HIS NEW FLYING-MACHINE.

Thames Star, Volume XI, Issue 3506, 20 March 1880, Page 4

HIS NEW FLYING-MACHINE.

An enterprising saloon-keeper on Grand River avenue is always on the look-out for any novelty that may draw customers, and perhaps this fact may have been known to a bald-faced old man who entered the place the other day and confidentially began :— "If I could draw a crowd of 100 men to your place what sum would you be willing to give me ? " "What do you mean ?" asked the saloonist.

"If it was known that I had in my possession a flying machine, and that it was to fly from your door here on a certain day and hour, wouldn't the novelty be sure to collect a thirsty crowd?"

\" Yes, I think so. If you have a flying-machine, and want to show it off' here to-night, I'll give you a dollar, and if the machine is a success, perhaps I will fcujit." " Well' sir," continued the old man in a whisper, " I've got the boss! She flies from the word go ? All I've got to do is to toss her into the air and away she sails. It's right down and no chance for a failure, and I'll be on hand at seven o'clock to-morrow night." The matter became noised about, and next evening there were fifty or sixty people in and around - the saloon to witness the experiment. The old man arrived on time, having a sort of a bundle" under his arm, and he collected his dollar of the saloonist and secured several " treats "from the crowd. When everything was finally ready he stood on the walk clear of the spectators and said : "Gentlemen, I warrant this thing to fly; I didn't invent it myself, but I am now acting as state agent to dispose of country rights. Hundreds of men have spent years of anxious thought and thousands of dollars in seeking to invent flying machines, but this one leads them all. She will now fly. Please^ stand back and give her a chance to rise." The crowd fell back and the man let fall the cover hiding his bundle, and gave his old speckled hen a toss into the air. She uttered a dismal squall, sailed this way and that, and finally bumped against a telegraph post and settled down on the roof of a low shed, cackling in an indignant manner at being turned loose in a strange neighbourhood. It was a full minute before the crowd was sure that it was a hen, and during that minute the old man is supposed to have run a distance of seven blocks. A few tried to overhaul him, but it was no use.