History, poetry, and painting resemble one another, and so it appears that in writing history, one paints a picture; in painting, one composes a story; history does not always treat of weighty matters, neither does the painter always choose great or magnificent subjects for his pencil; poetry is not always in the clouds; history must treat of base deeds; painting has grass and furze in her pictures, and poetry exalts humble things. These truths are shown in our history. It was noon, the sun's rays shot down vertically upon the ground, and the heat was very great; many pleasant looking houses were scattered over the peaceful plains through which they were now travelling, where the gentry of this country passed the greater part of the year, seldom quitting them for a town life. Our travellers had arrived near one of these, which was a little distant from the high road; the shadow cast by a tall tower of the dwelling, invited them to take their siesta there, as the heat threatened to be great. The careful Bartholomew unloaded his mule, and spread a carpet on the ground; they seated themselves in a circle, and prepared to make their repast upon the provisions that Bartholomew had taken care to provide, which were welcome, for they were beginning to feel hungry; but, hardly had they raised their hands to their mouths, when Bartholomew, looking up, cried out, "Get away, gentlemen! ladies, get away quickly! here is something tumbling down from the skies, I know not what, but it will not be well to have it fall on us." They looked up, and saw a figure coming down from above, which, before they could tell what it was, fell almost at Periander's feet. The figure proved to be a very pretty woman who had been thrown from the top of the tower; but, her clothes serving as a bell, supported her like wings, and she got up unhurt, a thing quite possible without any miracle. However, the event left her in a state of great agitation and fright, as also was the state of those who had seen her fall. In the tower, loud shrieks and screams were heard from a woman whom they saw struggling with a man, and it seemed as if each was endeavouring to throw the other over. "Help, help!" cried the woman, "Help me, gentlemen, for this madman wants to throw me down from the tower!" The flying woman, now somewhat recovered, said, "If any of you are bold enough to go up through that door, (pointing to one at the foot of the tower,) you might save my children and other helpless creatures from the mortal danger they are in."