P. T. Barnum's "Great Roman Hippodrome," now for many years Madison Square Garden, was never more densely crowded than on the afternoon of July 26, 1874. Early in the Spring of that year Mr. Barnum had announced the building of a balloon larger than any theretofore made in this country. His purpose in building it was to attempt to break all previous records for time and distance, and he invited each of five daily city papers of that time to send representatives on the voyage. So when the day set for the ascent arrived, not only was the old Hippodrome packed to the doors, but adjacent streets and squares were solid black with people, as on a _fete_ day like the Dewey Parade. Happily the day was one of brilliant sunshine and clear sky, with scarcely a cloud above the horizon. The captain of the _Barnum_ was Washington. H. Donaldson, by far the most brilliant and daring professional aeronaut of his day, and a clever athlete and gymnast. For several weeks prior to the ascent of the _Barnum_, Donaldson had been making daily short ascents of an hour or two from the Hippodrome in a small balloon--as a feature of the performance. Sometimes he ascended in a basket, at other times with naught but a trapeze swinging beneath the concentrating ring of his balloon himself in tights perched easily upon the bar of the trapeze. And when at a height to suit his fancy--of a thousand feet or more--many a time have I seen him do every difficult feat of trapeze work ever done above the security of a net. Such was Donaldson, a man utterly fearless, but reckless only when alone, of a steadfast, cool courage and resource when responsible for the safety of others that made him the man out of a million best worth trusting in any emergency where a bold heart and ready wit may avert disaster. Donaldson's days were never dull. The day preceding our ascent his balloon was released with insufficient lifting power. As soon as he rose above neighboring roofs, a very high southeast wind caught him, and, before he had time to throw out ballast, drove his basket against the flagstaff on the Gilsey House with such violence that the staff was broken, and the basket momentarily upset, dumping two ballast bags to the Broadway sidewalk where they narrowly missed several pedestrians. That he himself was not dashed to death was a miracle. But to him this was no more than a bit unusual incident of the day's work. The reporters assigned as mates on this skylark in the _Barnum_ were Alfred Ford, of the _Graphic_; Edmund Lyons, of the _Sun_; Samuel MacKeever, of the _Herald_; W. W. Austin, of the _World_ (every one of these good fellows now dead, alas!) and myself, representing the _Tribune_.