About the Three Sisters.
There were once three little girls, who went to see a balloon. When they got to the place, they saw that it was a great bag of silk, with a netting put over it, and to this netting, a little car was attached.
There were a great many people around the place, anxious to see the balloon rise and sail away in the air. There were several persons very busy in filling the balloon with what is called hydrogen gas, which is a kind of air, and so light that it rises upward and carries the balloon with it.
Pretty soon there was considerable gas in the balloon, and it then began to ascend a little; in a short time it rose more, and, after a few minutes, it seemed in such a hurry to get away that several men were obliged to take hold of the net-work, and restrain it till all was ready.
Now a man by the name of Lauriat, who had made the balloon, was going up with it. When all was prepared, he got into the little car, holding in his lap a cat fastened in a cage, with a thing like an umbrella, attached to it. In a few moments Mr. Lauriat called out, “all right!”—and the men let go of the net-work, and up went the balloon, and up went Mr. Lauriat in the little car hanging beneath it!
It was a beautiful sight, and the people were so delighted, that the air rang with acclamations. The three little girls, whom we shall call History, Poetry, and Romance, were as much pleased as anybody, and shouted, with their little voices, as loud as they could. What made it all more pleasant, was that the people could see Mr. Lauriat, who waved a little flag, as he ascended; and though it was almost frightful to see a man so high in the air, yet he appeared quite at his ease and very much gratified.
When the balloon had risen to a great height, so as to look only about as large as my wig, Mr. Lauriat let the cat and the cage fall; but the thing like an umbrella, called a parachute, kept it from coming down very swiftly. It was a beautiful sight to see! At first the cage and parachute were hardly visible, but they grew more and more distinct, and at last they came nearer and nearer, and finally dropped down upon a distant hill. Some boys ran to the place, and behold, puss was in the cage, a good deal frightened, but as safe as ever. There are very few cats that have had such a ride as this!
At last the balloon looked no bigger than a fly, and then it entered a cloud and was seen no more. The company separated and went to their homes, all talking of the balloon, and Mr. Lauriat, and puss, and the parachute. Our three little girls also returned to their homes, and, rushing to their mother, they were each so anxious to tell the story, that neither could be understood. At last their mother said to them, “My dear children, I must hear you, one at a time. Let us all sit down, and History, who is the oldest; shall tell the story first. Then Poetry shall tell it, and then Romance shall tell it.”
To this they all agreed, and History began as follows: “We reached the place about four o’clock in the afternoon. There were already many people present, but as the time advanced, others came, and soon about two thousand people were there.
“The balloon was enclosed in a fence, made of boards, and none but the workmen and Mr. Lauriat were permitted to enter the enclosure. There were six large casks around, in which they made the hydrogen gas; this was conducted to the balloon by means of tubes.
“The balloon was a large bag of silk, about forty feet long and eighty feet in circumference. When full of gas, it was shaped like a bell-pear, the stem downwards. The silk was oiled, so as to retain the gas, which is lighter than the air, and floats upward in it, as a piece of wood does in water. The balloon was enclosed in a net-work, and beneath, a little car, or boat, was attached to it, and in this, Mr. Lauriat sat, when he ascended.
“As the gas was conducted to the balloon, the latter gradually swelled out, and when it was full, the men who held it down, let go; and it ascended with Mr. Lauriat, into the air. He was cheered by the voices of the people, and he waved a little flag back and forth, in return. It was a pleasing scene, in which fear for the airy sailor, and admiration of his skill and courage, were mingled.
“Mr. Lauriat had taken up with him a cat, enclosed in a cage, and to this cage a parachute was attached. When he had risen to the height of about a thousand feet, he let the cage go, and it came gently down like a snow-flake, falling at last on a distant hill. The cat was taken up unhurt. The balloon gradually grew less and less to the vision, and finally it disappeared in a thick cloud, upon which the rays of the evening sun were now falling.”
