There was a set piece representing Ixion crushed by the thunderbolts of Jupiter; and I heard a gentleman explaining it to his family, while he supported his wife and held up his little girl, who shrieked at every explosion. "Who's that tall man in a red cloak riding horseback on a bird?" inquired the child. "That's Jupiter, my dear, on a bird-of-paradise." "And what's that stick he's shaking in his hand?" "That's his thunderbolt to whip men who aren't good." "Oh! yes; like my school teacher's switch." "Who was this Ixion, my dear?" queried his better half. "A Roman, I believe. Wait and let me think. Oh, yes! he's the one that wanted to drive Jupiter's chariot. He'll be struck by lightning, as you'll see." "What does that mean, my dear?" "That means that he'll be thrown into that big hole, which is hell, and once there----" "Oh, yes! I understand; then he'll be struck by lightning; quite right, too." "Oh! oh! oh! I'm afraid!" cried a little boy, who had hidden under the chairs. "Hush, Octave! if you squirm so, you'll make us fall. I won't bring you to Tivoli again; you're too big a coward. For shame! a big boy, nine years old, who plays with my national guardsman's cap all day long, and don't dare to look at a rocket!" At that moment a mortar burst with a great noise, and Octave gave a leap which overturned his mother's chair; she fell, dragging with her her husband and daughter, the latter of whom tried to save herself by clinging to a gentleman's coat; which coat, being decidedly old, could not stand the strain; the skirt remained in the child's hand, and the owner began to shout _thief_! thinking that somebody had stolen his handkerchief, and unable to find even his pocket. At the same instant there was a more deafening and more prolonged report; innumerable bursts of flame darted in all directions, twisting and writhing like serpents, dazzling the eye and filling the garden momentarily with a magical, supernatural brilliancy, as if the whole expanse were on fire; but the noise, the glare, and the false daylight lasted but a moment; a few rocket sticks, cartridges, and the débris of bombs fell in the garden, and in many instances upon the sightseers, spreading terror and confusion among them. I saw one lady whose hat was burned, another whose shawl was riddled with little holes made by the sparks from a rocket; and it seemed to me that that was paying rather dear for the pleasure of witnessing a display of fireworks. I turned away, well pleased not to have received a splash from the pyrotechnic drama, but greatly surprised that I had not seen my neighbor Raymond in some transparency; for, having lost sight of him among the preparations for the display, I expected to see him appear during the final discharge.