itions; but her discourse was like the song of a swan, as
if she were about to take leave of the world. She remained with her
beloved family till the morning-star arose; she then embraced her
husband and children with melancholy tenderness, retired to her tree as
usual, at day-break, through a secret door, and left them all to the
most melancholy forebodings.

Nature was in breathless silence as the sun rose; but his beaming head
was soon obscured by dark heavy clouds. It was a sultry day; the whole
atmosphere was electrical. Distant thunders rolled along over the
wood, and echo, with a hundred voices, repeated the fearful sound in
the winding valleys. At noon, a forked flash of lightning darted down
upon the oak, and shattered root and branches in one moment, with
resistless force, so that the fragments lay scattered far and wide in
the forest. When this was told to Crocus, he rent his clothes, and
went out with his daughters to mourn over his wife's tree of life, and
to collect and preserve the splinters as precious relics. The elf was
no more to be seen from that day.

After some years, the tender girls grew up, their virgin form bloomed
as a rose starting from the bud, and the fame of their beauty was
spread all over the country. The noblest youths among the people came
forward, and had all sorts of petitions to lay before Father Crocus,
and ask his advice. In truth this was but a pretext, that they might
ogle the lovely girls, as young fellows often feign some business with
the fathers, if they wish to coax the daughters. The three daughters
lived together in great ease and concord, little aware of their own
talents. The gift of prophecy was possessed by them all in equal
degree, and their discourses were oracles without their knowing it.
Soon, however, their vanity was excited by the voice of flattery, the
word-catchers snapped up every sound from their lips, the Seladons
interpreted every gesture, traced the slightest smile, watched the
glance of their eyes, drawing from them indications more or less
favourable, fancied they would thence gather their destinies, and from
that time it has been the custom among lovers to question the good or
bad star of love in the horoscope of the eyes. Scarcely had vanity
insinuated itself into the virgin heart, than pride was at the door
with all the rabble of his train,--self-love, self-praise, obstinacy,
selfishness, and all these stole in together. The elder siste