Nothing can equal the beauty of an ærial voyage, that most wonderful, easy and luxurious mode of locomotion, with its entire absence of dizziness--this sensation being lost with the separation from earth, as soon as the last cord, which unites us with the world below, is cut. In rising from the ground, the feelings are absorbed in the novelty and magnificence of the spectacle presented, while the ears are saluted with the buzz of distant sound until the clouds are reached, when all is still as death. The scene is sublime. Around and beneath, the clouds roll in magnificent grandeur. They form pyramids, castles, reefs, icebergs, ships and towers, and again dissolve into chaos. The half obscured sun shedding his mellow light upon the picture, gives it a rich and dazzling lustre. Reverence for the work of nature, the solemn stillness, an admiration indescribable, all combined, seem to make a sound of praise. The earth, which is never lost sight of at any hight, except clouds interfere or night sets in, seems to be concave, like the inside of a flattish hollow globe, instead of the outside, as would naturally be supposed. The reason for this optical delusion is, that the horizon appears on a level with the æronaut, while the distance downwards remains unaltered, making the surface below appear like a valley. The earth presents the panoramic view of an immense map, such as the enchanted Alladdin must have enjoyed. The coloring, designating the various products of the soil, is lively and exquisite. Variegated grass-plats, the golden tinge of waving grain fields, the more sombre foliage of the trees, the glossy surface of the water dazzling in the sunbeams, with occasional white specks for sailing craft; the innumerable villages, with tastefully decorated and tinny, toy-like houses, the numerous roads tortuously spreading over the surface and looking like chalk lines on a gaudy carpet, fairy-like carriages seemingly drawn by mice and guided by liliputian little things. Such is the beauty of this glorious earth. Yet, when mountains appear like ant hills, and Niagara a neat little cascade in a pleasure garden--instead of the raging grandeur, only a frothy bubble--man must be forcibly reminded that he is but the minutest animalcule, and not of so much importance as he presumes himself to be. No less impressive is the scene at night. The sublime exhibition in the vast solitude and darkness of night creates the most stupendous effect upon the lonely æronaut.