ore so. Well then, the reason; no, the tail.
Stop, now, as a particular favour, pray tell me both. What can the
tail be made of and what can the reason be? I am literally dying of
curiosity.'

'Your Majesty has cut out that peacock wrong,' remarked Ixion. 'It is
more like one of Minerva's owls.'

'Who cares about paper peacocks, when the Queen of Mesopotamia has got
such a miracle!' exclaimed Juno; and she tore the labours of the morning
to pieces, and threw away the fragments with vexation. 'Now tell me
instantly; if you have the slightest regard for me, tell me instantly.
What was the tail made of?'

'And you do not wish to hear the reason?'

'That afterwards. Now! I am all ears.' At this moment Ganymede entered,
and whispered the Goddess, who rose in evident vexation, and retired to
the presence of Jove.

The King of Thessaly quitted the Hall of Music. Moody, yet not
uninfluenced by a degree of wild excitement, he wandered forth into the
gardens of Olympus. He came to a beautiful green retreat surrounded by
enormous cedars, so vast that it seemed they must have been coeval with
the creation; so fresh and brilliant, you would have deemed them wet
with the dew of their first spring. The turf, softer than down, and
exhaling, as you pressed it, an exquisite perfume, invited him to
recline himself upon this natural couch. He threw himself upon the
aromatic herbage, and leaning on his arm, fell into a deep reverie.

Hours flew away; the sunshiny glades that opened in the distance had
softened into shade.

'Ixion, how do you do?' inquired a voice, wild, sweet, and thrilling as
a bird. The King of Thessaly started and looked up with the distracted
air of a man roused from a dream, or from complacent meditation over
some strange, sweet secret. His cheek was flushed, his dark eyes flashed
fire; his brow trembled, his dishevelled hair played in the fitful
breeze. The King of Thessaly looked up, and beheld a most beautiful
youth.

Apparently, he had attained about the age of puberty. His stature,
however, was rather tall for his age, but exquisitely moulded and
proportioned. Very fair, his somewhat round cheeks were tinted with
a rich but delicate glow, like the rose of twilight, and lighted by
dimples that twinkled like stars. His large and deep-blue eyes sparkled
with exultation, and an air of ill-suppressed mockery quivered round
his pouting lips. His light auburn hair, braided off his white forehead,
clustered in