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18 Ap. Ah! you haven't heard him yet talking, as pert and as glib as may be. Why, he wants to run errands for us all! Yesterday, he challenged Cupid to wrestle with him, and tripped up both his legs in some way, and threw him in a second. Then, when we were all applauding him, and Venus was hugging him after his victory, he stole her cestus; and while Jupiter was laughing at that, he was off with his majesty's sceptre. Ay, and if the thunderbolt did not happen to be heavy, and considerably hot withal, he would have stolen that too.

Vul. You make the child out to be a prodigy.

Ap. Not only that—he knows music already.

Vul. How did he find that out?

Ap. He got hold of a dead tortoise somewhere, and made its shell into an instrument: fitted it with pins, and put a bridge to it, and stretched seven strings across it. Then he sang to it,—something really quite pretty, Vulcan, and in good tune: I was absolutely jealous of him, though, as you know, I have practised the lyre some time. Maia declares, too, that he never stays in heaven at night, but goes down into the Shades, out of curiosity—or to steal something there, most likely. He has got wings, too, and has made himself a rod of some miraculous power, by which he guides and conducts the dead below.

Vul. Oh, I gave him that, myself, for a toy.

Ap. So, in return, to show his gratitude, your anvil

Vul. By the by, you remind me. I must go and look if I can find it, as you say, anywhere in his cradle.