Such was the account given of the scene by History; and now Poetry began:
“Oh mother, it was beautiful! The balloon went up like a soap-bubble, and it sailed along on the air like a bird. I could hardly believe that it was not alive, it glided in the air so gently, and so gracefully! And Mr. Lauriat, he looked so happy! Oh it was wonderful to see a man so high in the air, and to see him so much at his ease! I felt afraid for him, and yet the scene pleased me the more. I wished to be with him, though I knew I should have been frightened. And yet it seemed so pleasing to go up in the air, and look down upon so many people, and to know that they were all looking at you, and that so many hearts were beating for you, and that so many were admiring you! It would be beautiful!
“And, mother, you know that the balloon glided up and away so softly, that it seemed like a dream, fading from the memory. And at last, when it was like a mere insect in the vast blue sky, it stole into a cloud, and hid itself, and then I had a feeling of sadness. Can you tell me why, mother?”
Here there was a pause, and the blue-eyed girl, stood for a moment, as if expecting an answer. But Romance was impatient to begin, and her dark eye, shaded by the long black lashes, seemed to grow larger and brighter as she spoke thus:
“History has told you, mother, all the events that occurred, and she has accurately described them. Poetry has painted the scene, and made it clear and bright by comparisons. But I must tell you of the thoughts and feelings it awakened in my breast, and of the fairy world in which I seemed to be, while I looked on the balloon.
“When the balloon went up, it seemed as if I went with it, into a new scene. I think I have dreamed something like it, in my sleep, when my thoughts seemed like wings, and all around was fair and heavenly. As the balloon ascended, I seemed to ascend also. I did not, at the moment, think how strange it was, but I went on fancying myself with the balloon, and riding upon the air, in that little boat. And I thought of the vast blue space around, and the earth beneath, and the heaven above, and I felt as if I was something like an angel, gifted with the power of rising upward, and seeing earth, and sky, and heaven, as others could not see them. And I felt a sort of happiness I cannot express.
“Well, as the balloon sailed farther and farther upon the airy sea, and as it grew less and less to the sight, like a ship that glides away upon the ocean—I began to think of the realms to which it seemed hastening. And at last, when it flew into the cloud, I did not dream that it had disappeared. My eye was still bent upon the spot, and I still fancied that I was with it, and that I was sailing on and on, upon the blue deep, and among regions where the happy and the lovely only dwell.”
When Romance had got to this point of her story, the mother smiled, and History tittered aloud. Poetry, however, drew nearer, and seemed entranced with the tale of the dark-eyed girl. But Romance was dashed at the ridicule she had excited, and was silent.
Now I suppose some of my waggish young readers, some of the roguish Paul Pries, will laugh at me, as History did at Romance; and think me not a little ridiculous, for telling such a rigmarole tale as this. But old Peter knows what he is about! He has an object in view; and now, as Mr. Lauriat let the cat out of the car, he will “let the cat out of the bag.”
My purpose is to teach the meaning of the three words, History, Poetry, and Romance. History is a true record of events; and, accordingly, the little girl whom we call History, tells the exact story of the balloon. Poetry is a display of fanciful thoughts, and deals much in comparison; and so, our little Poetry gives a fanciful description of the scene, embellishing her tale by many illustrations. Romance is a picture of fantastic and extraordinary scenes and feelings; and our dark-haired maiden, who deals in it, sets forth the fairy world of visions and sentiments that is reflected in her own breast.
I suppose all my readers have heard of the Nine Muses, goddesses of ancient Greece. One was called Clio, the muse of history; one was Erato, the muse of poetry. And I have sometimes fancied that the idea of these goddesses, might have originated among the fanciful Greeks, from perceiving the different ways in which different persons notice the same scenes; one being apt to remark things soberly and accurately, like our Miss History; another being apt to see them fancifully, like our Miss Poetry; and another apt to weave a world of fiction out of them, like our Miss Romance.