With these notable examples in mind, we are not prepared to assert that, though man has as a rule neither the gills of a fish nor the nose of a mole, he may not enjoy a drive at the bottom of the sea, or a morning ramble under the subsoil.  But with the exception of Peter Wilkins’ Flying Islanders-whose existence we vehemently dispute-and some similar creatures whom it suits our purpose to ignore, there is no record of any person to whom the name of The-Man-Who-Flies-Over-the-Hills may be justly applied.  We make no account of the shallow device of Mongolfier, nor the dubious contrivance of Marriott.  A gentleman of proper aspirations would scorn to employ either, as the Man-Frog would reject a diving-bell, or the subterranean chieftain would sneer at the Mont Cenis tunnel.  These “weak inventions” only emphasize our impotence to strive with the subtle element about and above.  They prove nothing so conclusively as that we can’t fly-a fact still more strikingly proven by the constant thud of people tumbling out of them.  To a Titan of comprehensive ear, who could catch the noises of a world upon his single tympanum as Hector caught Argive javelins upon his shield, the patter of dropping a‰ronauts would sound like the gentle pelting of hailstones upon a dusty highway-so thick and fast they fall.

It is probable that man is no more eager to float free into space than the earth-if it be sentient-is to shake him off; but it would appear that he and it must, like the Siamese twins, consent to endure the disadvantages of a mutually disagreeable intimacy.  We submit that it is hardly worth his while to continue “larding the lean earth” with his carcase in the vain endeavour to emulate angels, whom in no respect he at all resembles.  Pork on the Hoof.

The motto aut C‘sar aut nullus is principally nonsense, we take it.  If one may not be a man, one may, in most cases, be a hog with equal satisfaction to his mind and heart.

There is Thompson Washington Smith, for example (his name is not Thompson, nor Washington, nor yet Smith; we call him so to conceal his real name, which is perhaps Smythe).  Now Thompson, there is reason to believe, tried earnestly for some years to be a man.  Alas! he began while he was a boy, and got exhausted before he arrived at maturity.  He could make no further effort, and manhood is not acquired without a mighty struggle, nor maintained without untiring industry.  So having fatigued himself before reaching the starting-point, Thompson Washington did not re-enter the race for manhood, but contented his simple soul with achieving a modest swinehood.  He became a hog of considerable talent and promise.