjurer’ illustrates. ‘Do you see (W) what is this? Come (A), Let us know? (T), Hurry up (C), Answer (H).’ Surely this seems much too roundabout a way of getting at such an ordinary article as a watch! Nor does that of triplets offer great advantages, besides which the words or phrases chosen to represent letters and numbers come in awkwardly—and even offensively to an English ear—as will be apparent in the following extracts:—

‘Suppose a glove is offered. This is the first article of the fortieth triplet. The question would be “Tell us (4) what this is, there (0).”

‘Should the second article in the fifteenth triplet be offered, the question would be either, “Here, what’s this? Go on (15);” or, “Come (1), what’s this here? Well (5)?” and the answer in either case a button-hook.’

The best thing about ‘Ex-conjurer’s’ paper is the suggestive ‘tag,’ or speech at the end of the performance. Our aspirants for ‘clairvoyant’ fame may be able to take a hint from it:—

‘Now, how is this done? Well, I don’t mind telling you, with the express understanding that it goes no farther. It is neither mesmerism, spiritism, ventriloquism, rheumatism nor any other ism. It is brought about by the action of arcane-dynamics, subjectively submitted to the action of the passive agent, and the result, as you have seen, is a stentonophonic reproduction of the original idea. I’m afraid it’s not yet quite clear to some of you. Well, then, in other words, it’s a system of mental telephony. When an article is offered to me, I seize it; and then my assistant, he sees it. Ah! you smile—you understand it; but, remember, not a word outside as to how it is done!’

The real second-sight, as practised by such eminent professors of the art as Houdin and Heller, is greatly superior to ‘Ex-conjurer’s’ code, and is contained partly in our instructions, and more exhaustively in a work recently published. In this the code for figures is arranged exactly in the same way as that given by us; with the addition that the word ‘Quick’ is used to give notice of fractions. Then if the interlocutor says, ‘Tell, now!’ the blindfolded wonder-worker knows the initials indicate 1 and 2; therefore, by aid of the preliminary warning, he (or she) ascertains that 1⁄2 is meant. Thus, if one-seventh had to be signalled, after ‘Quick!’ the cue might be given by saying, ‘Tell correctly, if you please, what other numbers are there.’

The work now under consideration, in addition to a code for spelling words the same as we have given, has also codes for money, coins, cards, colour, dates, etc., quite different from those in the preceding pages, and well worth perusal before any particular system is fixed upon.

The book concludes with an observation that an exhibitor of second sight will as likely as not tell you that this or that system is not the one by which his ‘clairvoyant’ reads mentally; and here the professor may speak quite truly. Nevertheless—and this point cannot be too frequently insisted upon, because abnormal, and even supernatural, power is frequently spoken of in connection with second sight—there is nothing in the mystery that cannot be solved with a little patience and perseverance; and you may feel satisfied that by a code and by that alone—word-signals carefully studied and rehearsed between the clairvoyant and the interlocutor—do all the seeming wonders come to pass.

‘Unconscious Counting.’

We cannot more suitably conclude this chapter than by referring to an ingenious article some time ago on ‘unconscious counting’ in the Gartenlaube, in which the writer, Herr W. Preyer, points out that the ability possessed by any one of ordinary intelligence to distinguish three, four, or even five objects at a glance, and without being conscious of counting them, may by practice be perfected to such a degree that it becomes quite as easy to count ten objects as it is to count three, and that it is possible to give the exact number up to thirty objects at a single glance. As an example of the latter attainment, the writer points to the well-known arithmetician Dase, who died in 1861, and who declared that he could count thirty objects of the same kind as quickly and easily as other people could count three or four. The truth of the assertion was often proved when Dase, with lightning rapidity, gave the correct number of a herd of sheep, of the books in a library, or the window-panes in a large house. The test of how far any one can count at a glance is easily made by putting several small objects, such as coins, pins, or matches, under a sheet of paper, then lifting the paper for a second and looking at the objects, and, after covering them again, give an estimate as to the number. At first it will be found difficult to fix the number if there are more than from three to five objects, but the eye becomes very soon accustomed to distinguish between larger numbers, so that after a short time eight or nine objects will be counted by the eye with the same facility. Care should, however, be taken that the counting is not done consciously, for that would take far too much time; the number of objects should only be valued.

The mistakes which are at first frequently made in this guessing game will become rarer and rarer, and almost anybody can become an expert in rapid counting up to ten objects; after that it becomes more difficult. The sensation, says Herr Preyer, of a person practised in unconscious counting, when looking attentively at larger numbers of objects, is that their number shoots rapidly through the head. To acquire this method of counting black spots should be made on white square pieces of cardboard, first symmetrically and in small numbers, as, for instance, the following:—

Afterwards their number may be increased and their position altered. It will also be good practice to open a book, cover part of the page, rapidly look at the lines left uncovered, and to guess at their number. It is astonishing how soon the eye gets accustomed to the numbers. The more advanced ‘unconscious counter’ should practise on spots not regularly arranged, which is much more difficult at first. Herr Preyer concludes his interesting article with the remark that unconscious counting, like all other oft-repeated processes, such as lifting the hat as a token of salutation, becomes at last an entirely mechanical process.

CHAPTER LVIII.—SPIRITUALISM AT HOME.
By Dr. Stradling.

Spiritualism does not in reality mean conjuring; of course you all know that. But the term has now come to be familiarly applied to a certain class of performances, without any pretence of supernatural aid or deceit, and arose in this way. Some twenty-five years ago several people—the celebrated Davenport Brothers among them—appeared in this country and America, and gave entertainments at which they exhibited some very extraordinary and, at that time, novel effects of a magical character, the leading features being their release from cords which had been bound, knotted, and sealed upon them by members of the audience, leaving the knots and seals unbroken; causing inanimate objects to fly about and musical instruments to sound when it appeared impossible for any one to have touched them; and divining numbers and sentences which had been written down privately, unseen by them.

These things they professed to do, not by their own skill and dexterity, but by the aid of ‘spirits’ over whom they declared themselves to have control; and the whole was accompanied with a lot of nonsense in the shape of luminous ‘manifestations’ in the air when the gas was turned out (for darkness was indispensable), and ‘spirit-writings’ on slates and sheets of cardboard—messages, supposed to come from the unseen world, scrawled in a shocking bad hand that any boy would be ashamed of! Nevertheless, a great deal that was done was new and very clever, and had it only been honestly acknowledged to be the result of sleight-of-hand, the performers would certainly have earned and well deserved the reward of success.

But though people go to see conjuring perfectly prepared and willing to be deceived—if that can be called deception which is openly avowed to be misleading—they do not like to have their common sense insulted by irreverence, such as these spiritualists were guilty of in pretending to call up the dead; and a strong feeling of indignation soon set in against the imposture and all who practised it.

Clever as the exhibitions were, also, one or two slips were made which were fatal to them, though it does not ruin a straightforward conjurer to have a trick accidentally discovered now and then. For instance, on one occasion, a dreadful fiery hand, pale and deathly, though glowing with light, was seen sweeping through the air, high overhead, rushing from end to end of the room with a swiftness that no being could have possessed unless provided with wings, and at times descending to give somebody a cold, clammy touch on the cheek. One, bolder than the rest, had the courage to seize this hand, and, in spite of all opposition, insisted on retaining it until the gas was turned up, when the spirit-hand was found to consist of an old white kid glove, stuffed with damp tow and rubbed with phosphorus, suspended at the end of a cord, and waved overhead by means of a long fishing-rod, which folded up in short joints adapted for the ‘medium’s’ pocket!

Furthermore, professional conjurers were put on their mettle, and very quickly showed that they could do, not only the same things, but much more wonderful ones of a similar character in the full glare of the gaslight, without any aid from spirits. The mysterious cabinet, which took such a prominent part in the Davenports’ programme, was soon robbed of its mystery; and in 1865 Professor Pepper—whose name you will remember in connection with ‘Pepper’s Ghost’ at the Polytechnic—invented and patented a piece of apparatus, such as the spiritualists had never dreamed of, called the ‘Cabinet of Proteus.’

The ‘mediums’ have long since retired into comparative obscurity, and now limit their manifestations to displays in private; but they still have a number of followers who are ready to believe that what occurs at these gatherings is really the work of invisible spirits, because they do not see how else it can be done. I heard a famous conjurer say the other day, at the close of his entertainment, ‘If I have been able to deceive and perplex you; if I, telling you beforehand that the effects I was about to produce are the result of mere trickery and quickness of hand, challenging your detection in the full light of the room, have succeeded in making you, watchful and alert to find me out, imagine that black was white, and have convinced you that seeing is not always believing, how much more might a skilful impostor mystify a lot of superstitious people, already frightened out of their wits by fear, in a dark chamber with accomplices!’

When, therefore, we read now of a spiritualistic séance given in public, or of Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke’s spirit manifestations, we understand the term to have reference to feats of that description, which originated in the above manner; and in telling you how you may exhibit a little ‘Spiritualism at Home’ to your friends, you will now see that I do not intend that you should even pretend to have anything to do with supernatural causes, but only to perform some very astonishing tricks on the same principle as you have been taught to make a halfpenny vanish and reappear.

Modern effects of this kind, as they are presented on the stage, demand, as a rule, not only great dexterity and years of practice, but the use of elaborate and costly apparatus and the help of skilled assistants. All sorts of ingenious mechanism, for which patents are often taken out—electricity, pneumatics, chemistry, optics, magnetism, and nearly every science and art—are pressed into the service, and the floor, the walls, the platform, and the ceiling may be riddled with wires and traps and springs, for anything you know to the contrary; or the lady and gentleman—or even the little boy or girl—sitting beside you may be confederates. Now, if you will carefully carry out the directions which I am about to give you, you will be able to do the following things—founded on the very essence of professed spiritualism—viz., the rope-tying, the ringing of bells and beating of tambourines without visible agency, mysterious writing, and secret reading—in your own or anybody’s room, in the presence of any number of spectators, in the full light, without preparation, without practice, without assistants or accomplices, without sleight-of-hand, and without any apparatus, except (for one trick) a very simple article, which any boy can make for himself in a few minutes.

Let me first describe the effect of the performance, without any explanation as to how it is done—that is to say, as it will appear to your audience. You give some one a piece of ordinary tape or ribbon, which they can examine as closely as they please. One end of this ribbon, which is about two feet and a half long, is now tied firmly around your wrist. Placing your hands behind your back, you then allow the other end to be fastened around the other wrist in like manner. Thus your hands are tied behind your back, each being secured separately, to prevent the possibility of either slipping out, and the knots, or ends, are then sealed with sealing wax and stamped with a crest or private mark for identification afterwards. Sitting on a chair at the farther end of the room, with your back turned to the company, you pass your arms over the back of the chair, so that all may see the ribbon and seals; and while in this position you invite a spectator to step forward and tie his handkerchief around the cross-bar of the back of the chair, including the ligature which joins your two wrists, knotting the handkerchief tightly and sealing it as well.

So that you are now practically tied to the chair, with your hands fastened together behind you. Two of your audience then hold up a table-cloth or open newspaper in front of you as a temporary screen—of course giving their word not to look behind while so doing; a few bars of mysterious music are played on the piano; in a minute, at a signal from you, the newspaper is snatched away, and you are seen sitting in precisely the same attitude and bound as before, but with your coat removed and lying across your knees! Knots and seals are all discovered on examination to be firm and intact, nor does the cross-bar or any other portion of the chair ‘unship.’

No assistant could have approached you without being seen, and your coat can be passed round, to show that there is nothing peculiar in its construction. You can, if you please, be screened once more for a minute, and put it on again, and the second time you may be found standing beside the chair, entirely free from it, yet having your hands secured as tightly as ever behind your back, and leaving the sealed and knotted handkerchief undisturbed around the cross-bar. This, performed in a dark cabinet, was Ira Davenport’s great feat.

