hild
Proserpina?"

"Proserpina! Proserpina, did you call her name?" answered Phoebus,
endeavoring to recollect; for there was such a continual flow of
pleasant ideas in his mind, that he was apt to forget what had happened
no longer ago than yesterday. "Ah, yes, I remember her now. A very
lovely child, indeed. I am happy to tell you, my dear madam, that I
did see the little Proserpina not many days ago. You may make yourself
perfectly easy about her. She is safe, and in excellent hands."

"O, where is my dear child?" cried Ceres, clasping her hands, and
flinging herself at his feet.

"Why," said Phoebus--and as he spoke he kept touching his lyre so as to
make a thread of music run in and out among his words--"as the little
damsel was gathering flowers (and she has really a very exquisite taste
for flowers), she was suddenly snatched up by King Pluto, and carried
off to his dominions. I have never been in that part of the universe;
but the royal palace, I am told, is built in a very noble style of
architecture, and of the most splendid and costly materials. Gold,
diamonds, pearls, and all manner of precious stones will be your
daughter's ordinary playthings. I recommend to you, my dear lady, to
give yourself no uneasiness. Proserpina's sense of beauty will be duly
gratified, and even in spite of the lack of sunshine, she will lead a
very enviable life."

"Hush! Say not such a word!" answered Ceres, indignantly. "What is there
to gratify her heart? What are all the splendors you speak of without
affection? I must have her back again. Will you go with me you go with
me, Phoebus, to demand my daughter of this wicked Pluto?"

"Pray excuse me," replied Phoebus, with an elegant obeisance. "I
certainly wish you success, and regret that my own affairs are so
immediately pressing that I cannot have the pleasure of attending you.
Besides, I am not upon the best of terms with King Pluto. To tell you
the truth, his three-headed mastiff would never let me pass the gateway;
for I should be compelled to take a sheaf of sunbeams along with me, and
those, you know, are forbidden things in Pluto's kingdom."

"Ah, Phoebus," said Ceres, with bitter meaning in her words, "you have a
harp instead of a heart. Farewell."

"Will not you stay a moment," asked Phoebus, "and hear me turn the
pretty and touching story of Proserpina into extemporary verses?"

But Ceres shook her head, and hastened away, along with Hecate. Phoebus
(who, as I