is not surprising that in the end he owns that he owed his
safety in his final descent to his good fortune. The narrative
condensed concludes thus:--

"At twenty minutes past four I descended in a meadow near Ware.
Some labourers were at work in it. I requested their
assistance, but they exclaimed they would have nothing to do
with one who came on the Devil's Horse, and no entreaties could
prevail on them to approach me. I at last owed my deliverance
to a young woman in the field who took hold of a cord I had
thrown out, and, calling to the men, they yielded that
assistance at her request which they had refused to mine."

As may be supposed, Lunardi's return to London resembled a
royal progress. Indeed, he was welcomed as a conqueror to whom
the whole town sought to do honour, and perhaps his greatest
gratification came by way of the accounts he gathered of
incidents which occurred during his eventful voyage. At a
dinner at which he was being entertained by the Lord Mayor and
judges he learned that a lady seeing his falling oar, and
fancying that he himself was dashed to pieces, received a shock
thereby which caused her death. Commenting on this, one of the
judges bade him be reassured, inasmuch as he had, as if by
compensation, saved the life of a young man who might live to
be reformed. The young man was a criminal whose condemnation
was regarded as certain at the hands of the jury before whom he
was being arraigned, when tidings reached the court that
Lunardi's balloon was in the air. On this so much confusion
arose that the jury were unable to give due deliberation to the
case, and, fearing to miss the great sight, actually agreed to