But you may elaborate this much further, and just as easily give some ‘manifestations’ which are truly astounding. The principle which lies at the bottom of it all is very little known, even among professional wizards, and not one person in ten thousand would as much as guess at it. Your hands are tied and secured to the chair in the same manner as last described; but now, in addition, you have your legs and ankles bound to the legs of the chair, and a rope or strap passed around your body. Perfect strangers may do all the tying, and everything is sealed.

This time you had better have a regular screen—a sheet or tablecloth thrown across a clothes-horse makes the best possible—and let it be so arranged that, while hiding your body, it leaves your feet visible. They can therefore see for themselves that you never move from the chair for a single instant, even if it were possible to do so. Handkerchiefs around the ankles will be better seen than cords or ropes. The screen must stand well out in the room, so that there may be no suspicion of a confederate ‘lending you a hand’ from any door. On a small table, concealed by the screen, but quite out of your reach, even if your hands were free, are placed a bell, a tambourine, an umbrella, and a slate or sheet of blank paper.

A few seconds after the clothes-horse has been pulled in front of you—or rather behind you and in front of the audience, for you are sitting with your back towards them—the bell is heard to ring violently, and the umbrella, open, rises above the screen, dancing up and down in time to the music of the piano, presently hitching itself on the top rail. Then your coat comes flying over, and the tambourine is thumped and rattled, the bell never ceasing to ring energetically. Finally you give a shout, as agreed upon, the screen is quickly drawn aside, the bell and tambourine are seen to fall from somewhere—where, nobody can tell—and roll clashing and clattering over the floor before the eyes of all. The umbrella is open, your coat is off, the slate or paper is covered with writing. Yet not a single knot is untied nor a single seal broken: you are in exactly the same position as at first, and none of the articles show any trace of wax or thread. Bear in mind, too, that the spectators have had your feet, the legs of the chair, and those of the table, in full view the whole time, and will have seen that none of them moved in the slightest degree.

The mysterious reading or calculation may be done in conjunction with this, or as a trick by itself. When you have the method which forms its foundation, you can arrange its effect in a dozen different ways, according to your fancy. Perhaps the best and least complicated form is, before you are tied up, to pass round half a dozen slips of paper or cardboard, with a lead pencil, requesting each of the six people to whom they are distributed to write a number—any number they please—thereon in legible figures, secretly. The slips are collected in an envelope, fastened, and brought to you, and you entrust them to the ‘best arithmetician’ in the room, when the rest of the audience have decided who that lucky individual may be, to be opened and added together, without declaring their total or mentioning a word about them, whilst you are behind the screen. Then the number discovered on the sheet of paper or slate will prove to be the exact amount, or the tambourine may fly over and fall before them with the sum total mysteriously inscribed upon it—even before the arithmetician has added the numbers together. Or, as I say, this may constitute an experiment of itself, and the total may be found on a card hitherto blank, or written inside the lining of somebody’s hat, which is placed upon the owner’s head and retained there before the slips are even passed round. Or, before the total is declared, it may be written down privately by the one who has made the addition, the cards burnt, and the ashes rubbed on the performer’s bare arm; when, in the midst of the bluish smudge they produce, the amount will appear in figures of inky blackness.

So much for ‘Spiritualism at Home,’ as viewed from the ‘front.’ Now come behind the scenes and learn the modus operandi. It will not involve a very lengthy description.

The whole of the coat-stripping, bell-ringing, tambourine-beating, umbrella-opening, and other manœuvres executed under shelter of the screen depend upon the fact that it is actually possible to remove one hand from the tape or ribbon which is bound around the wrist and to replace it again without untying the knot! To understand this, just tie one end of a piece of cord around anything—say, the leg of a chair; that will, no doubt, be firm and secure enough. But now proceed to fasten the other end round the other leg, and you will perceive, on considering the matter, that you have only one end to tie with, instead of two as before. The other end is fixed, and cannot be made use of, so that, tie as you will, you can only form a series of loops—in nautical phrase, ‘half-hitches’—around one straight piece. What is the consequence? Why, that these loops, being nothing more than so many rings strung on the line which comes from the other leg of the chair, can be slid backwards and forwards along it. When you have tied the second leg up tightly and neatly, and to all appearance as securely as the other, you have only to slip these rings, or knots, back towards the first leg, to allow of the second being drawn out, and on replacing it again you slide them back against it as firm as ever, having untied nothing.

This is precisely what you do with the last-tied wrist behind the screen, except that it is much more easily accomplished in this case than with the leg of a chair, because you can relax the long piece, and so give yourself more space by bringing the hands a little nearer to each other. It is difficult to comprehend this from a written description, and a diagram would be of little use to illustrate it, but you will see it readily on following out the successive steps just mentioned.

Let us go through the trick for the sake of noting one or two little points which require some care. Tape is better than string or rope, and ribbon is best of all, because, from the silk in its composition, it is slippery, and will glide smoothly, without requiring to be tugged, or being in danger of getting ‘jammed.’ The first wrist is tied before you; the manner in which it is done does not concern you, though you could, if need be, ‘capsize’ an ordinary knot—reef or granny—and convert it into the same condition as that applied to the second wrist. This, however, will be quite unnecessary. Nevertheless, you had better observe the mode in which this first knot is tied, for this reason: it would be possible for some skilful person—a sailor, for instance—to put a ‘clove hitch,’ or some other nautical complication, around the second wrist, which could not be manipulated in the way described. You are not likely to meet with anybody who will treat you so, and of course, in speaking of knots, one means the ordinary arrangements, such as nine hundred and ninety-nine people out of a thousand will tie.

But if you should find somebody who is clever and ill-natured enough to try to baffle you, let him tie away to his heart’s content on the first wrist, then, ‘to show there is no deception or confederacy,’ move on to some one else for the second. The best way is always to go to a lady; probably she will only tie a simple bow at first, which you will pull open at once, making a great merit of scorning to take advantage of such a thing, and requesting, for your own satisfaction, to be secured in a manner which will leave no doubt in the minds of the audience, etc., etc. The second wrist is tied behind your back, and when both are thus encircled a straight piece, about one foot in length, will connect the two hands.

But how about the seals? You will perceive that the knots in both cases lie close against the flesh, and it is only possible to put on the merest dot of wax—and this on the loops themselves—without burning the skin. Thus they will carry the seal unbroken with them as they slip backwards and forwards. But since there is, even so, a chance of your getting scorched, it is better in every way to request that an end of about two inches long be left in each case—you can adjust it yourself with the first wrist, as a pattern for the second—explaining your reason, and have this sealed down to the long piece which intervenes. You can have the end of it sewn as well if you like. The more you are apparently hampered by precautions and impossibilities the more wonderful and impressive the feat becomes, and it must be evident to all that the knots cannot be untied when the ends are made fast without breaking the seals.

The handkerchief around the cross-bar of the chair, like the ankle-fetters and ropes around the body in the more elaborate version of the trick, are merely for the sake of effect, and are of no consequence to you at all; but be sure to draw just as much attention to these as the other, and lay as great stress on their being sealed.

Now I think you see how to proceed. Directly you are hidden by the newspaper catch hold of the knots last tied with the fingers of the opposite hand, and slide them gently outwards from the wrist towards the seal. This will enlarge the loop by a good inch or an inch and a half—more than enough to enable you to withdraw the hand. The arms are now free from one another, the ribbon with the enlarged loop at the end of it dangling from the first-tied wrist. This is pulled through the loop of the handkerchief, the coat quickly removed, and the whole process then simply reversed—the arms brought together behind the chair again, ribbon passed through loop of handkerchief, hand passed into the noose, and knots slipped back to the skin, tighter than ever. Putting on the coat is managed just in the same way. If you want to appear freed from the chair, do not pass the ribbon within the handkerchief in replacing your hand; or you may produce a most puzzling result, if you like, by twisting it around the cross-bar instead.

Do not be ‘flurried’ or over-eager. Remember, if you took half an hour about it the performance would be just as mysterious and incapable of explanation. You may, however, apparently shorten the time employed in its execution by asking some young lady to oblige you with a little appropriate music as soon as the screen is raised. ‘Something very solemn and soothing—a little slower, if you please; thank you, that will do nicely’—working away all the time. ‘Now then, who’s got a watch? You have, sir? Has it a second-hand? Now, kindly tell me when one minute has expired,’ and so on, according to the amount of delay you require. Always take care that there is no light behind you, or the screen will become transparent; and place your chair where you will not be reflected in any looking-glass.

But the bell-ringing and tambourine-beating, combined with this, will absolutely astonish your friends, for this is what fills the public with greater wonder than anything else, even when performed by professional conjurers amidst all the appliances of a regular stage. For this you will want some instrument which can lie folded up inside your waistcoat (not coat); it must therefore be not more than a foot long when not in use, but capable of being expanded to such a length as will enable you to reach the articles on the table with it while still sitting on your chair—the distance is not likely to be more than four feet at the outside. Indeed, it is not necessary to have it so much, for everybody will be able to see that you do not move from the chair. This may consist either of a sort of fishing-rod of four pieces, or a jointed rod made to fold up by hinges on the same principle as a pocket foot-rule, so that the joints bend in one direction, but are stiff in the other. If either of these is used, there must be a crook at the end to hook up the umbrella and tambourine, and the bell must have a loop of string attached to it, unless you choose to have a line running through an eye, as with a regular fishing-rod, and angle for the articles with a noose. Much better, to my thinking, is that little bit of apparatus—commonly sold with boxes of toy-soldiers-known as ‘lazy-tongs.’ It is formed, as I dare say you know, by a number of X-shaped slips of wood, joined together at the extremities in a sort of lattice (XXXX). The rivets are loosely fixed, so that by pressing the arms of the end X together the whole shoots out to its full length, and, by separating them again, the ‘tongs’ fold up. You will see the same action exemplified in those ornamental lattice-fences which are made to surround flower-pots in a drawing-room. By means of this, the things on the table can not only be hooked, but pinched up if required, and can be rattled about there before they come near your hands. If writing-paper is used instead of a slate, a pellet of bees’-wax or a drawing-pin must be fixed at the end of the tongs.

Having freed your wrist as before, get hold of the bell first and seize the handle between your teeth, where you retain it the whole time, ringing it by shakes and nods of your head. Next bring over the umbrella and open it, causing it to appear above the screen and dance as described; you may even shoot it out beyond the side of the screen on the lazy-tongs, far beyond your arms’ reach, ‘even if they were not tied behind your back.’ Hang the umbrella on the top rail of the clothes-horse, and divest yourself of your coat, flinging it over. Then fetch the tambourine, ringing the bell as hard as you can all the while. Beat time to the piano for a few moments, making the umbrella dance again in unison. The tongs must hang on your arm when not wanted, for do not forget that the audience have a full view of the floor, and that if you drop anything you cannot pick it up again. To drop the lazy-tongs would reveal the secret entirely, but the other articles do not matter so much. Now if you are going to do any writing, get the paper or slate, the pencil will be in your waistcoat-pocket, and you can use the tambourine as a desk. Finally, tuck the latter under your chin, and roll the edge of the bell to and fro upon it while you tie yourself up again; give a shout, as the prearranged signal for somebody to remove the screen, releasing the bell and tambourine at the same instant. Down they fall, and go rolling and jingling over the floor before the spectators, and there you are, bound and strapped, as close a prisoner as ever!

