He at length opened it, and drawing there from a huge letter
      sealed with red sealing-wax and tied carefully with red tape, let
      it fall precisely at the feet of the burgomaster, Superbus Von
      Underduk. His Excellency stooped to take it up. But the aeronaut,
      still greatly discomposed, and having apparently no farther
      business to detain him in Rotterdam, began at this moment to make
      busy preparations for departure; and it being necessary to
      discharge a portion of ballast to enable him to reascend, the
      half dozen bags which he threw out, one after another, without
      taking the trouble to empty their contents, tumbled, every one of
      them, most unfortunately upon the back of the burgomaster, and
      rolled him over and over no less than one-and-twenty times, in
      the face of every man in Rotterdam. It is not to be supposed,
      however, that the great Underduk suffered this impertinence on
      the part of the little old man to pass off with impunity. It is
      said, on the contrary, that during each and every one of his
      one-and twenty circumvolutions he emitted no less than
      one-and-twenty distinct and furious whiffs from his pipe, to
      which he held fast the whole time with all his might, and to
      which he intends holding fast until the day of his death. In the meantime the balloon arose like a lark, and, soaring far
      away above the city, at length drifted quietly behind a cloud
      similar to that from which it had so oddly emerged, and was thus
      lost forever to the wondering eyes of the good citizens of
      Rotterdam. All attention was now directed to the letter, the
      descent of which, and the consequences attending thereupon, had
      proved so fatally subversive of both person and personal dignity
      to his Excellency, the illustrious Burgomaster Mynheer Superbus
      Von Underduk. That functionary, however, had not failed, during
      his circumgyratory movements, to bestow a thought upon the
      important subject of securing the packet in question, which was
      seen, upon inspection, to have fallen into the most proper hands,
      being actually addressed to himself and Professor Rub-a-dub, in
      their official capacities of President and Vice-President of the
      Rotterdam College of Astronomy. It was accordingly opened by
      those dignitaries upon the spot, and found to contain the
      following extraordinary, and indeed very serious, communication:

      “To their Excellencies Von Underduk and Rub-a-dub, President and
      Vice-President of the States’ College of Astronomers, in the city
      of Rotterdam. “Your Excellencies may perhaps be able to remember an humble
      artizan, by name Hans Pfaall, and by occupation a mender of
      bellows, who, with three others, disappeared from Rotterdam,
      about five years ago, in a manner which must have been considered
      by all parties at once sudden, and extremely unaccountable. If,
      however, it so please your Excellencies, I, the writer of this
      communication, am the identical Hans Pfaall himself. It is well
      known to most of my fellow citizens, that for the period of forty
      years I continued to occupy the little square brick building, at
      the head of the alley called Sauerkraut, in which I resided at
      the time of my disappearance. My ancestors have also resided
      therein time out of mind—they, as well as myself, steadily
      following the respectable and indeed lucrative profession of
      mending of bellows. For, to speak the truth, until of late years,
      that the heads of all the people have been set agog with
      politics, no better business than my own could an honest citizen
      of Rotterdam either desire or deserve. Credit was good,
      employment was never wanting, and on all hands there was no lack
      of either money or good-will. But, as I was saying, we soon began
      to feel the effects of liberty and long speeches, and radicalism,
      and all that sort of thing. People who were formerly, the very
      best customers in the world, had now not a moment of time to
      think of us at all. They had, so they said, as much as they could
      do to read about the revolutions, and keep up with the march of
      intellect and the spirit of the age. If a fire wanted fanning, it
      could readily be fanned with a newspaper, and as the government
      grew weaker, I have no doubt that leather and iron acquired
      durability in proportion, for, in a very short time, there was
      not a pair of bellows in all Rotterdam that ever stood in need of
      a stitch or required the assistance of a hammer. This was a state
      of things not to be endured. I soon grew as poor as a rat, and,
      having a wife and children to provide for, my burdens at length
      became intolerable, and I spent hour after hour in reflecting
      upon the most convenient method of putting an end to my life. Duns, in the meantime, left me little leisure for contemplation. My house was literally besieged from morning till night, so that
      I began to rave, and foam, and fret like a caged tiger against
      the bars of his enclosure. There were three fellows in particular
      who worried me beyond endurance, keeping watch continually about
      my door, and threatening me with the law. Upon these three I
      internally vowed the bitterest revenge, if ever I should be so
      happy as to get them within my clutches; and I believe nothing in
      the world but the pleasure of this anticipation prevented me from
      putting my plan of suicide into immediate execution, by blowing
      my brains out with a blunderbuss. I thought it best, however, to
      dissemble my wrath, and to treat them with promises and fair
      words, until, by some good turn of fate, an opportunity of
      vengeance should be afforded me. “One day, having given my creditors the slip, and feeling more
      than usually dejected, I continued for a long time to wander
      about the most obscure streets without object whatever, until at
      length I chanced to stumble against the corner of a bookseller’s
      stall. Seeing a chair close at hand, for the use of customers, I
      threw myself doggedly into it, and, hardly knowing why, opened
      the pages of the first volume which came within my reach. It
      proved to be a small pamphlet treatise on Speculative Astronomy,
      written either by Professor Encke of Berlin or by a Frenchman of
      somewhat similar name. I had some little tincture of information
      on matters of this nature, and soon became more and more absorbed
      in the contents of the book, reading it actually through twice
      before I awoke to a recollection of what was passing around me. By this time it began to grow dark, and I directed my steps
      toward home.