cooks, considered nothing fit to eat unless it were rich
pastry, or highly-seasoned meat, or spiced sweet cakes--things

which Proserpina's mother had never given her, and the smell of
which quite took away her appetite, instead of sharpening it.

But my story must now clamber out of King Pluto's dominions,
and see what Mother Ceres had been about, since she was bereft

of her daughter. We had a glimpse of her, as you remember, half
hidden among the waving grain, while the four black steeds were

swiftly whirling along the chariot, in which her beloved
Proserpina was so unwillingly borne away. You recollect, too,

the loud scream which Proserpina gave, just when the chariot
was out of sight.

Of all the child's outcries, this last shriek was the only one
that reached the ears of Mother Ceres. She had mistaken the

rumbling of the chariot wheels for a peal of thunder, and
imagined that a shower was coming up, and that it would assist

her in making the corn grow. But, at the sound of Proserpina's
shriek, she started, and looked about in every direction, not

knowingwhence it came, but feeling almost certain that it was
her daughter's voice. It seemed so unaccountable, however, that

the girl should have strayed over so many lands and seas (which
she herself could not have traversed without the aid of her

wingeddragons), that the good Ceres tried to believe that it
must be the child of some other parent, and not her own darling

Proserpina, who had uttered this lamentable cry. Nevertheless,
it troubled her with a vast many tender fears, such as are

ready to bestir themselves in every mother's heart, when she
finds it necessary to go away from her dear children without

leaving them under the care of some maiden aunt, or other such
faithful guardian. So she quickly left the field in which she

had been so busy; and, as her work was not half done, the grain
looked, next day, as if it needed both sun and rain, and as if

it were blighted in the ear, and had something the matter with
its roots.

The pair of dragons must have had very nimble wings; for, in
less than an hour, Mother Ceres had alighted at the door of her

home, and found it empty. Knowing, however, that the child was
fond of sporting on the sea-shore, she hastened thither as fast

as she could, and there beheld the wet faces of the poor sea
nymphs peeping over a wave. All this while, the good creatures

had been waiting on the bank of sponge, and once, every half
minute or so, had popped up their four heads above water, to

see if their playmate were yet coming back. When they saw
Mother Ceres, they sat down on the crest of the surf wave, and

let it toss them ashore at her feet.
"Where is Proserpina?" cried Ceres. "Where is my child? Tell

me, you naughty sea nymphs, have you enticed her under the
sea?"

"O, no, good Mother Ceres," said the innocent sea nymphs,
tossing back their green ringlets, and looking her in the face.

"We never should dream of such a thing. Proserpina has been at
play with us, it is true; but she left us a long while ago,

meaning only to run a little way upon the dry land, and gather
some flowers for a wreath. This was early in the day, and we

have seen nothing of her since."
Ceres scarcely waited to hear what the nymphs had to say,

before she hurried off to make inquiries all through the
neighborhood. But nobody told her anything that would enable

the poor mother to guess what had become of Proserpina. A
fisherman, it is true, had noticed her little footprints in the

sand, as he went homeward along the beach with a basket of
fish; a rustic had seen the child stooping to gather flowers;

several persons had heard either the rattling of chariot
wheels, or the rumbling of distant thunder; and one old woman,

while plucking vervain and catnip, had heard a scream, but
supposed it to be some childishnonsense, and therefore did not

take the trouble to look up. The stupid people! It took them
such a tedious while to tell the nothing that they knew, that

it was dark night before Mother Ceres found out that she must
seek her daughter elsewhere. So she lighted a torch, and set

forth, resolving never to come back until Proserpina was
discovered.

In her haste and trouble of mind, she quite forgot her car and
the wingeddragons; or, it may be, she thought that she could

follow up the search more thoroughly on foot. At all events,
this was the way in which she began her sorrowful journey,

holding her torch before her, and looking carefully at every
object along the path. And as it happened, she had not gone far

before she found one of the magnificent flowers which grew on
the shrub that Proserpina had pulled up.

"Ha!" thought Mother Ceres, examining it by torchlight. "Here
is mischief in this flower! The earth did not produce it by any

help of mine, nor of its own accord. It is the work of
enchantment, and is thereforepoisonous; and perhaps it has

poisoned my poor child."
But she put the poisonous flower in her bosom, not knowing

whether she might ever find any other memorial of Proserpina.
All night long, at the door of every cottage and farm-house,

Ceres knocked, and called up the weary laborers to inquire if
they had seen her child; and they stood, gaping and half-

asleep, at the threshold, and answered her pityingly, and
besought her to come in and rest. At the portal of every

palace, too, she made so loud a summons that the menials
hurried to throw open the gate, thinking that it must be some

great king or queen, who would demand a banquet for supper and
a statelychamber to repose in. And when they saw only a sad

and anxious woman, with a torch in her hand and a wreath of
withered poppies on her head, they spoke rudely, and sometimes

threatened to set the dogs upon her. But nobody had seen
Proserpina, nor could give Mother Ceres the least hint which

way to seek her. Thus passed the night; and still she continued
her search without sitting down to rest, or stopping to take

food, or even remembering to put out the torch although first
the rosy dawn, and then the glad light of the morning sun, made

its red flame look thin and pale. But I wonder what sort of
stuff this torch was made of; for it burned dimly through the

day, and, at night, was as bright as ever, and never was
extinguished by the rain or wind, in all the weary days and

nights while Ceres was seeking for Proserpina.
It was not merely of human beings that she asked tidings of her

daughter. In the woods and by the streams, she met creatures of
another nature, who used, in those old times, to haunt the

pleasant and solitary places, and were very sociable with
persons who understood their language and customs, as Mother

Ceres did. Sometimes, for instance, she tapped with her finger
against the knotted trunk of a majestic oak; and immediately

its rude bark would cleaveasunder, and forth would step a
beautiful maiden, who was the hamadryad of the oak, dwelling

inside of it, and sharing its long life, and rejoicing when its
green leaves sported with the breeze. But not one of these

leafy damsels had seen Proserpina. Then, going a little
farther, Ceres would, perhaps, come to a fountain, gushing out

of a pebbly hollow in the earth, and would dabble with her hand
in the water. Behold, up through its sandy and pebbly bed,

along with the fountain's gush, a young woman with dripping
hair would arise, and stand gazing at Mother Ceres, half out of

the water, and undulating up and down with its ever- restless
motion. But when the mother asked whether her poor lost child

had stopped to drink out of the fountain, the naiad, with
weeping eyes (for these water-nymphs had tears to spare for

everybody's grief, would answer "No!" in a murmuring voice,
which was just like the murmur of the stream.