I said you could do all this without practice, and so you can, since there is no sleight-of-hand or dexterity involved. But you had better rehearse once or twice privately before giving an exhibition, to see that you have everything in working order; by so doing you will acquire confidence, and produce your effects one after the other in a much shorter space of time, while you may hit on many others. For instance, if your table is one of those small, light, ornamental affairs resting on a single stem, you might cause it to rock violently by means of your tongs, and to ‘walk’ from one edge of the screen to the other, the audience being able to watch the motion of its feet. If you like you may even have your elbows secured to the back of the chair, and will still be sufficiently at liberty to do all but take your coat off. The great thing is to make all the effects fit in with one another compactly.

Some years ago a noted conjurer introduced a feature into his entertainment which, for a time, startled the public. He allowed himself to be handcuffed by any policeman present who would fetch a pair of Government handcuffs for the purpose; these were locked, and the key retained by the constable or some other member of the audience. The performer then stepped behind a curtain, and presently came out, still manacled, but minus his coat. But after a bit it suddenly occurred to some one that all the Scotland Yard handcuffs issued to the police were made on the same pattern, and that the magician had only to unlock them with a duplicate key kept in a little pocket at the back of his waistcoat!

Now for the ‘Mysterious Addition,’ or ‘Spirit-writing.’ Six small pieces of cardboard or paper are distributed, and those to whom they are given are requested to pencil some number consisting of any figures they please. Let these people be separated as much as possible, ostensibly to show that there is no collusion, but really to prevent any comparing of notes; enjoin strict secrecy, too, as to the numbers written, for similar reasons. Let somebody collect the folded slips in one of those small envelopes such as are used for ‘Your change, with thanks,’ in shops, fasten it, and bring it to you. You go back to your table and lay it carelessly thereon, bringing forward your piece of ribbon instead, as though to save time; and while the first knot is being tied you ask, Who is the best arithmetician in the room? This being decided, you go back and get the envelope before the second wrist is tied, giving it to him with a pencil and plate, and bidding him, when he has added the six numbers together, to say nothing, but make a private memorandum of the amount, burn the slips on the plate, and keep the ashes for you.

In laying the little envelope ‘carelessly’ on the table, where you have your ribbon, candle, matches, plates, rope, sealing-wax, etc., in readiness, you are careless or careful enough to place it so that it shall be hidden by the rim of the plate, side by side with another little envelope of precisely similar appearance, also concealed by the margin of the plate. This second envelope contains six slips of paper or card, too, and on these you have written—in pencil, and in different ‘hands’—six numbers, the total of which is known to you. Let us suppose that you have put 209, 23, 1000, 7, 51, and 346; the sum of these is 1636, and is discovered to be such by the arithmetician—who, of course, is not chosen from among the six, ‘to prevent any deception,’ but is wholly independent of them—when you hand him this second envelope instead of the genuine one. Behind the screen, therefore, you have only to write 1636 on the slate or tambourine, which will be found to tally with his memorandum. Or, if you are doing this trick by itself, paint 1636 on your arm in glycerine with a fine brush, and let it dry in before commencing. This being transparent, will be quite invisible till the ashes are rubbed in, when the number will stand out jet black. You can vary this in a dozen ways, by writing the number and concealing it somewhere beforehand, since the amounts which the audience put down on their slips do not affect you at all. In every case it is well to have the slips burnt, and you can ask to have the numbers restricted within the hundreds—that is, in three figures—on the plea that it will otherwise be tedious to add up. Make your own amounts rather larger than those given above by way of example.

Of course no comparisons are made, or, even if any two or three did compare, no one can dispute the accuracy of the total, for no one knows what the numbers were beyond his or her own figures; and the addition is beyond suspicion when made by a representative whom the audience choose for themselves. But, you will ask, how is the first envelope concealed when you take up the plate to receive the ashes? Simply by having two plates, as though to provide against contingencies, and giving the upper one, using the other to stand the candlestick upon if you like, and pushing it back a few inches casually to cover what was behind it.

If you prefer it, you may take out your handkerchief and draw it lightly over your arm after it is bared while the slips are being collected; then throw it casually on the table beside the plate to serve as a mask; or you may have a few spare handkerchiefs ready on the table and dispense with the plate as a means of concealment altogether. You will draw attention to the fact that you have handkerchiefs wherewith you may be secured if nobody will lend them, but that of course you prefer to use borrowed ones. Conjuring tables with traps and shelves are utterly unnecessary for small articles which cannot be seen by those seated a little way off if the smallest projection intervenes.

Always have everything ready and in its place before commencing. If you have to leave the room for anything in the middle of a trick your audience suspect something, and the effect is spoiled. Make a list: candle in candlestick, matches, sealing-wax, ribbon, scissors (for cutting the knots at the conclusion), rope, strap, chair, tablecloth or newspaper, screen, bell, umbrella, slate, tambourine, lazy-tongs, pencil, small envelope, slips, plates, duplicate envelope. The last need give you no anxiety, you can have it in your match-box, if you please, and coolly put it in the desired position while standing with your back to the people, ‘setting’ your table before commencing.

Talking of ‘spirit-writing’ reminds me of an anecdote—a problem put before me the other day by a post-office boy which might well have perplexed the cleverest of conjurers. I was sending a paper which I had just written to the Editor of the Boy’s Own Paper, but was uncertain about the amount of postage, so I stepped into the office to have it weighed and get stamps. Manuscript for the press goes at book-post rate if the ends are left open, and ‘Manuscript’ is marked on the wrapper.

‘Printed matter?’ asked the youthful and conscientious official (evidently a new hand) to whom I handed the document, as he prepared to put it in the scales.

‘No; manuscript,’ I replied. ‘But it’s all the same; book-post tariff covers it.’

The boy was obviously not quite satisfied on this point, for, having weighed the packet, he referred to a big book, doubtfully. ‘Twopence-halfpenny,’ he presently decided; ‘it will go for twopence-halfpenny, provided there’s no writing inside!’

SECTION XI.
DIVERSIFIED DIVERSIONS.

YOUNG DOBBS’ HAT.
[A tragic story for Magic Lantern or Shadow Show.]

1. When Dobbs was a little boy, he was not so particular with his hats as he was when he grew up to young-manhood. For instance, on the very day he wore his first tall one he encountered a magnificent specimen of the cabbage butterfly.

2. Now he much wanted a cabbage butterfly to complete his collection, so he made straight at it. In the pursuit his hat suffered.

3. So did he when he got home! As for the butterfly, I have every reason to believe it died a natural death some time later.

CHAPTER LIX.—FIRE-BALLOONS AND GAS-BALLOONS: HOW TO MAKE AND USE THEM.
By the late Dr. Scoffern.

I.—THE PRINCIPLE OF BALLOONING.

Every boy at some time or other, I suppose, has felt himself irresistibly drawn towards the subject of toy-balloons; but first unaided experiments in that direction seldom prove altogether satisfactory, or maybe even pleasant. It is my intention, therefore, to go into the matter thoroughly and practically, explaining all about fire-balloons, and telling you at once how to make and use them.

If a thing—anything—be placed in the midst of any other thing lighter than itself, and if thing number two be not a solid, but either a liquid or a gas, both which permit of motion in any direction, then thing number one will ascend.

If you want to have this demonstrated, just plunge a cork down into water and see what happens. If instead of a cork you were to take a lump of iron—say a cannon ball—then the very idea of such a heavy material floating would seem to you ridiculous. It will float, nevertheless, not in water, truly, but in any fluid of greater weight than itself. Quicksilver, otherwise called mercury, is such a fluid, and the very experiment I have supposed you to perform for curiosity is actually turned to practical account by artillerists when they wish to ascertain whether a cannon ball is equally heavy on every part of corresponding size around the centre. If not equally heavy, then spots marked upon it will not float upwards equally well. If any particular spot insists on turning downwards, then the result proves that one side of the round cannon ball (please excuse the word side, a sphere really has no sides) is heavier than the rest.

But to return to our balloons. Well, please remember the globe on which we live is surrounded by an atmosphere—air we call it—and also please understand this atmosphere has weight; consequently it follows that anything lighter than the atmosphere will ascend in the atmosphere. In this we have the whole theory of balloons and ballooning.

The air has weight,—yes, more than you have been accustomed to think, perhaps. Just take the pen or pencil and mark out a piece of paper one square inch. Having marked out this, you are to understand that the air presses upon it with a force of about fifteen pounds. I say about, for the reason that atmospheric pressure is not always exactly the same. Sometimes it presses rather more, at other times rather less than fifteen pounds, but still the variation is not great.

Thus, air has weight, and you also know that air, being a fluid, permits objects to move about in it, so it follows that if we can find anything number two lighter than the air, it will ascend in the air. We shall look in vain amongst liquids and solids for thing number two, all being heavier than air; but of gases lighter than air there exist several. Why not use them? We can use some of them, and we presently will; but it stands to reason that we can no more use a gas for lifting a weight up into air without first putting the gas into a bag, than we can use a horse for carriage-draught without first putting a collar round his neck, then attaching shaft and traces: no, indeed, not so well even, because in a case of emergency a carriage might be fixed to the horse’s tail!

The very simplest form of balloon is a soap-bubble. Most of us have probably at some time or other amused ourselves by blowing soap-bubbles, without perhaps troubling ourselves to understand the whys and wherefores of the case.

Why is it that a soap-bubble blown with air from the lungs ascends? You will tell me perhaps that it ascends because the air which comes from the lungs is of a lighter ‘nature’ than the atmosphere No, indeed, instead of having a lighter it has a heavier nature. Though air which comes out of the lungs is by ‘nature’ heavier than air which goes into the lungs, yet at the same time it is warmer, and for the reason of that warmth it remains during the existence of the warmth practically lighter.

This circumstance being remembered, you will at once understand why it is that a soap-bubble, even if it lives—so to put the case—long enough, does not continue to ascend as a balloon would have continued, but first slackens in its upward course, then descends, the reason of descent being the cooling of the air within it. If you had been clever enough to measure that soap-bubble twice, first at the very moment of rising, next at the last moment of setting, you would have found the warmer bubble to have been the larger.

If you were to blow a thin bag full of air, you would not expect it to ascend, on the supposition, that is to say, that the bagged air and the free air are of one and the same temperature; but if you could manage to make the bagged air hot, and keep it hot, then you would get lifting power. This is exactly what is done in the Montgolfier, or fire-balloon.

The reason of this seems very simple when one comes to think about it, yet the Brothers Montgolfier, inventors of the fire-balloon, did not exactly see the true science of the balloon that bears their name. They appeared to have reasoned somewhat in the following manner. A wreath of smoke ascends, therefore smoke must be lighter than air; therefore a bag filled with smoke, and kept full of smoke, should also ascend, supposing the bag to be made of sufficiently light materials.

If the Montgolfiers had said, instead of smoke, hot air, they would have truly represented the fact.

They made a bag of canvas, and they lined it with paper. Under the neck of this bag they hung a sort of fire-grate, and underneath this, but within reach of it, a car. Impressed as they were with the smoky notion, one of their first cares was to feed the fireplace with some variety of fuel that would yield abundant smoke. Chopped straw, slightly damped and mixed with wool, was one of the favoured combustibles.

Fire, or Montgolfier balloons, large enough to take up sky travellers, are no longer used; air-balloons, or, as it would be more proper to call them, gas-balloons, being more convenient and at the same time more safe. Toy fire-balloons are, however, still made and let off as a pretty firework, and I shall now describe the best and easiest ways of making them.

II.—FIRE-BALLOONS AND THEIR CONSTRUCTION.

They may be constructed of any size; but an overgrown fire-balloon, according to my experience, is seldom satisfactory, and never returns value for the money expended in making it. As a boy I was a great fire-balloon maker. I have made them of various sizes; at length, however, coming to the conclusion that three sheets of tissue-paper, pasted end to end, then cut into shape and joined, make a balloon quite large enough to manage, and also large enough for every ornamental purpose.

