Yet there are certainly wonderful stunts to be done with a flying machine, and the fun is as much in the effect on the flier as on the audience; perhaps even more so. I would fly for the mere sport if I were not in the business, for there is a fascination about flying that it is unnecessary to explain and difficult to resist. You can chart currents of the sea, but the wind is such a capricious element that though there are, so to speak, outline maps that could be made of the general direction of the winds, there will always be a certain uncertainty about their conduct. Nevertheless there are so much greater possibilities in flying than in any other of the arts, that it is no wonder the amateur wants to develop them. And in conclusion I can say that an aeroplane in perfect condition is as safe as an automobile going at the same speed–*and I mean it!* CHAPTER III HOW IT FEELS TO FLY (By Augustus Post.) There is no one question that people ask more often than: "How does it feel to fly!" Perhaps a passenger feels more keenly the sensations of flight than an aviator because his mind is not taken up with the operation of the controls. As for the passenger, he climbs into the flying machine, takes his seat beside the operator, and becomes at once the centre of interest to all the people standing by. If he is himself an aviator it is another matter, but if it is his first experience in the air, he is usually the object of a certain shuddering admiration, not unmixed with envy. The motor is started, making a terrific noise that almost deafens him, and quite drowns the parting speeches and the efforts of the funny men present to improve the occasion. With perfect calm, without the least excitement, the aviator listens to the noise of the motor; he hears it run and carefully notes the regularity of the explosions. When all is ready, he waves his hand the signal for the man holding the machine to let go. The machine runs along the ground, gathering speed, bounces a little, so that one hardly knows when it leaves the ground; the front control is raised, and the machine is in the air. You feel the rushing of the wind, and things below seem dancing about down there. The machine keeps its exquisite poise in the air, sensitive to the slightest movement of the control. As it rises, the forward plane is turned a little down, and as the machine varies in its elevation, the plane is turned to bring it back to the level; it tips a little to one side and the aviator moves, as it were instinctively, to correct the balance. The rush of the wind by your face becomes more violent, and the machine pitches and balances as if it were suspended by a string or by some unseen force which holds it up in the air. [Illustration: (A) AUGUSTUS POST FLYING AT THE FIRST HARVARD-BOSTON MEET] (B) AN AEROPLANE PACKED FOR SHIPMENT–POST DRIVING [Illustration: CURTISS' PUPILS]