been mentioned, a pig or sow; not because she had any abstract fondness for pork, but rather because piggy was one of her enemies, delighting in rooting up the young corn in order to partake of its tender shoots, an action peculiarly insulting to her under whose charge the corn was placed.

Once upon a time, the inhabitants of the earth were placed in a sad dilemma by Ceres suspending for a time her usual fostering care over the products of the soil. The cause of this temporary desertion we propose to narrate, though at the risk of telling an oft-told tale. Ceres was the happy mother of one of the most beautiful maidens that ever existed, whom she loved with an affection so ardent that words cannot be found to express its intensity. Her daughter's name was Proserpine. Sicily was the favoured residence of the loving parent and child, and they led a happy and peaceful life in its lovely meads and shady groves, disporting themselves merrily by its limpid streams and purling brooks. But, alas! their happiness was too great to last. The three great potentates then ruling the world were Jupiter, the king of heaven, who was the father of Proserpine, Neptune, the monarch of the ocean, and Pluto, the ruler of the infernal regions. The latter had seen with longing eyes the beauty of the daughter of Ceres, and was only waiting for a suitable opportunity to take her away forcibly to his kingdom.

Whilst Ceres had one day gone to visit some of her celestial acquaintances, Proserpine, accompanied by her attendants, sallied forth into the fields to enjoy the beauties of nature. It was the time of year when the earth is bespangled with the finest flowers, and by mutual agreement the whole company commenced culling nosegays of different kinds. Some had their laps full of roses; others placed in baskets the snowy lily, and others again gathered sweet-smelling herbs. In the pursuit of their peculiar choice they became separated from each other, without perceiving it, so much was their attention confined to the objects of their search. But Pluto had been an unnoticed observer of the scene. Watching Proserpine till she was both of sight and hearing of her companions, he seized the opportunity, and carried her off, despite her cries and entreaties. A cavity opened in the ground, and Proserpine was borne off from the earth, shrieking and calling upon her mother for help.

When the maidens returned home, laden with their flowery spoils, Proserpine was nowhere to be found. Her mother was plunged into the deepest despair upon the discovery of her loss. The fields were searched, the woods were examined, but no traces could be found of the missing one. In vain did the agonized Ceres call upon her to return; in vain did she mourn and bewail her own hard lot. There was nothing by which she could gain a clue to her daughter's fate, and she forthwith started on an expedition in search of her lost darling. The mere recital of the names of the places she visited in hopes of finding her would occupy great part of a page, and we must content ourselves by stating that she still continued unsuccessful, and

ceased not to fill every place she went to with her mournful plaints. In the course of her wanderings, she came to Greece, and there sat down for the first time. Whilst sitting on a rock, an old rustic, who was gathering wood, and other articles for domestic use, came towards the goddess. He was accompanied by his daughter, a little child who tended two goats, and who, seeing Ceres, asked her how she came alone in so solitary and remote a place. The old man, ignorant of the exalted rank of the goddess, and believing her to be what she appeared-an old woman, feeble and fatigued-he invited her to his humble cottage, and notwithstanding her refusal, pressed her to accept his hospitable offer. Bursting into tears, and telling him that she was in search of a lost daughter, though not mentioning who she was, she consented to go to his home, whither the shepherd accompanied her, endeavouring on the way to soothe her grief.

And now the benevolence of Ceres found scope to display itself. On arriving at the lowly dwelling, she found a poor little boy, the brother of the little girl above mentioned, in a state closely bordering upon death. Leaning over the child, and placing her mouth to his lips, a sudden change came over the invalid. The deadly paleness which had before covered his cheeks, gave place to the roscate hue of health, and the limbs which had been powerless, received a strength they had never before possessed. All the family joyfully expressed their thanks to Ceres for her miraculous cure of the boy. A table was spread, and the visitor desired to partake of the rustic dainties spread thereon.

