h would have
been of inestimable value above ground, but which were here reckoned of
the meaner sort, and hardly worth a beggar's stooping for.

Not far from the gateway, they came to a bridge, which seemed to be built
of iron. Pluto stopped the chariot, and bade Proserpina look at the stream
which was gliding so lazily beneath it. Never in her life had she beheld
so torpid, so black, so muddy-looking a stream: its waters reflected no
images of anything that was on the banks, and it moved as sluggishly as if
it had quite forgotten which way it ought to flow, and had rather stagnate
than flow either one way or the other.

"This is the river Lethe," observed King Pluto. "Is it not a very pleasant
stream?" "I think it a very dismal one," said Proserpina. "It suits my
taste, however," answered Pluto, who was apt to be sullen when anybody
disagreed with him. "At all events, its water has one very excellent
quality; for a single draught of it makes people forget every care and
sorrow that has hitherto tormented them. Only sip a little of it, my dear
Proserpina, and you will instantly cease to grieve for your mother, and
will have nothing in your memory that can prevent your being perfectly
happy in my palace. I will send for some, in a golden goblet, the moment
we arrive."

"Oh, no, no, no!" cried Proserpina, weeping afresh. "I had a thousand
times rather be miserable with remembering my mother than be happy in
forgetting her. That dear, dear mother! I never, never will forget her."

"We shall see," said King Pluto. "You do not know what fine times we will
have in my palace. Here we are just at the portal. These pillars are solid
gold, I assure you."

He alighted from the chariot, and taking Proserpina in his arms, carried
her up a lofty flight of steps into the great hall of the palace. It was
splendidly illuminated by means of large precious stones, of various hues,
which seemed to burn like so many lamps, and glowed with a hundred-fold
radiance all through the vast apartment. And yet there was a kind of gloom
in the midst of this enchanted light; nor was there a single object in the
hall that was really agreeable to behold, except the little Proserpina
herself, a lovely child, with one earthly flower which she had not let
fall from her hand. It is my opinion that even King Pluto had never been
happy in his palace, and that this was the true reason why he had stolen
away Proserpina, in order that he might have something