‘What do you think, Manto?’ said Proserpine, as that lady entered the cabin; ‘we propose paying a visit to Saturn. He has fixed his residence, you know, in these regions of twilight.’
‘I love a junket,’ replied Manto, ‘above all things. And, indeed, I was half frightened out of my wits at the bare idea of toiling over this desert. All is prepared, please your Majesty, for our landing. Your Majesty’s litter is quite ready.’
‘‘Tis well,’ said Proserpine; and leaning on the arm of Manto, the Queen came upon deck, and surveyed the surrounding country, a vast grey flat, with a cloudless sky of the same tint: in the distance some lowering shadows, which seemed like clouds but were in fact mountains.
‘Some half-dozen hours,’ said Tiresias, ‘will bring us to the palace of Saturn. We shall arrive for dinner; the right hour. Let me recommend your Majesty to order the curtains of your litter to be drawn, and, if possible, to resume your dreams.’
‘They were not pleasant,’ said Proserpine, ‘I dreamt of my mother and the Parcæ. Manto, methinks I’ll read. Hast thou some book?’
‘Here is a poem, Madam, but I fear it may induce those very slumbers you dread.’
‘How call you it?’
‘“The Pleasures of Oblivion.” The poet apparently is fond of his subject.’
‘And is, I have no doubt, equal to it. Hast any prose?’
‘An historical novel or so.’