‘Cut into shape,’ did I not say the paper was to be? Well, what sort of a shape? Perhaps I need not tell you that a perfectly globular bag will hold more than any other shaped bag you could make out of a given quantity of paper. A peeled orange or lemon will give the very best idea of the general shape of the gussets of a balloon. Speaking generally, the narrower you cut the gussets of your balloon the neater will be your turn out; but of course, if narrow gussets be employed, more of them will be needed than if you employed wide gussets. Neatness of manufacture is of no account when brought to bear on a toy firework that, after a few moments of ascent, reveals itself to lookers-on merely as a patch of moving light.

Fig. 1.

Fig. 2.

After many trials, I came to the conclusion that when using tissue-paper, three sheets pasted narrow edge to narrow edge, eight gussets were enough. Occasionally, however, I would slightly elongate each gusset by attaching one of the little corners a or b, and fixing it at c. Of course the pieces a and b have to be cut away in any case, else the necessary gussets could not be made.

With regard to the exact shape of a finished balloon, always remember that the more nearly globular it is the more gas or air will it hold, and the more stable will be its flight. Assuming you to have pasted end to end three sheets of tissue-paper, with the little bit (c) added to the top part over and above, I recommend you to divide, mentally at least, the three sheets and bit added, rectangle, into four parts. Of these the two middle parts need not be cut or trimmed at all. All the trimming needful can be done on the two end parts. Another thing—do not give any care to bringing the crown, or summit, of the balloon to a point. You will have to paste on what we call a round summit, or crown, at any rate, under which circumstance your bringing all the gussets to one terminal point is of no consequence. In cutting out the gussets, this is best done on the double, which will ensure symmetry.

You will tell me, perhaps, there is a sort of regularity about my preliminary work that does not please the eye. You would like, perhaps, to make a graceful balloon like [Fig. 3].

Better not. Do you not see what would happen when you came to set light to the fuel suspended under the mouth of the balloon? The flame would almost certainly strike against the paper of the narrow neck, and presently the whole balloon would be in a blaze.

Having cut out your gussets, the next thing is to join them. First as to cement. Use thin paste or gum water, which you please, and employ a camel-hair, or better, a sable-brush, to spread it. Half an inch lap is quite enough; and when the necessary paper junction has been made, I like to dry my work at once by means of a laundress’s smoothing iron. Taking this precaution, you will have no sticking at spots where sticking ought not to be.

A final word now about the best way of bringing the edges of your gussets together. The line diagram here given will make all comprehensible: a and b represent, we will say, two gussets.

Fig. 5.
Fig. 3.
Fig. 4.Fig. 6.

The edge of a is alone to be gummed or pasted to about half an inch wide; the corresponding edge of b is then to be bent down upon the cemented edge of a, and dried at once with the laundress’s hot iron; not laid naked upon the paper, but having a thickness of flannel interposed. Proceeding thus all round, you will at last finish your balloon all but the crown pieces and mouth stiffener. For a balloon of the dimensions recommended, I would advise you to paste on a crown piece of about a foot diameter. Don’t make it of tissue-paper, but of soft whitey brown paper, and in the middle of it paste a loop of calico, something similar to the loop of a saucepan lid. The utility of this will be found out when you come to let off your balloon.

As a mouth stiffener I prefer a circle of thick iron or brass wire to anything else. About three inches from the balloon-mouth had better be strengthened by a layer of calico, which being gashed or scalloped ([Fig. 5]), pasted and turned over the wire hoop, makes all firm. As to dimensions of mouth, I consider a circle of eighteen inches’ diameter quite big enough, and boys will please remember that three times and about one-seventh of a diameter makes the circumference of a circle.

Having made your balloon, the next thing to do, as it would seem, is to let it off.

Not exactly. You expect your balloon to lift a weight—fireworks probably—which I will describe how to manage by-and-by. It will be necessary, then, to learn by experiment how much weight it will carry; otherwise, when the time of letting off arrives, you may fail altogether, and be much disappointed.

The weight-carrying experiment must be performed in a room, to avoid air-currents, and, as a preliminary, some sort of car must be attached to the balloon for the purpose of holding the weights. The car may be of various shapes, but as good a shape as any is this:—

Fig. 7.—CAR.

It may be made out of cardboard, or, if you like, of wire. You need not be particular about any sort of elegance. Fire-balloons are designed to be sent on their travels at night, when any sort of ornament or elegance lavished on the car would not be seen.

The usual flame for heating the air in a paper balloon is spirits of wine. Methylated spirit does very well, and is much cheaper than pure spirits of wine. I do not recommend this source of flame when the balloon comes to be actually let off, as you will by-and-by see; but for our present experiment I do recommend it. You must make a note of the weight of spirits of wine presently to be used, and, if you do not happen to have scales and weights handy, you may take it for granted that a sherry wineglass full weighs about an ounce.

Ascertain, too, how much the car weighs. Probably, when the time comes for letting off the balloon, you will not require the car, so you should have ascertained its weight, that you may supply a weight equivalent, in the shape of fireworks, for example.

Fig. 8.—CHAMBER TRIAL OF THE BALLOON.

Two boys will be wanted for performance of the chamber experiment; one to stand upon a chair or stool, so as to be able to lift the crown of the balloon, the other to manage the flame department—to do what engineers would call the stoking ([Fig. 8]).

The spirit, you will remember, is not to be burned loosely, but absorbed by something or other. Sponge is the absorptive medium usually employed, though some operators use cotton wick. On the present occasion of chamber experiment I recommend you to employ sponge. The very coarsest sponge will do as well as the finest and most expensive. Such a piece as most oilmen sell under the name of ‘slate sponge,’ and generally for a penny, will do quite well for the chamber experiment.

Let me now give you boys a piece of advice, and do not consider it of small value. It is of enormous value, being the value of the difference between success and failure. I do not only mean success or failure in the experiment you are about to perform, but any experiment. The advice is this:—Attend well to detail. Before you set about performing any experiment take care that you have provided, and arranged well to hand, everything necessary to the performance of the experiment. Do not say to yourself, this, that, or the other is a trifle, and as a trifle neglect it. In all experimental work, having once determined in your own mind the various things and arrangements necessary, nothing amongst them can be a trifle. Well, to the point. Provide yourself, by loan if your pocket-money does not run so far, with some handfuls of farthings. This little coin will be about the most convenient thing you can use for seeing how much weight your balloon will take up. You are ready. Well, No. 1, as I will call you, lay hold of the crown of the balloon, then jump on a stool or chair, lifting the entire balloon up in such way that the mouth of it may be conveniently disposed for what has to be done by No. 2.

Previous arrangements having been made, it will be well, to avoid accidents, for No. 2 to partially inflate the balloon by a fan. Were this precaution not taken, it might happen that flame driven against the tissue-paper might set it on fire. Those who have not tried the experiment little know what power there is in a fan to set up and keep going a current of air. Sometimes people revive a sluggish fire by hanging a sheet of paper in front of it, but a far better application of the paper is to squeeze it into a rough fan and begin fanning. My attention was first called to this fire-fanning process when, travelling in Andalusia, I wanted some chocolate in a hurry, at a lonely wayside posada. A damsel, fan in hand, lighted a bit of charcoal with a paper spill, laid it on the stove grating, put other charcoal round it, the chocolate-pot over all, and began fanning.

You are now ready to learn how much weight your balloon will carry. You will have attached the car, of course. You will have laid your bit of sponge on the tin pan already attached, and you will have remembered to steady the sponge and keep it from falling out by passing a little iron binding wire over the surface of it, and attaching the wire to the tin pan. All this having been done, you are to pour the spirits of wine upon the sponge and set fire to it. Presently the balloon, becoming charged with hot air, will fill out and rise. When risen, be prepared with your money—farthings. Throw in farthing upon farthing until your balloon not only can carry no more, but comes down. Let it come down, and let the spirit flame burn quite out. Any attempt at blowing it out would probably set the balloon in a blaze.

You have gained now the information required; you have learned what weight, when the serious time of letting off arrives, your balloon will carry. Count the farthings and make a memorandum of their weight. There is no particular mystery in the choice of farthings; they are cheap enough, and they are small enough. Sovereigns and half-sovereigns will do quite well, and if you are sufficiently ‘warm’ in pocket-money, you may employ them instead of farthings, over which they present the advantage of recording the actual weight. A sovereign newly minted weighs one hundred and twenty-three grains and a small fraction; a half-sovereign half that weight. Taking one sovereign with another, you may assume one hundred and twenty-three grains to be the weight of each. Here, by the way, I may mention that, having weighed hundreds of sovereigns for the sake of a lazy experiment, I never yet met with two of exactly the same weight.

Fig. 9.—LETTING OFF THE BALLOON.

A fire-balloon is a pretty device of itself, but it becomes much better worth looking at when it is made to take up fireworks, so I will now give some instructions about these fireworks. I cannot recommend you to make the fireworks yourselves, but to buy them ready made and arrange them in suitable devices. You will want a few feet of Bickford’s fuse, and the same of quickmatch. Both may be obtained of Messrs. Brock, of Cheapside and the Crystal Palace.

Fig. 10.—BICKFORD’S FUSE.

Fig. 11.

Bickford’s fuse is much used by miners for exploding their charges. For this purpose it is invaluable, a given length burning a given time, so that the miner knows exactly what his fuse must be in order to afford him the time necessary for escaping to a safe distance before his charge goes off. It is invaluable to you boy balloonists in another way. The prettiest balloon firework effects are those which are not lighted at the time when you let off your balloon, but which take fire apparently of themselves after the balloon has gained a considerable elevation. Bickford’s fuse enables you to accomplish this in a manner you will soon understand.

Looked at casually, Bickford’s fuse might be taken for a piece of black cord, something in size like this ([Fig. 10]). The outside is of woven material made waterproof. The middle contains an inflammable wick, burning regularly to time.

If you were to pass through a length of Bickford’s fuse transversely a thread fixed at its upper end, and having a weight attached to the other end, and if then you were to light the fuse at one end, you see what would happen. The fire would creep along until, coming to the thread, it would burn the latter, and the weight would fall. It is many years since I had occasion to work with Bickford’s fuse, so I forget its rapidity of burning. It does not signify; when you have got your fuse you can try an experiment with any convenient length, timing the rapidity of burning by a watch.

Quickmatch consists of a paper tube with a rapidly inflammable wick running through it, the intention being that flame applied to one end of the match shall flash to the other, and instantaneously. The actual fireworks I recommend you to get are some blue-lights, some Roman candles, a few Catherine wheels, crackers, and maroons. The Roman candles you will only require to pick to pieces for the sake of the stars they contain, so if you could get the stars you would not want the candles. Mr. Brock, I think, would supply you with stars of various colours. He uses small pill-boxes for holding the star material.

I have now to explain to you a few fireworks for your balloon.

Fig. 12.

1. Fixed piece of blue-lights.—Having selected a cork of suitable size, bore its circumference with as many holes not going to the middle as you design to have blue-lights. Each excavation made will receive the blank end of a blue-light, just as a candlestick receives the end of a candle, so that when finished, supposing you to have used four blue-lights, you will have made something like this ([Fig. 12]).

Fig. 13.

On observing the blue-lights which you have purchased, each will be found to have attached to it at the burning end a screw of soft paper, usually blue. This I hardly need tell any English boy is touch-paper, made by saturating soft paper with solution of nitre and drying. Firework cases are usually finished off with touch-paper, so that they may ignite immediately. When you send up such an arrangement of blue-lights as just described, the proposition will be to ignite them all at once with a flash, and after the lapse of a period of time which must be left to your own discretion. Quickmatch spread from end to end of each blue-light, and there secured, either by thread or else a slip of paper pasted loopwise over it, will accomplish the first, and a suitable length of Bickford’s fuse the second. All this is obvious, but a diagram is given ([Fig. 13]). Hardly necessary is it to tell you that we want no car when using this device. A wire being passed through the middle of the cork hooked at one end, for attachment to hooked cross wires, and bent at the other end so that it shall not slip through the cork, are also obvious matters.

