The works of Edgar Allan Poe; newly collected and edited, with a memoir, critical introductions, and notes, by Edmund Clarence Stedman and George Edward Woodberry; the illustrations by Albert Edward Sterner.

ADVENTURE OF ONE HANS PFAALL
of idiotic enjoyment. But this feeling did not fail to
die rapidly away, and thereunto succeeded horror, and
dismay, and asense of utter helplessness and ruin.
In fact, the blood so long accumulating in the vessels
of my head and throat, and which had hitherto buoyed
up my spirits with delirium, had now begun to retire
within their proper channels, and the distinctness
which was thus added to my perception of the danger
merely served to deprive me of the self-possession and
courage to encounter it. But this weakness was,
luckily for me, of no very long duration. In good
time came to my rescue the spirit of despair, and,
with frantic cries and struggles, I jerked my way
bodily upwards, till, at length, clutching with a vicelike grip the long-desired rim, I writhed my person
over it, and fell headlong and shuddering within the
car.
It was not until some time afterward that I recovered myself sufficiently to attend to the ordinary cares
of the balloon. I then, however, examined it with
attention, and found it, to my great relief, uninjured.
My implements were all safe, and, fortunately, I had
lost neither ballast nor provisions. Indeed, I had so
well secured them in their places, that such an accident was entirely out of the question. Looking at my
watch, I found it six o'clock. I was still rapidly
ascending, and the barometer gave a present altitude
of three and three-quarter miles. Immediately beneath
me in the ocean lay a small black object, slightly
oblong in shape, seemingly about the size of a domino,
and in every respect bearing a great resemblance to
one of those toys. Bringing my telescope to bear
upon it, I plainly discerned it to be a British ninetyfour gun ship, close-hauled, and pitching heavily in
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