Thursday morning brought fine weather and the promise of an eventful day. As a consequence serious efforts were made to excel all previous records, particularly for speed, duration and distance. In the forenoon Latham flew 43.5 miles in the _Antoinette XIII_. In the afternoon Count de Lambert, in his Wright biplane, flew 72 miles. Blériot entertained the throng by carrying Delagrange as passenger; but while sailing near the ground he encountered some dragoons, turned sidewise to avoid striking them, and plunged into a fence, breaking his propeller. But the great sensation of the day was Latham’s afternoon flight for the Grand Prix, in his _Antoinette No. 29_. Starting with plenty of fuel and favorable weather, he rose to a high level and flew till his supply was exhausted, at times encountering rough winds and for a while plowing through a rainstorm. It was the banner flight of the week thus far; for it surpassed all other long ones in distance and speed, though not equaling Paulhan’s in endurance. His total range, when compelled to alight through exhaustion of fuel, was 95.88 miles, in 2 hours, 18 minutes, 9⅗ seconds. This showed an average speed of 41.63 miles an hour for the whole distance, while the speed for his first round was 44.65 miles an hour. For this great achievement he could thank his 50-horse, 8-cylinder _Antoinette_ motor, one of the lightest in existence, for that power. Friday, August 27th, was the last day allotted for the distance, or Grand Prix contest. After the wonderful new records of Paulhan and Latham, people were marveling what might happen on the final day. Many assumed, of course, that Latham’s record of 96 miles would remain unsurpassed. At four-thirty, Latham started on another long flight, in his _Antoinette_ monoplane _No. 13_, followed presently by Farman and Sommer in Farman biplanes; these flying six to twelve feet from the ground, with gallant Latham soaring aloft nearly three hundred feet in his swift long-winged fish, and occasionally gaining a lap on them. Sommer stopped after three rounds, because of motor trouble. Latham’s fuel gave out after a voyage of 68.35 miles, and he glided to earth. Farman continued to plod along on his slow, low-wandering craft, with little attention. Others were in the air, with biplanes and monoplanes, entertaining the populace—Blériot, Curtiss, Delagrange, Tissandier, Bunau-Varilla—these had the applause. Presently the spectators remembered that ground-skimming Farman had been a very long time on the wing. He now became the center of rapt attention. Slowly he distanced Paulhan’s great world’s record of Wednesday; slowly he distanced Latham’s greater world’s record of Thursday; but still he plodded away. The sun sank on his flight; darkness came on the field, so that he vanished from view at the far end of the course. At the close of the nineteenth round he landed in the dark before the grand stand, limp and exhausted, having journeyed 3¼ hours and traversed 118.06 miles.