You will observe that I have represented the quickmatch as actually running through the Bickford transversely. This is the surest plan in this and all similar cases, because the walls of the Bickford are so thick that some time must elapse before they burn quite through. Transverse perforation and stretching out of the Bickford can easily be done, the walls of the fuse being very tough. Though my remarks have been directed to blue-lights only, yet obviously the arrangement applies to any other variety of tint.

Fig. 14.

2. Dropping firework devices.—Some of the prettiest balloon firework effects are those which do not light until they have separated from the balloon and fallen through a varying distance, according to your arrangement. I shall not expect to find that you think it necessary to inquire how all this may be managed after what I have written about Bickford fuse and quickmatch. However, some few remarks about a certain convenience of arrangement may not come amiss. Suppose, then, that you have launched your balloon carrying several devices—we will assume it to carry six. You want the first of these devices to part company with the balloon, and shortly after ignite in falling, all to time. You want the successive five to part company with the balloon also to time. Obviously a length of Bickford fuse will accomplish all this, but there are inconvenient as well as convenient ways of arranging all. A convenient way is this ([Fig. 14]).

When I have told you this diagram represents a thing made of wire, and you are so to use it that a fall shall take place at every corner, you will see that all can be managed by Bickford fuse.

Amongst the fireworks that are effective when thus falling are small blue-lights, squibs, crackers, maroons, stars, but more especially catherine wheels. All explosive fireworks give a shock when exploded—maroons a great shock. Never, then, use a balloon-attached firework in such manner as that it shall explode whilst attached to the balloon, the steadiness of which it would certainly affect—perhaps cause a tongue of flame to come in contact with the paper and set it on fire. A wirework arrangement such as our diagram represents is only intended to carry six successive devices, and for the devices that have been noted you will most likely find that about half-a-dozen will make up the total weight your balloon can carry. But there are certain lighter fireworks, of which considerably more than six may be carried; for example, stars. If you take a star and enclose it in a tissue-paper bag, together with a very little—say half a saltspoonful of mealed, or powdered, gunpowder; then, if you tie the mouth of the bag round a short length of quickmatch, you see what must happen when the flame of a Bickford fuse sets the free end of the quickmatch alight. You will rig up the stars with their bags on wire cross-work as already described, but you will arrange that the successive ignitions follow a spiral course, like that of a loosely-coiled watch spring.

I think I have told you as much as can be profitable about the making of fire-balloons, so a few words now about parachutes. People who ascend in the cars of large balloons sometimes vary the display by cutting connection with the balloon itself when at a certain height, and coming down by aid of a parachute. Parachutes used on these occasions are somewhat elaborate things, bearing a general resemblance to an umbrella deprived of its stick and ribs, having a cord attached to the spot where the terminal of each rib, if present, would have been, these cords all converging to join at their lower ends with a car.

Fig. 15.

The parachute I shall describe for your fire-balloons is a more simple affair, and is made as follows:—Provide yourself with two sheets of soft whitey-brown paper, some twine, and some paste. Lay one sheet flat on a table, and then extend diagonally from corner to corner two lengths of twine which must project at least six inches beyond each corner. It may be wanted to project even more, but in that case each cord terminal may be easily lengthened to the desired extent by tying the necessary additional length of twine to it. Now spread a film of thin paste evenly by a brush over the sheet of paper and twine, and then close the second sheet of paper in exact correspondence with the first, as represented in the diagram.

Be particular, in sticking the two sheets of paper together, to avoid formation of air bubbles. This can only be done by making the pasting together successive and not instantaneous—that is to say, do not lay the second sheet of paper flat down upon the first sheet all at once, but having begun to effect the attachment at any one edge, follow on deliberately to the opposite edge, patting the two sheets well together with a soft pocket-handkerchief.

The way of using such a parachute hardly needs explanation. The projecting lengths of twine having been brought together, are attached to a car, and the whole suspended to your balloon, from which you intend that it shall separate and begin to fall, on your balloon attaining the desired elevation. This detachment can easily be effected by Bickford’s fuse. Here, whilst I think of it, never attempt to ignite a Bickford fuse with anything else than the flame of a port-fire or a blue-light. The chief beauty of any firework device consists in working to exact time. A Bickford fuse cannot readily be set on fire with a match-flame. You may crack many lucifers over the job without succeeding; your balloon, that ought to be off on its travels, all the time kept waiting.

Fig. 16.

What will you put in the car? I shall leave this pretty much to your own taste. Some sort of weight there must be to pull the parachute down. I have heard of some boys who for ornament peopled the car with little figures of comical men, cut out of cardboard. I don’t see myself the sense of it. Fire-balloons are usually let off at night, when the little caricatures would almost need a spyglass to see them even before the balloon set out on its explorations. Balloons once off nobody could see the little men at all. However, do as you like, boys; [here] are two notions of such caricature men.

Attention! The point up to which you and I have been working is near. We are going to let off the balloon. When we were making our chamber trial, you will remember we used methylated spirit for fuel, absorbing it by a sponge. You may use the same sort of fuel now if you please, but as for myself I much prefer the good flare of cotton lamp-wick saturated with tallow, and sprinkled with either benzoline or turpentine, so that it may burst into flame without delay at the first touch of other flame. Not only does tallow burn with a far brighter light than spirits of wine, but the flame is more lasting. However, boys, I say again—do as you like. So now farewell to fire-balloons. I will now proceed to tell you how to make and fill so-called air-balloons, though gas-balloons would be a name more fitting. They are not of themselves illuminative, as fire-balloons are, but they will take up any fireworks you please, according to their weight-carrying capabilities.

III.—ON GASES AND GAS-BALLOONS.

aving got fire-balloons out of hand, I will now have some words with you about air-balloons, usually so called, though ‘gas-balloons’ would be a more appropriate designation. Before describing how to make an air-balloon, suppose we gossip a little about the science of the thing.

Of gases there are many sorts, as you will become aware when a little advanced in your chemistry. Atmospheric air is a mixture of two gases, as probably you know—four measures of nitrogen to one of oxygen, roughly speaking; though were we describing the composition of atmospheric air in an exhaustive manner, we should have to chronicle the presence of numerous other gases besides oxygen and nitrogen, and some vapours; all, however, in quantities so extremely small that we need take no account of them here. Some gases are lighter than atmospheric air, some heavier, but it is evident that those only which are lighter can be employed for ballooning. The very lightest of all gases is hydrogen, which therefore is the very best gas for filling balloons. It is seldom now employed, however, coal-gas being usually substituted, on account of its being ready to hand, so to say, in every place where coal-gas illumination is practised.

Here, perhaps, some young gentleman will wish to inquire why it is I employ the ordinary name, coal-gas, instead of a chemical name. The reply is simple. Coal-gas always means gas from coal, but when I tell my readers that coal-gas has not necessarily always the same composition, although the same coal be used, they will see that no unchanging chemical name for it is applicable. According as the gas retort is heated more or less, so will the resulting gas differ in composition—not a difference as to nature of components, but as to quantity. Coal-gas must always be a combination of carbon with hydrogen, but the amount of carbon to a given amount of hydrogen may vary within wide limits. If coal-gas be required for illuminative purposes, the object of manufacture will be to make it as rich in carbon as possible. Now, the richest gaseous combination of carbon with hydrogen is olefiant gas, but it would be the worst quality of coal-gas for balloon inflation. If olefiant gas be transmitted through a white-hot iron pipe it expands in volume, thus showing what would have happened had it originally been produced in a white-hot iron retort. A gas manager doing duty in one of our seaport towns once told me that he always managed to have expanded gas—we may call it adulterated gas—for night street service. It was good enough, he explained, for drunken sailors, and nobody else was about.

Probably you youngsters will generally use coal-gas for filling your balloons, it being so handy. I would prefer that you did not, but use hydrogen instead, because not only is the making of hydrogen chemically instructive, but a balloon of given size will lift at least half as much again as it would if filled with gas from coal taken as one finds it. Besides, general though the use of coal-gas illumination has become, it may happen that some boy is staying at a country house where coal-gas is not available, for all which reasons I shall begin by giving directions for the production of hydrogen on a sufficiently large scale, and easily.

IV.—HOW TO PREPARE HYDROGEN GAS.

There are many ways of preparing hydrogen. I shall offer you the choice between two. Both are equally good, and you will discover for yourselves which is the easier under your own special circumstances. No. 1 consists in acting upon zinc or iron—zinc is best—with a mixture of one part of oil of vitriol, measure, and six parts of water, also measure. No. 2 consists in passing steam through a red-hot iron pipe, loosely packed with fragments of iron—say iron nails. If oil of vitriol be available in the out-of-the-way country house where you are assumed to operate, I recommend you to follow plan No. 1. So now about the apparatus. Two large wide-mouthed pickle or preserve bottles, with bungs to match, and a few feet of small leaden gas-pipe, are all that you will require, and you must arrange your apparatus in the following fashion. ([Figs. 1 and 2].)

Figs. 1 and 2.

You will here observe that one bottle is represented as larger than the other. We may call it the generator. Into it a good handful of zinc fragments having been put, or in defect of these a handful of small iron nails, and the cork thrust in tight, the mixture of oil of vitriol with water is to be poured down the upright tube at a, which you will observe has been reamed out into a sort of funnel shape by thrusting into it a conical piece of wood. It is worth while here to remark that though a large preserve bottle answers very well as a generator, yet a copper vessel answers much better, the gas development being much faster, on account of a galvanic condition, due to the contact of copper with zinc, and which on this occasion I do not consider necessary to write more about.

Fig. 3.

As for plan No. 2, the representation of which is annexed, it is much more simple than it looks, as you will gather when I tell you that the furnace part of the apparatus need be no more nor less than a flower-pot having the necessary holes knocked in ([Fig. 3]). Mind, however, to bind your flower-pot with wire, as it is sure to crack when fuel is first lighted within it. Let it crack as much as ever it pleases, your furnace will be none the worse for present purposes, and that is all you require.

I dare say you have heard of a dear departed lady, much respected in her time, a Mistress Glass. ‘First catch your hare,’ wrote Mistress Glass, when about to give directions for making hare-soup. First catch, or learn how to catch, your gas, say I. By this time you know and can judge for yourself which to use, whether hydrogen pure and simple, or else coal-gas.

V.—THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE BALLOON.

Now about making your balloon. The first question is what you shall make it of. Large gas-balloons, such as ascend at public exhibitions with aëronaut travellers, are usually made of silk, covered with some sort of elastic varnish, though the material of very large balloons may be calico, linen, or even canvas. The general statement holds good that in proportion as the balloon is larger so does it admit of being made coarser and heavier. There is a sound mathematical reason for this which any sharp boy ought to perceive, and which, if he do not perceive, I would advise him for his own good to go to his mathematical master and accept castigation.

When the question was how to make a fire-balloon, solution was easy. Tissue-paper, plain and simple, leaves for this purpose nothing to be desired. If a few holes should happen to find themselves in your material, the consequence would not be very serious, inasmuch as the balloon carries its flame, its hot-air generator, along with it; but when you come to have one charge of gas, the gas not renewable, you are obliged to be particular, not merely as to holes, but even loosely packed fibres.

