sunbeams; his garments were like light summer clouds; and the expression of his face was so exceedingly vivid that Hecate held her hands before her eyes, muttering that he ought to wear a black veil.  Phoebus (for this was the very person whom they were seeking) had a lyre in his hands, and was making its chords tremble with sweet music; at the same time singing a most exquisite song, which he had recently composed.  For, besides a great many other accomplishments, this young man was renowned for his admirable poetry.

As Ceres and her dismal companion approached him, Phoebus smiled on them so cheerfully that Hecate’s wreath of snakes gave a spiteful hiss, and Hecate heartily wished herself back in her cave.  But as for Ceres, she was too earnest in her grief either to know or care whether Phoebus smiled or frowned.

“Phoebus!” exclaimed she, “I am in great trouble, and have come to you for assistance.  Can you tell me what has become of my dear child Proserpina?”

“Proserpina!  Proserpina, did you call her name?” answered Phoebus, endeavouring 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.”

“Oh, 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 splendours you speak of, without affection?  I must have her back again.  Will 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.”