ence in his discretion. Besides,
as her Majesty had not at present the advantage of any female society,
it was necessary that she should be amused; and Tiresias, though
old, ugly, and blind, was a wit as well as a philosopher, the most
distinguished diplomatist of his age, and considered the best company in
Hades.

An immense crowd was assembled round the gates of the palace on the morn
of the royal departure. With what anxious curiosity did they watch those
huge brazen portals! Every precaution was taken for the accommodation of
the public. The streets were lined with troops of extraordinary stature,
whose nodding plumes prevented the multitude from catching a glimpse of
anything that passed, and who cracked the skulls of the populace with
their scimitars if they attempted in the slightest degree to break the
line. Moreover, there were seats erected which any one might occupy at
a reasonable rate; but the lord steward, who had the disposal of the
tickets, purchased them all for himself, and then resold them to his
fellow-subjects at an enormous price.

At length the hinges of the gigantic portals gave an ominous creak,
and, amid the huzzas of men and the shrieks of women, the procession
commenced.

First came the infernal band. It consisted of five hundred performers,
mounted on different animals. Never was such a melodious blast. Fifty
trumpeters, mounted on zebras of all possible stripes and tints, and
working away at huge ramshorns with their cheeks like pumpkins. Then
there were bassoons mounted on bears, clarionets on camelopards, oboes
on unicorns, and troops of musicians on elephants, playing on real
serpents, whose prismatic bodies indulged in the most extraordinary
convolutions imaginable, and whose arrowy tongues glittered with superb
agitation at the exquisite sounds which they unintentionally delivered.
Animals there were, too, now unknown and forgotten; but I must not
forget the fellow who beat the kettledrums, mounted on an enormous
mammoth, and the din of whose reverberating blows would have deadened
the thunder of Olympus.

This enchanting harmony preceded the regiment of Proserpine's own
guards, glowing in adamantine armour and mounted on coal-black steeds.
Their helmets were quite awful, and surmounted by plumes plucked from
the wings of the Harpies, which were alone enough to terrify an earthly
host. It was droll to observe this troop of gigantic heroes commanded
by infants, who, however, were a