I am entitled to speak magisterially on this point, having recently had some professional talk over the matter with Mr. Brock, the pyrotechnist. ‘Gold-beater’s skin is the very best material for small balloons,’ was that gentleman’s remark to me, ‘but it is very expensive. I want to be able to use paper, and every sort of varnish I have tried has been attended with very indifferent success.’ Mr. Brock went on to say that anybody who might succeed in rendering tissue-paper effectively gas-proof might make a fortune. Now I do not believe in the fortune-making part of the business at all, but I think I shall presently be able to tell you how to make tissue-paper effectively gas-proof. I say effectively, because I know that no varnished silk, cotton, or even canvas material—all used for making balloons—ever is gas-proof. If you fill the thickest ox-bladder you can get with hydrogen or coal-gas, tie the neck of it, and varnish the bladder into the bargain, still gas will come out and atmospheric air will go in. By simply looking at the closed bladder you would not fancy this had happened, because the bladder seems plump and well distended, but were you incautiously to allow a small jet of the contained gas to escape, and to ignite the jet, the whole bladder would explode with a loud report. Now neither hydrogen nor coal-gas will explode when unmixed with oxygen; it simply burns.

Having got the necessary sheets of tissue-paper, hold each of them successively between your eye and a bright light, which will disclose any absolute holes, should such exist. Having discovered them, your first care must be to stop them, and this you do by a plaster of tissue-paper smeared with solution of india-rubber in benzoline. I shall give you no proportions for this solution, but leave you to rule-o’-thumb guidance. Having charged a wide-mouthed bottle—a pickle-bottle does quite well-about half full with benzoline, put into it piece after piece of india-rubber—not vulcanised rubber, mind, which will not dissolve in benzoline, but raw rubber, and keep adding rubber, bit by bit, stirring occasionally with a table knife until you get a paste, not too thick for spreading with a knife-blade. The solution will not be complete for some days. With this, when complete, smear a breadth of tissue-paper, and consider it your plaster.

Remember well the following injunction. In any case when you desire to stick together two surfaces with this india-rubber cement, both surfaces must be smeared, as it does not suffice to smear only one. The next injunction is a very peculiar one, and would not be likely to come self-suggested. Do not bring the surfaces together whilst the solution is wet. Let your work stand until evaporation of the solvent benzoline has left the surfaces what may be called dry. Thus you see the working with this india-rubber paste is the very reverse of working with all ordinary sticking materials.

Repeat the plastering on of solution at least twice, and plaster thick; the result is thin enough when dry. Having in this manner stopped the holes, proceed to make the paper gas-proof. For this purpose you will need a special solution, made in this wise:—To a pint of benzoline add an ounce of solid paraffin—some of a paraffin candle, for example—and a drachm of raw, not vulcanised, rubber. When the two have dissolved, which will require some days’ waiting, lay your tissue-paper on a table, and by means of a flat varnish-brush spread the solution all over it. Wait till evaporation leaves the paper dry, then repeat the operation up to six times, when the paper will have been rendered sufficiently gas-proof for making a balloon. You are to cut this out into fillets, just as you did when making a fire-balloon, and you are to stick the fillets together with the cement already described, remembering well the two injunctions already given. You are not restricted to shape as you are in fire-balloon making, but may adopt any shape, remembering, however, that to promote convenience of gas-collection, the balloon neck should be much narrower than that of a fire-balloon; tubular, so to speak, a tube of one inch diameter being quite sufficient. The reason for making a narrow tubular neck will be apparent from study of the accompanying [diagram]. It will be evident to you that on account of the narrow neck the mode of car, or weight attachment, cannot be similar to that adopted in the case of fire-balloons. The neatest and, at the same time, most obvious plan of procedure is that adopted in large balloons, by throwing a net, with strings dependent, over the whole balloon, and attaching the car or other weights to the pendent strings. Such elaborate work is, however, quite unnecessary in toy balloons. A length of cord tied round the neck and allowed to hang down affords every necessary facility for further attachment.

Now as regards what the balloon shall take up, that must be for your own taste to decide. All the resources of pyrotechny are open to you, and by discreet use of Bickford’s fuse and quickmatch you may get innumerable combinations. One of the most brilliant pyrotechnic devices is the ignition of a tuft of magnesium fillet; but it is somewhat expensive, and, if carried out, will make a hole in your pocket-money. All the magnesium balloons I have seen had the magnesium tuft ignited before the balloon was let off; but were it desired that the magnesium should only commence burning when the balloon had got some way upon it, nothing would be more easy. All that is necessary to do would be to wet the magnesium tuft with resin dissolved in benzoline, and then, whilst still wet, dust it over with mealed gunpowder. On drying, this prepared tuft will burst into flame on the slightest provocation. If you do not know how to effect this by judicious employment of Bickford fuse and quickmatch, I shall have written to small purpose.

The following hint is well worthy attention by such of you young gentlemen as are not overburdened with pocket-money. Fine zinc shavings will burn, and emit a bright light something after the style of magnesium, and may be procured at any zinc-worker’s for a mere trifle. A moderately brilliant effect may be got out of a tuft of zinc shavings well dusted with resin and mealed powder whilst made wet with benzoline. If you don’t expect too much out of this zinc-burning expedient, perhaps you will not be disappointed; but at any rate I have not commended the alternative to you very warmly. Of course, a portion of magnesium may be mixed up with the zinc shaving tuft, to the latter’s advantage, just as it has been experimentally proved that flint soup is all the better for a portion of onion and carrot, and better still for a portion of meat, peppered and salted.

Before concluding let me just hint at a very effective possibility in the way of pyrotechnic device, equally applicable to both fire and gas balloons, but which I have never known carried into practice. You will see that it is a main object in balloon pyrotechny to make a balloon carry the greatest amount of pyrotechnic effects using the minimum of weight. Thus, supposing it were desired to cause a succession of explosions, each equalling in noise the discharge of a forty-pounder cannon, large maroons would give such a noise, but no toy balloon would be competent to lift the maroons. Now a mixture of two volumes hydrogen with one of oxygen yields an explosive mixture of tremendous violence. Even a small soap-bubble blown with this mixture and fired is deafening. I have no doubt that an ox bladder filled with this mixture and ignited would make a report equal to that of a forty-pounder gun. Several such bladders might be sent up with a very small toy balloon, and might be detached by means already described, so as to explode whilst falling. The exact modus operandi would be as follows:—Take a blue-light, and with a bradawl make a few transverse holes just above the sealing-wax closure; then smear the closed and transversely perforated end with a paste of mealed powder and water. After drying the neck of the bladder already charged with mixed oxygen and hydrogen, it is to be tightly bound down upon the blue-light, thus—

Bickford fuse and quickmatch would easily enable you to achieve the rest, supposing you to have given proper attention to preceding instructions.

CHAPTER LX.—MODEL BALLOONS AND ALL ABOUT THEM.
By a Professional Aëronaut and Balloon-maker.

lthough balloon ascents are now matters of everyday occurrence, and scarcely a fête takes place at any of the public gardens without the announcement of an ascent to be conducted by some well-known aëronaut, yet there are very few people who really know anything practical about balloons or their construction, so we often read graphic descriptions of perils surmounted and deeds of heroism performed by aërial travellers, which aëronauts know to be utter impossibilities—such, for instance, as the climbing to the top of a balloon by the network in order to open the valve at the top and allow the gas to escape; not to mention other marvellous fictions invented by the imaginations of ‘sensational’ newspaper reporters.

It is my desire in the present chapter to give the reader a thorough practical knowledge of that truly wonderful machine by means of which man is enabled to rise above his mother earth, and gaze upon her beauties from a height unattainable otherwise. And, as it is first of all necessary to dispel the ignorance which prevails upon the subject, I shall commence by showing what a balloon is not, then I shall proceed to describe what it is, and finally I hope to give such information as shall enable my readers themselves to construct a perfect model of a balloon, such as, if made on a proportionately increased scale, would be capable of carrying into the air one, ten, or twenty people.

That the science of aërial navigation has a strong fascination for adventurous dispositions is a proposition which none will gainsay; and the very danger attending a balloon ascent adds to its pleasurable excitement. This danger, however, is not only, nor even chiefly in the air, but in the descent to the earth, when the greatest caution has to be observed to alight upon a favourable spot: and sometimes consists in the reception accorded to the traveller on his arrival upon terra firma, as the following little adventure will show.

I have been from my childhood a lover of ballooning, having been, I might almost say, born to the business, which was taught me by my godfather, the veteran aëronaut, Charles Green, whose memory is yet held in reverence by many who knew and loved him while he lived. I had frequently been taken by him in his various ascents, and as I grew into man’s estate I was able to be useful to him in his trips. On one occasion an ascent had been announced from what were then known as the Surrey Zoological Gardens. Everything was duly prepared, the balloon was filled with gas, and at the appointed time Mr. Green and I sailed gently into the sky amid the crash of the band and the cheering of the people, which grew fainter and yet more faint, and at last quite inaudible, as we mounted higher and higher towards the azure vault above us.

It was a lovely afternoon in October, and a gentle breeze wafted us slowly away from the mighty city, over green fields wherein the grazing cattle looked rather smaller than ants, over villages whose toiling inhabitants seemed but tiny specks in the universe; until at length a light mist spread itself over the country.

My relative, experienced aëronaut though he was, manifested signs of anxiety as to the safety of our descent; for we had for some time past commenced descending by letting out the gas from the valve at the top of the balloon, but the nearer we approached the earth the denser became the fog, while the shades of evening warned us that the descent was an imperative necessity. Hoping to alight in the open country, we let fall the grapnel, which very speedily caught hold of something which checked our progress. Unluckily this something proved to be a tree, and not the earth, as we had, of course, hoped it would be.

‘Charlie,’ said Mr. Green, ‘there is only one thing to be done, and that is for you to get down and release the grapnel from the tree, and ascertain if you can how far we are from the open, for if the net gets entangled with the boughs we shall be lost, and the balloon spoiled.’

To me, well versed as I was in all kinds of gymnastics, it was a matter of little difficulty to descend the rope which connected us in some way with the earth; so putting another stout cord on my shoulder I went down ‘hand over hand’ until I found myself in a large elm-tree, and as the fog had risen considerably above the earth I was able to make out our whereabouts. We were in the middle of a thickly wooded park, though about two hundred yards to the east, in the direction in which we had drifted, I could see a large open space eminently fitted for the descent. I called out this information, cheerily adding that there was no fear of the net being broken this time. Then I quickly disengaged the grapnel, upon which the balloon sprang up gaily into the air, and next prepared to make my own descent from the tree by means of the cord with which I had provided myself. No sooner had my feet touched the ground than I felt myself roughly seized by two men, who bound my arms behind me in a jiffy, and at once commenced to rate me soundly.

‘Ah!’ said the elder man, savagely, ‘we’ve caught you at last, you rascal, have we? So you’re the chap as steals our governor’s pheasants, is it?’

‘Yes,’ grinned the other, ‘and it’s with a net as you takes ’em, just as I thought! We’ll see what the squire’ll say to you now!’

‘But, my good friends,’ I observed, ‘you have made a mistake. I’m not a poacher, but have just come down from a balloon, and shall be very much obliged to you if you will help me to secure it when it descends again, as it will, away from the trees.’

‘Ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho! ho!’ roared my captors, ‘that won’t do for us, young master. There ain’t no b’loon up that there tree; but what there is there is your pal with the net what you catches the pheasants with; and,’ raising his voice, ‘he may as well come down at once, ‘cos we means nabbing him now we knows where he is.’

Some passing labourers were hailed and stationed round the tree to await the descent of ‘the other poacher,’ while I, whose remonstrances were of no avail, was hurried up to ‘the house,’ wherein sat, on his chair of state, the redoubtable ‘squire,’ to whom the domain belonged, and whose pheasants I was accused of stealing. Again I told the story of the balloon. The old gentleman regarded me with stern dignity, and, wagging his finger at me, solemnly inquired of the keepers (my captors) whether they had seen any balloon. Upon receiving a reply in the negative, he assumed his most magisterial demeanour.

