sunniest spot in the whole
world. There they beheld a beautiful young man, with long, curling
ringlets, which seemed to be made of golden 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 en