I have been asked to give my opinion in regard to the value of the experiments of Count Zeppelin. I have made a close study of balloons for many years, and have followed very closely the experiments of Gaston Tissandier and Commandant Renard. In the experiments of Gaston Tissandier, the balloon was made cigar-shape, both ends being practically alike. The propelling force was a screw driven by an electrical engine. The machine was very carefully made, and was probably as beautiful a piece of workmanship as ever has been turned out. It was inflated with pure hydrogen. When it was tried, it rose in the air to perfection, and moved at a low velocity by means of its own screw and motive power, but the velocity through’ the air was considerably less than the velocity of the air itself, consequently it moved along with the wind very much like any other balloon. Other experiments were made, and it was found that the cigar–shape was not so favourable as a fishshape balloon.

The aeronaut can scarcely turn his camera to better account than in the pursuit of cloud photography. Snap–shots of objects on the earth taken from short range overhead are generally more curious than interesting, and extended views from greater heights, however impressive to the observer, seldom make satisfactory photographs, not only through lack of detail, but owing also to the haze that too often veils the landscape at the height— say of 1,000 ft. and upwards. Speaking generally, through the greater part of any balloon voyage worthy of the name, successful views of the country are out of the question. On the other hand, on days that are not altogether cloudless, there is often opportunity at nearly all heights for interesting and valuable work in photographing all features of the cloudscape, from the mere withering cloudlet that wanders by to the piles and masses of dense cloud that make up the scenery of a full sky.

When the astronomers next announce an exceptionally brilliant display of the Leonids, for the sake of the balloonists who make elaborate and costly preparations, it is to be hoped they will be more accurate in their calculations. The spectacle of seven shooting stars is in itself scarcely worth such a risk to life and limb as the Eev. J. M. Bacon experienced in his ascent in search of the meteors. But the scientific observer gains fresh experience from every journey he makes into the upper strata of the atmosphere, and probably Mr. Bacon has accumulated a sufficient number of facts to repay him for the suspense and discomfort endured.

The ascent was made under exceptional circumstances. Mr. Bacon, his courageous daughter, and Mr. Stanley Spencer, entrusted themselves to a valveless balloon; for if we accept the term valve in its legitimate sense, the arrangement provided for ripping open the top of the balloon and letting the gas out once and for all cannot be called a valve.

Thirteen years ago, shortly after I had been privileged to supply the British Government with my Electric Signalling Balloon Apparatus, I showed upon the screen of the London Institution the same picture that is now before you. It represents the signallers of two friendly military forces shut in by high mountains. It shows how limited is the usefulness of the ordinary methods of visual signalling, which depend upon some vantage point for altitude; it shows how valuable in such a casa is the electric signalling balloon. In the picture, the signallers on this side of the mountain are filling the balloon with gas for the ascent. On the other side, the balloon has already ascended. In the next picture both balloons have ascended to a considerable elevation, and the signallers are independent of the configuration of the country. I will now ask whether this picture does not partly represent the conditions realised so often during the South African Campaign, when our brave soldiers have been imprisoned so long amidst the rugged mountains of Natal, and where failure of communication has been the cause of disaster.