Airship, a mechanical contrivance for flying. Other names are aeroplane, aerodrome, etc. Flying machines have long been the dream of inventors. In his Rasselas: A Tale of Abyssinia, Dr. Samuel Johnson describes the flight of an inventive philosopher who, after years of preparation, took his stand on a low promontory overlooking a lake, flapped his wooden wings, leaped, and fell ignominiously into the water. Flying machines and their makers have been a jest for centuries. The shelves of the patent offices of the world are crowded with useless models. Repeated failure to invent a practical machine has led the public to scoff at the whole idea, and yet persistence seems likely to have its reward. The airship differs from the dirigible balloon in that it is not buoyed up by a gas bag, the contrivance being in fact heavier than the air. Most inventors have aimed to imitate the flight of a bird, but wings have not proved successful. A combination of a balloon, a propeller, and a rudder has attracted attention; but final success seems to have arrived in the form of a kite driven by a motor and guided by steering apparatus. Professor S. P. Langley, late secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, was an authority on aerial travel. He devised a flying machine or aerodrome. Four wing like planes form the supporting surfaces. They are affixed to a central frame carrying a gasoline engine, a screw propeller, and a double rudder, one blade of which is horizontal, the other vertical. The propeller is capable of 1,000 revolutions per minute. The whole contrivance is about sixteen feet long and measures thirteen feet from tip to tip of the wings. Boiler and engine weigh less than seven pounds. The entire machine weighs possibly thirty pounds. Short flights have been made with the aerodrome, but as yet (1909) it has not proved successful. Two brothers, Messrs. Orville and Wilbur Wright, of Dayton, Ohio, have had great success with a machine they call the aeroplane. It may be likened to an immense kite. Two parallel planes of taut muslin forty feet long and six feet wide are held in place eight feet apart by a light, strong framework. There are two rudders, a horizontal rudder in front and a vertical rudder in the rear. The machine is driven by a four-cylinder, thirty-horse power motor. There are two propellers, one on each side of the rear rudder. The entire weight is about 800 pounds. The operator sits at the center. Once launched in the air and the propellers whirling rapidly, he directs his course by pulling cords. To rise he gives the horizontal apron-like rudder in front a tip upward, and the machine glides upward. To descend the same rudder is tipped downward. To effect a change of direction to the right or to the left, the rear rudder, like the tiller of a boat, is set accordingly. To keep the two ends of the aeroplane on a level, one corner of the flexible frame is drawn up or down as may be needed. The machine simply glides over the air according to the set of the two planes and the rudders. In attempting to win an award from the War Department, Orville Wright made a number of trial trips. In 1908 his machine broke at Fort Meyer, Virginia, and fell 150 feet. Mr. Wright was injured and Lieutenant Selfridge of the United States Signal Service, under whose supervision the test was made, was killed. In the same year, Wilbur Wright was more successful in France. An official trip of 61 miles was made in 1 hour 31 minutes and 51 seconds. In 1909 the Wright brothers met the United States government's requirements. The test was a straightaway flight of ten miles across country, with one passenger besides the operator. The flight was made in 14 minutes and 42 seconds, at the rate of more than 42 miles an hour. Lieut. Lahm of the army signal corps made an official government test of the Wright brother's machine at Fort Meyer, Virginia. The aeroplane remained in the air 1 hour 12 minutes and 40 seconds, covering over 50 miles at a speed averaging 40 miles an hour. The government purchased the aeroplane for $30,000, $5,000 of this amount being bonus for exceeding the requirements. Two factories have been established, one in France and a second at Detroit, Michigan, for the manufacture of the Wright aeroplane. In 1909 Louis Bleriot crossed the English Channel with one of the smallest monoplanes ever used. The machine was 20 feet across the wings, its weight was 400 pounds, and it had a motor of 25 horse-power. Bleriot started from Les Baraques, three miles from Calais, France, and landed at Dover, England. He kept about 250 feet above sea-level. The distance was over 20 miles, and he made it in less than half an hour. His speed averaged more than 45 miles an hour, and some of the time was nearly 60, twice that of the fastest mail boat. A few spectators on the Dover cliffs saw the machine coming like a condor of the Andes. As it approached the cliffs it grew larger and larger. Bleriot swooped overhead, glancing from side to side, then turned his aeroplane into a meadow and it came to rest as peacefully as a bird. He tells his own story well: At 4:35 in the morning the signal was given, and in an instant I am in the air, my engine making 1,200 revolutions, almost its highest speed, in order that I may get quickly over the telegraph wires along the edge of the cliff. As soon as I am over the cliff I reduce my speed. There now is no need to force my engine. I begin my flight, steady and sure, toward the coast of England. I have no apprehensions, no sensations. The French torpedo boat has seen me. She is drawing ahead at full speed. She makes perhaps twenty-six miles an hour. What matters? I am making at least forty-two and one-half miles. Rapidly I overtake her, traveling at the height of 250 feet. The moment is supreme, yet I surprise myself by feeling no exultation. Below me is the sea, its surface disturbed by wind, which now is freshening. The motion of the waves beneath me is not pleasant. I drive on. Ten minutes have gone. I have passed the destroyer and I turn my head to see whether I am proceeding in the right direction. I am amazed. There is nothing to be seen, neither destroyer, nor France, nor England. I am alone. I see nothing at all. For ten minutes I am lost. It is a strange position, to be alone, unguided, without a compass, in the air over the middle of the channel. I touch nothing. My hands and feet rest lightly on levers. I let the aeroplane take its own course. I care not whither it goes. For ten minutes I continue, neither rising nor falling nor turning, and then, twenty minutes after I have left the French coast, I see the green cliffs of Dover, the castle, and away to the west the spot where I intended to land. What can I do? It is evident that the wind has taken me out of my course. I press a lever with my foot and turn easily toward the west, reversing the direction in which I have been traveling. Now, indeed, I am in difficulties, for the wind here by the cliffs is much stronger and my speed is reduced as I fight against it, yet my beautiful aeroplane responds. Still steadily I fly westward, hoping to cross the harbor and reach Shakespeare cliffs. Again the wind blows. I see the opening in the cliffs. Although I am confident that I can continue for an hour and a half, and that I might, indeed, return to Calais, I cannot resist the opportunity to make my landing upon this green spot. Once more I turn my aeroplane and, describing a half circle, I enter the opening and find myself again over dry land. Avoiding the red buildings on my right, I attempt a landing, but the wind catches me and whirls me around two or three times. At once I stop the motor. Instantly my machine falls, straight upon the land, from a height of sixty-five feet in two or three seconds, and my flight is safely done. Military experts take an interest in both the dirigible balloon and the airship. Should these devices prove entirely successful, it may be possible to hover over fortifications in the darkness and drop bombs within the works. Just to show what may be done, Roy Knabenshue sailed about the city of Los Angeles on the night of December 18, 1908. He started at ten o'clock and traveled for an hour and a half. Half the populace was out looking for him, but save showers of paper bombs dropped in their upturned faces, the people could neither hear nor see the daring navigator. See BALLOON.