Now, I crumple it up at one corner, and tie it to Mr. Balloon’s half yard or so of tail, and turn him loose in the room.  He rises slowly for a little, and then as slowly settles down to the floor.  That won’t do.  I want to see him exactly balanced between floor and ceiling; so, of course, the paper must be of exactly the same weight as the balloon itself.  We soon can accomplish that.  See!  I tear off a bit more.  Top heavy yet?  He rises higher this time, and settles down more slowly to the floor.  Tear again.  Whew!  I took off too much that time.  He rises to the ceiling, bumping his head against it a few times, and finally remains there in a sullen manner as if determined he will have no more of our nonsense.

[Illustration]

I recapture him, and this time I add to the weight of his tail, by dividing in two the last bit which I tore off, and twisting it around the string.

Now, then, sir, you may go!  See! he rises slowly, slowly, until about midway between floor and ceiling, where he stops and turns slowly about, as if making up his mind what to do next.

[Illustration]

Presto! a current of air strikes him, and he begins dodging about in a frantic manner, as if to escape from some invisible enemy.  Presently he becomes calmer, and proceeds to explore every nook and corner of the room; now going up close to the clock on the mantel, as if to ascertain the time of day; now taking a look at himself in the mirror; then, turning suddenly away (as if in confusion to find you have caught him at it), he moves toward the window, and pretends to be interested in what is going on outside; but, a draught of air coming briskly in, he hastens away as fast as ever he can, as if in fear of taking cold.  Skimming along close to the floor, he reaches the opposite side of the room, and, slowly rising again, peers into the canary’s cage.  The occupant resents the liberty with erect feathers, and our balloon quickly descends, and takes refuge under the piano.  Recovering his presence of mind, presently he peeps cautiously out, and begins to ascend again.  Here he comes toward us—­slowly, majestically!  Strike at him with a fan, and lo! he retreats in great disorder to a remote corner of the room, dodging about in most eccentric fashion, when, recovering his self-possession after a time, he goes about examining the pictures on the wall with the air of a critic.  You lie down on your back, on the comfortable sofa in the corner, watching the balloon as it sails slowly about, and wondering what it will do next, until—­until you fall asleep!

[Illustration]

You are awakened by something tickling your nose; and, looking up, you suddenly discover the toy balloon hovering over you, with its tail in your face, and apparently enjoying your surprise.

[Illustration]

All this, and much more indeed, will a toy balloon do, if treated in the manner I have described.