‘Young man,’ he said, ‘it is sad indeed to find a person of education in your unfortunate position. Your tale of having come down in a balloon is as audacious as it is ridiculous. No balloon was seen by my servants, and you were seen to descend a tree, your companion remaining no doubt until the hue and cry should be passed. I have lost many pheasants lately, and there can be no doubt now as to who the culprits have been. I have nothing more to do now than to commit you for to-night to the lock-up, and the case will be investigated in the morning.’

‘But, sir,’ I pleaded, ‘pray send to the field just outside your park, where my friend will doubtless be found by this time with his balloon, which could not be seen by your keepers on account of the fog, but which was then hovering above the tree in which the grapnel had caught, and from which I extricated it.’

Happily for me this request was acceded to, and in due course Mr. Green made his appearance and corroborated my statement, upon which every attention was lavished upon us both. We received an invitation to dinner, and, instead of passing the night in a village cell, I slept on the bed of down of our most jovial and courteous host, who would not hear of our leaving him until we had enjoyed a good night’s rest under his hospitable roof.

But I am in very great danger of forgetting that my present intention is to write a practical treatise, not to prattle about my adventures, so I will set myself seriously to work at once; and will begin by showing in a few words what a balloon is not.

In the first place, a balloon is most certainly not what it is sometimes erroneously called—a flying machine. One might as well compare the gracefulness of a good swimmer with the aimless floating of a dead dog, as to pretend that the helpless drifting of a balloon has anything in common with the as yet only partially accomplished science of aërial flight. What, then, is a balloon, and how is it constructed?

A balloon for carrying passengers consists of a certain number of gores cut in such a form that when they are sewn together they form a perfect sphere, the lower part or neck being elongated, which gives a pear-shaped appearance. This elongation at the neck is made in order to allow the gas to pass freely into the balloon during inflation. On the top is placed a valve, which is a circular double door composed of two semicircles. To each of these semicircular openings is attached a line, which, meeting a little lower down, form one line, which passes through the centre of the balloon, and comes out at the neck; so that when the aëronaut desires to descend he lets out the gas by pulling the line. The doors open inwards, and close themselves by means of springs with which they are fitted.

The balloon itself is composed of very fragile materials. It is merely a gas-holder, and is nowadays almost invariably made of fine cambric well varnished. Silk was the first-used material, but it is a needless expense. Thus it will be seen that the balloon itself has practically no strength in it whatever. All the space, however, and the pressure of the gas, are held in by a netting, which covers the whole of the balloon, to which it is fitted exactly, being shaped from the original pattern gore of the balloon itself—to be fully described hereafter.

Just below the neck of the balloon is a HOOP, to which all the netting lines are fastened. This hoop is made of ash, and is about three feet in diameter, all the strain of the balloon being concentrated at this point.

Below the hoop is attached the CAR, which is a large wicker basket suspended from the hoop by eight cords—technically termed car lines; and fastened to the hoop is a strong rope, generally made of flax, about 100 feet in length, which carries the anchor, or ‘grappling-iron,’ as it is called by aëronauts. This ‘grapnel’ differs in appearance from an ordinary anchor in that it has five prongs instead of only two. Inside the car are placed several canvas bags containing sifted sand, which is used as ballast, to regulate the ascending power of the balloon. The car also contains a few other requisites, notably a ‘liberating iron’ for letting the balloon go when all is reported ready, and an aneroid barometer, to show the altitude attained, &c.

Before entering upon the detailed description of how to make your model balloon, I think it will be well to give some idea of what an ordinary ascent really is, for it is of importance that we should realise what we are about before we proceed to construct the machine which is to carry us from the nether atmosphere into unknown regions miles above the earth, whether the ascent is to be made for scientific purposes or merely for amusement. I do not think there are many living men who can give better instruction on this point than myself, seeing that I have already made no less than eighty-four ascents, while I hope to make as many more before old age and infirmity put a stop to my ballooning career.

Balloons constructed to carry passengers vary very much in size, the smallest being of 18,000 cubic feet capacity, capable of raising two people only—the aëronaut and one passenger. This, or a little larger, is the size of the balloon now generally used, larger balloons being made principally for scientific purposes. Such a one was the celebrated ‘Mammoth,’ supplied by Mr. Coxwell for the memorable investigations by Mr. Glaisher about the year 1863, of which I suppose you may probably have heard, and concerning which it may interest you to learn that on two of their ascents I had the honour of accompanying those famous aëronauts, the ascents taking place on both occasions from the Crystal Palace, and the descents once at Singlewell, near Gravesend, and once near Woking.

The gas with which an ordinary balloon is filled is the gas supplied by the gas companies for street and house lighting, which is called carburetted hydrogen. Pure hydrogen is seldom employed for balloon inflation, though it may be interesting to state that the big captive balloon at the Paris Exhibition was initiated with pure hydrogen, manufactured with sulphuric acid, zinc, and water. This is called sulphuretted hydrogen, and possesses nearly double the lifting power of coal-gas. A balloon held down by a rope requires great ascending power, therefore all captive balloons should be inflated with pure hydrogen. The very great expense of this gas, however, prevents its use in ordinary cases.

The balloon being filled with gas, the aëronaut and his passenger take their seats in the car, ready to ascend. The first thing to be done is to untie the neck of the balloon, which has been fastened up with a piece of string or a handkerchief since the hose-pipe was removed, when the balloon was quite inflated. The object of having the neck of the balloon wide open is this: Directly the balloon rises expansion takes place, owing to the rarefied state of the atmosphere, and the higher it ascends the more rarefied the air becomes, and consequently the less atmospheric pressure is there upon the balloon, the natural result being that the gas expands, and makes its way by degrees out of the neck. If there were no such escape, the balloon would burst. When the neck is wide open, those in the car can see into the middle of the balloon, which has a very curious appearance.

We are now supposed to be ready for starting, there having been placed at the bottom of the car several more bags of ballast than are known to be required. These are handed out, one by one, until the weight in the car is about equal to or a little lighter than the ascending power of the balloon. Then the aëronaut, feeling himself master of the situation, calls out in a loud voice, ‘All hands off!’ At the word of command the assistants, who have been keeping the car down, leave go their hold, and the balloon rises slowly and majestically into the air. (Please now to put yourself into the place of the passenger making his first ascent, with eyes and ears open to take in all the instruction that can be conveyed to him.)

When about fifteen feet in the air the passenger, who has by this time probably worked himself into a somewhat feverish state of excitement, is astonished and considerably alarmed by a sudden jerk or shock, and the equally sudden arrest of the balloon in its upward journey. The fact is that we had not finally left our mother earth, but have been pulled down again by a rope, held by the assistants, which was attached to the hoop by an instrument called the ‘liberating iron.’ The aëronaut himself lets the balloon take its final departure when he touches a lever attached to the liberating iron, and we are being pulled down again on the present occasion because it is found that we have too much ascending power, and can take in another half bag ballast; and the more ballast a balloon can carry the better, as sometimes ballast is found to be worth its weight in gold—or rather, worth as much more as life is worth more than the most precious of all earthly possessions. At the risk of fatiguing you by a digression, I will explain how this is.

The use of ballast is in getting rid of it. When the aëronaut desires to descend he pulls the line I have before described, letting the gas out of the valve at the top, when the balloon immediately comes down. Perhaps unfavourable weather, with a strong wind, may have arisen, and he suddenly sees beneath him a village, or a barn, or perhaps he has been borne out to sea. In any of these cases almost certain death would be the result of a sudden descent. So he throws some ballast out of the car, which immediately lightens it, and the balloon rises up again and carries him over the danger to some place where the descent may be made in safety. If all the ballast be injudiciously or prematurely expended, there is danger indeed in descending; and I know of one instance, at least, in which a daring but unskilful aëronaut was killed, who, in all human probability, would have been now living if he had had with him but one more bag of ballast. So, you see, I do not exaggerate when I say that ballast is sometimes worth much more than its weight in gold.

To return to our ascent. Having taken on board the extra ballast, ‘All hands off!’ is again called out aloud; again we ascend into the air, the band strikes up, the guns are fired, the aëronaut, his hand upon the liberating iron, salutes the public, the rope is detached, and we are off!

And now I will leave my passenger gazing over the side of the car, lost in amazement at the grandeur of the scene beneath him, as the horizon, rising with our ascent, discloses to view an expanse of country of which he could have had no previous conception; for I have work to do. First, I look at the aneroid barometer and find that we have arrived at an altitude of about three thousand feet, which is the height usually attained in an ordinary ascent. The gas has been coming out of the neck very freely, and the balloon is consequently beginning to descend. As we do not intend to land just yet, however, it is necessary to check the descent by parting with a little ballast, which is thrown out over the edge of the car, and has the appearance of smoke as it passes into space.

Now we are about the same weight as the atmosphere with which we are travelling. Although there was only a slight breeze on the surface of the earth, the upper current is considerably stronger, and we are going along with the clouds at a speed of a little less than a mile a minute. Yet, though travelling at this rate, we appear to be in a dead calm, and if a feather be dropped from the car it will sink slowly in a perpendicular line underneath us. When a balloon has left the earth there is no perceptible motion in it whatever. We seem to be stationary, while the fields have the appearance of rushing quickly along beneath us. We are really, as it were, part and parcel of the air, and as the current moves so we drift with it, like a cork on a running stream; and if it were possible to put you blindfold into the car of a balloon, you might be taken up into the clouds and brought down again without your being any the wiser—indeed, without your knowing anything at all about the journey.

This I have been telling you while we have been sailing along through the beautiful summer sky, taking in deep gulps of the pure air, and looking down and around upon the glorious moving panorama. But now I must leave you again to your own resources, for it is time that we should prepare for the descent, and I require to have all my wits about me. The grapnel, which is hooked on to the edge of the car, is lowered down by the rope, which is 100 feet in length, and firmly fastened to the hoop. Now we must exercise judgment and caution in selecting a proper place on which to make our descent by looking along the earth in the direction in which we are travelling. We must not come down among the crops, or we shall have the farmer after us for damages. The trees are particularly dangerous, as we have seen. So are the telegraph wires, for even if they should not destroy us, it would go hard with us in the Law Courts if we were to damage them. An aëronaut must thus have his eyes wide open, and be able to see some miles in front of him; and he must try to make for some open park or pasture land, which he can distinguish from land on which crops are growing by the cattle grazing. So the valve is opened a little, with the immediate effect of causing the balloon to descend to from 1000 to 500 feet above the earth.

Now we pass rapidly over the country until we arrive over the selected spot, when, giving the valve another stout pull, the balloon obeys and drops. Perhaps, on a closer inspection, the place we have chosen is not so favourable as it appeared at a distance; then, of course, we have to part with a bag of ballast, and ascend again until we reach a more suitable alighting ground. The grapnel takes hold at last, and on a calm day the balloon may be brought down as lightly as a feather by the regulating of the ballast; but when there is a strong current of air the grapnel will sometimes trail, which causes the balloon to jerk unpleasantly, but with good management there is no danger.

Having thus taken you up, and brought you safely down again, I will redeem the promise I make in the title by showing you

How to make a Model Balloon,

which, simple as it may seem, is in reality a very intricate operation, and you will find, as you follow me, that there is a great deal to be learned. I do not fancy you will think it at all dull work, however; on the contrary, while it is instructive and scientific, it will afford you many hours’ agreeable and innocent amusement. You have been taught how to make yachts, and have been very delighted, I have no doubt, when your first attempt at shipbuilding has proved successful, and you have seen your ship float upon the water and carry sail; but I do not think there are many readers who have had the opportunity of learning how to make a balloon which will actually hold gas and ascend into the air. Perhaps you will find this latter part of my treatise rather technical, yet I hope you will give it your attention, for I am about to endeavour to let you know more about this subject than has ever been written upon it before; and though I do not expect, or wish, to make you all professional aëronauts, I do certainly desire to awaken in your minds an interest in ballooning—a science which is daily becoming of more recognised importance.

