Cha. You know best, Mercury; I'm a perfect stranger here, and know nought about this upper world.
Merc. First, then, we must find some commanding spot, where you can see everything from. If you could have got up into heaven, now, there would have been no trouble—you might see it all from there, as from a watch-tower. However, since your ghostly functions are a bar to your admittance into Jove's dominions, we must look out for a good high mountain.
Cha. You know what I used to say when we were aboard my boat. Whenever the wind took us on the quarter, and the waves rose high, then you, in your ignorance, would be calling to me to shorten sail, or let go the sheet, or run before the wind,—and I always bid you all sit still and hold your tongues—I knew what was best to be done. So now do you just take what course you think best: you are captain now; and I, as all passengers should do, will sit still and do as you tell me.
Merc. Very right. I know the best plan, and I'll soon find a good look-out place. Would Caucasus do? or is Parnassus higher—or Olympus higher still? When I look at Olympus, a bright idea comes into my head; but you must help me, and do your fair share of the work.
Cha. Give your orders—I'll help as far as I can.
Merc. The poet Homer says that the sons of Aloeus—they were but two, and they were only youths—designed once upon a time to wrench up Ossa and put
