“MY DEAR AIRY: I am unable to rise even from my bed, so of course can’t go up with you to-day. The doctor has just examined my silvery tongue, and bids me stay at home. He thinks I have been high enough this week, and says, jocosely, having been on a lark I had better ‘shoot the eagle.’ I lie here as I write you this note. Better luck next time. “DOUGHERTY.” Airy was disappointed, and his countenance grew longer when a second note quickly followed the first:-- “Sad and broken are my spirits. I am out of heart to-day, for my hope of flying with you has itself just flown away. My young man has left the office, gone to meet his brother Jim, I must take the advertisements, hitherto received by him. Were I not tied to my Ledger--free upon my native wilds, naught but death could keep me from you. “Ever yours, “GEORGE FRANCIS CHILDS.” “Never mind,” sighed Airy, “as long as Stokley sticks by me, I don’t care.” But alas, the hour for starting came and passed, and Stokley put in no appearance. Another hour winged its silent flight, and the people below grew impatient. Thirty minutes more, and the Mayor was still among the wanting. Twelve o’clock pealed simultaneously from the restaurant clocks, always half an hour fast, and the inventor had sadly made up his mind to start alone, when a figure waving a red handkerchief appeared upon the brow of George’s Hill. “Ah,” shouted Airy, “Stokley at last--I knew he’d come.” The figure hurried on, but soon those upon the Observatory could see that it was not the Mayor. ’Twas a more ponderous form, bare-headed, with a wealth of silver locks floating in the wind. “Wait for me,” it cried, “oh wait for me, I pray!” and ten minutes later the great Plymouth preacher stood grasping Airy by the hand. “Let smiles, like summer buds, adorn the pastures of thy face--I’m here!” There was a bustle in the crowd, and the people cheered and cheered again, when it became evident that the wonderful machine was soon to move. The passenger was handed into the boudoir, and the inventor, getting astride of the metallic bird, tucked his coat tails beneath its sacred wings. The excitement below was intense. “I will wait five minutes more for Stokley,” said Mr. Airy; “he will be so disappointed if he finds I have started without him.” Suddenly the telegraphic wires attached to the bird’s tail began to work;--a message from Stokley at last. “Can’t come; wife won’t let me--_bon voyage_--Bill.” “Let go the ropes,” shouted Airy.