Fig. 1.

In making a balloon the first thing to be done is to take into consideration how many gores, or strips, will be required to form a balloon of any given diameter. For instance, if a balloon be required of the circumference of 3 feet, there will be twelve gores each 18 inches in length (that being half the circumference), and 3 inches in width at the equator, but tapering at each extremity, as will be hereafter described. Now divide the paper of the pattern gore into four equal parts, and then describe a circle in the centre ([Fig. 1]).

Fig. 2.

Divide one quadrant of the circle into any given number of parts—say seventeen. Then drop perpendiculars parallel with line C from each point of the divisions, intersecting line B in the quadrant. Now divide line B from centre of circle to end of pattern in seventeen equal parts, and raise perpendiculars from each point of division, as in [Fig. 2].

Fig. 3.

Next draw horizontal lines, or measure off with compasses from each point of division in the quadrant, cutting or intersecting the seventeen corresponding lines as shown, and with a free hand, or by the aid of a French curve, connect all these points together, as shown in [Fig. 3].

Having now got a quarter of the pattern, it must be cut round, as shown, and transferred to the three other quarters, marked respectively in the figure A, B, C, which will be the pattern for a sphere. This is technically known as striking out a pattern gore by an intersection of lines, and this is quite near enough for the paper balloons, on which you must practise until you are sufficiently advanced in the science to enable you to begin on the proper material. There is another method which is still more accurate, in fact, will ensure absolute mathematical correctness, and that is by a calculation of a series of decimals corresponding with each of the seventeen perpendicular lines shown beneath ([Fig. 4]).

Fig. 4.

Suppose, for example, that the diameter of the balloon to be constructed is 20 ft., and that it is required to make it of 12 pieces; then, in order to draw the pattern for those pieces, find the circumference of the balloon, which is 62·83 ft., and, dividing it by 4, the quotient is 15·7 ft. Make, therefore, A D equal to 15·7 ft., and D E likewise of the same length. Divide the circumference, 62·83 ft., by 24, which is double the number of pieces that are to form the balloon, and the quotient, 2·618 ft., is the length of D C, and likewise of B D, so that B C is equal to 5·236 ft. Then, having divided the line A D into 18 equal parts, and having drawn the parallel lines from those points of division, find the length of each of those lines by multiplying 2·618 by the decimals annexed to that line. Thus 2·618, multiplied by 0·99619, gives 2·608 ft. for the length of f g, and, again multiplying 2·618 by 0·98481, the result gives 2·578 ft. for the length of h i, and so of the rest. In cutting the pieces after such a pattern, care should be taken to leave them about three-quarters of an inch all round wider than the pattern, which will be taken up by the seams; and the same rule must be borne in mind whether you are experimenting upon paper patterns, or upon the materials required for a large balloon. [Fig. 4] will illustrate the foregoing instruction, and those who like to take the trouble to prove the sum will take all the more interest in the manufacture of their balloon.

These decimals have been calculated by a mathematician, and are available for any sized balloon.

Fig. 5.

Now we come to the neck, the pattern of which may be drawn with a free hand, and maybe left to your own fancy, with this proviso—that the length ought not to exceed more than one-fifth of the whole length of the pattern. In [Fig. 5] you will see what the neck should be, the dotted line showing the spherical portion of the pattern gore.

Small gas-balloons are generally made of tissue-paper, varnished over with boiled oil, which gives them a very transparent and skin-like effect. Sometimes gold-beater’s skin is used, but it is very expensive, and paper answers the same purpose. Supposing that you are about to begin upon a paper balloon, the first thing to be done, before making your pattern gore, is of course to select your paper. Ordinary tissue is manufactured from the size of 20 × 30 inches square. There are other sizes made of a stronger quality, suitable for larger balloons than that of three feet circumference, upon which I recommend you to practise, as this is a handy size, while the above-sized paper—obtainable everywhere—cuts in well for the width to make the pattern gore, though, for length, you will have, probably, to paste two sheets together.

When you have a sufficient number of lengths ready for cutting out, place them, one on the top of another, on a flat board; then place the pattern gore on the top, and, with a sharp knife or razor, cut the whole out at once, taking care not to cut the pattern gore. You will do well also to place a few weights on the top to keep the whole lot in place. After you have cut one edge, move your pattern about a quarter of an inch away from the edge that is cut. This is to allow for the ‘lap,’ as it is called, whether in pasting a small balloon or sewing a large one, for bringing the gores together in case you have not made such allowance on the pattern. In pasting together—in the case of paper balloons, or sewing in the case of larger balloons—you should take care, for the sake of effect, to do so in alternate colours. Red and white, yellow and white, green and black, all make effective contrasts, but these minor details may be safely left to your own taste. Paste them, first in pairs, then in fours, &c., in the following manner. Having provided yourself with a large, smooth pasteboard, begin by laying upon it a white gore, and then place carefully over it a coloured one, showing the ‘lap’ on the one underneath to allow for the folding. You can do this by carefully manipulating the gores with the fingers, or, still better, by the means of a palette or any other flat knife. Then, with a ‘dabber,’ as it is technically termed—a clean duster will answer the purpose—press down the overlapping seam the whole length, and immediately hang it up to dry, and proceed to do the same thing with the others, never attempting to paste others together until the first are perfectly secure by drying. A little alum should be put into the paste you are using for the purpose.

When you have pasted all the gores together, and they are quite dry, blow the balloon out with a pair of bellows through the neck. You will find at the top, where all the points of the gores meet, a small hole, which will let out the air with which you have filled your balloon, and à fortiori the gas with which it will have to be filled presently, the gas being lighter than the air, and so more anxious to make its escape from its imprisonment. At all events this is very probable, even in the most carefully and scientifically constructed balloons. To obviate this fatal mistake, therefore, you must cut a round piece of paper, which is called the cap, answering to the valve in a real balloon, and carefully paste it over the meeting-places of the various gores. For you must bear in mind that a balloon is not a balloon at all unless it be perfectly air-tight.

Now let out the air by gentle pressure, and fold up the balloon, gore over gore, and commence the varnishing, which is laid on as thinly as possible with a small piece of flannel. The varnish used is simply boiled oil, which can be obtained from any oil and colour shop. After you have carefully varnished the whole of the gores, blow the balloon out again, and hang it up by the neck until it is dry, a process which will take about twelve hours.

The material used in the construction of balloons for carrying passengers is Scotch cambric—not silk, as is erroneously supposed. Silk has not been largely used in the manufacture of balloons for the last forty years, and I need hardly say that it is not pasted, as in a paper balloon, but sewn with double rows of stitches, and varnished exactly in the same manner as I have already described.

In big balloons, the most important part of all is

THE NETTING.

And I shall now describe the way in which, if you desire to make your model perfect, you must set about this portion of your manufacture, which, however, you can dispense with if you please in a paper gas-balloon. As I told you before, there is scarcely any strain whatever on the balloon; in fact you could make a large paper balloon to contain 20,000 cubic feet of gas, and if it were covered with a properly fitting net it would, for one ascent, answer the same purpose as a cambric balloon, the reason for making it of a material at once light and strong being to enable it to stand the wear and tear of laying out, folding, packing, &c. The first thing to be observed in making the net of a balloon is to take the same pattern gore as the balloon itself was cut from. Now draw a longitudinal line through the centre A ([Fig. 6]), the gore being reduced to two halves. Divide one half by the same rule as that on which you originally cut the pattern gore, the object of this division being to get the meshes of the intended netting reduced to such a small scale that four meshes may cover each gore. Measure on the centre line A, the distance B C, and half as long again. Draw a line parallel to B C from D to E.

Fig. 6

Fig. 7

Now draw a diagonal line from D to C, which will give you an angle of about sixty degrees. Now cut a templet or set square out of card or thin wood, corresponding with angle C B D, thus ([Fig. 7]).

Now with line F G on the templet corresponding with line D E in [Fig. 6], draw E F, and continue this until you come to the crown—i.e. the part where the valve is fixed. Now draw diagonal lines, similar to B E, all the way up (as shown in [Fig. 6]), which gives the different sizes of the meshes to be used in forming the net from the equator to the pole; and supposing you have decided to have twelve gores to form your balloon, you would then have forty-eight rows of meshes to go round the balloon, and so on, according to the number of gores of which the balloon is composed.

Now for making the netting from the equator to the hoop, concerning which the following instructions are to be observed. The first set, or row, of meshes below the equator are to be of the same length as those at the equator with one-fourth added—i.e. one-quarter longer; the second set, or row, of meshes from the equator are to be one-quarter longer than the last; the third set from the equator to be one-third longer than the second set; the fourth set one-third longer than the third set; the fifth set, or row, is called the drawing line, and is one-third longer than the last. Then come the cords, or leading lines, which are fastened to the hoop, to which the car is attached. This is the true way to make a proper balloon net, and on the same principles you may make the meshes much larger by setting them out three to the gore instead of four—indeed, they are often made in this manner for economy’s sake—and, instead of having a leading line to each row of meshes, two are frequently blended into one. The material to be used should be the best three-strand Italian hemp netting-line, and you must bear in mind that the meshes at the crown should be very fine, increasing in strength as you go downwards.

The last process in connection with this subject is

THE GAS

with which the balloon is to be inflated. It may be well for you to refer to the chapter by Dr. Scoffern, on the apparatus and method of inflating balloons with hydrogen gas, with his illustration of the apparatus; but as I am going more minutely into details, I give you here the quantities of ingredients for generating sufficient gas to fill a given-sized balloon. Thus, for instance—

Diameter
of
Balloon.		Sulphuric
Acid.		Zinc.Water.Size of
Generator.
24in.24oz.16oz.5pts.4qts.
20„14„10„3„4„
18„10„6„2„5pts.

The zinc and water are put into the generator first and corked down, and connections made with the iron or composite pipe to the purifier, which merely contains water (three parts full), and a small quantity of lime—say, a piece the size of a walnut to a pint of water. Should there be any leakage round the pipe, stop it with loam or clay. Pour the acid into the generator, through the feed-pipe, with a funnel, in small quantities at a time. As the gas passes into the balloon you can tell how quickly it is forming by the bubbling sound which is taking place in the purifier. If you were to pour all the acid into the generator at once, you would burst it. When you hear the bubbling noise diminishing, add more acid.

Now there is another point you must understand—i.e. to be able to find the cubic capacity in feet of a balloon of a given diameter, which is done in the following simple manner:—

Diameter 2 ft. (or 24 in.). Multiply by diameter = 4. Multiply by diameter again, = 8. Now multiply by decimal numbers ·5236 = 4·1888.

The same decimal number will apply to any given diameter, and you see by this rule that a balloon of two feet diameter will contain four cubic feet of gas, and that the quantities of ingredients, &c., required are as given above. I hope you will excuse me for taking you to school again, but I am anxious to make this chapter as complete as possible.

COST.

With reference to the cost of the materials to be used in the construction of balloons, it is obviously impossible to enter into details without knowing the size of the balloon to be constructed. The following general instructions, however, may be found useful.

Strong tissue-paper, which measures twenty by thirty inches, costs about sixpence per quire, one quire being amply sufficient for a three-foot balloon.

Scotch cambric, which is forty-four inches wide, costs one shilling and twopence per yard, and you will be able to calculate how many yards are requisite for your purpose.

Boiled oil costs about fourpence per pint, half a pint being sufficient to varnish a three-foot paper balloon.

Tissue-paper can be had of all colours.

With regard to the netting, which is technically known and must be asked for as ‘netting line,’ it varies in size, and costs about two shillings per lb.

With these few remarks I leave you to the construction of your balloon, which I hope you will find an agreeable and not too difficult task.