He told me his name, his address; he begged we should meet again; finally he proposed that I should dine with him in the country at an early date.
'The dinner is official,' he explained.

'The office-bearers and Senatus of the University of Cramond--an educational institution in which I have the honour to be Professor of Nonsense--meet to do honour to our friend Icarus, at the old-established _howff_, Cramond Bridge.

One place is vacant, fascinating stranger,--I offer it to you!' 'And who is your friend Icarus ?' I asked, 'The aspiring son of Daedalus!' said he.

'Is it possible that you have never heard the name of Byfield ?' 'Possible and true,' said I.
'And is fame so small a thing ?' cried he.

'Byfield, sir, is an aeronaut.
He apes the fame of a Lunardi, and is on the point of offering to the inhabitants--I beg your pardon, to the nobility and gentry of our neighbourhood--the spectacle of an ascension.