The Independent, The Independent/Volume 58/Issue 2948 (1905)
“ Villages and woods, chateaux and gardens slip and glide far, far below. Faint piercing sounds, like locomotive whistles and the yelping of stray dogs, are the only ones which penetrate to us. The human voice cannot mount up to these solitudes. Human beings look like ants along white lines that are highways. While my gaze was still held fascinated a cloud masked the sun. It cooled the gas of our balloon, which obviously wrinkled and began descending, gently at first and then with accelerated speed, against which we struggled by throwing out ballast. ”