Yet this was not all which Ceres purposed doing for the boy. So grateful did she feel for the kindness and sympathy which had been shown her, that she intended to make the child whom she had healed immortal. For this purpose, she administered a narcotic which caused him to sleep very soundly during the night, and she placed him over a fire, by which singular process the earthly impurities were supposed to be eliminated, and the body made more suitable for a celestial life. During this operation, she practised certain incantations unknown to human beings. Unhappily, one night, when performing this ceremony, the mother of the boy awoke, and perceiving what Ceres was doing, shrieked out, and attempted to rescue her son from the hands of the goddess. By this unfortunate intrusion, the spell was broken, the child was burned to death, and his friend and patroness, disclosing her true character, was borne away from the sight of Metanira, the wife of the rustic, into the clouds, on a chariot drawn by dragons. Another version of the story is, that Triptolemus, the sick boy, was not destroyed by fire, but that Ceres, frustrated in her design of rendering him immortal, taught him various matters by which he was able to improve greatly the science of agriculture.

After this incident, Ceres continued her journey, but still her efforts to find her daughter were fruitless, until, by means of the nymph Arethusa, she learned that it was Pluto who was the culprit. Upon hearing this knowing it was useless to request the restoration of

N. S. VOL. XXXVI.

U

Proserpine without some powerful assistance--she immediately went to Jupiter, who was the father of Proserpine. Pouring forth her griefs to him, she narrated how cruelly she had been treated, and the sufferings she had undergone in the vain search for her child. She invoked his aid, and reminded him that, as the father of Proserpine, he ought to feel as much interest in the cause as herself. But Jupiter did not see the matter in the same light. Pluto, he said, was a very important personage: he held a station as great almost as his own, and he himself did not consider that the match would be at all an unequal one. Still, yielding to the passionate entreaties of Ceres, he decreed that, if Proserpine during her stay in the lower regions had not tasted food of any kind, she should be released, and restored to her mother's arms; but if she had indulged in eating, even in the slightest degree, she must remain the consort of Pluto.

Mercury was immediately despatched to Tartarus, to ascertain the real state of the case. It appeared highly probable that she would be released, when Ascalaphus, a prying fellow appointed by Pluto to watch over the actions of Proserpine, gave information that he had seen her gather a pomegranate, and eat its seeds. This destroyed the hopes of Ceres, but her daughter was so incensed at the conduct of Ascalaphus, that she transformed him into an owl, under which form he spent the rest of his life. Yet Ceres determined once more to try her power over Jupiter, and accordingly overwhelmed him with reproaches and supplications. She threatened to leave the earth, and reside entirely in the infernal regions, that she might there enjoy the society of her beloved daughter. Wearied by her pertinacity, and desirous to prevent the departure of Ceres from the earth, by which all agricultural operations would be stopped, and the ground fall out of cultivation, he effected a compromise, by which it was agreed that Proserpine should spend one half of the year with Pluto, and the remainder with her mother.

The goddess consented. The thought of once more seeing her offspring, consoled her in her affliction. The earth, which during her travels after Proserpine had become barren and unproductive, once more received her care and protection, and brought forth those products which we call after her "cereal," gladdening the souls of both rustic and townsman, and causing them to offer up their thanks with willing hearts to her whom they believed to be the beneficent donor of them.

LUCY.

FROM UNCLE TOM'S CABIN.

SHE sat upon the open deck,
Beneath the moonlight pale:

Her head was bare-her dishevelled hair
Was tossed in the evening gale;

And oft there fell on that mother's ear,
The sound of her infant's wail.
She gazed upon the dark'ning sea,
With fixed, but tearless eyes;

For not less keen is the grief I ween,
Which calm on the surface lies;

And thoughts of home and her husband's love,
Deadened her infant's cries.

For she that morn had looked her last

On him than life more dear.

The slaver smiled at her anguish wild,
And gibed at her parting tear;

Nor dreamt the change which he marked with glee,
Was wrought by despair and fear.

A man who dealt in human blood,
Marked where the infant lay,

A sum he gave for the sleeping babe,
""Twere folly to say him nay;'

So the slaver thought, as the hardened wretch,
Bore the helpless boy away.

At length the mother slowly rose,

And sought the sheltered spot,

Where her boy had lain, but she sought in vain
For her treasure, and found him not;
And wild despair filled her inmost soul,
As she guessed at the sinful plot.
The slaver strove her grief to calm,
And shunned her piercing eye,

As she bade him say where her infant lay,
As he hoped for peace on high;
But when he told her child was gone,
She turned away with a sigh.

She stood upon the vessel's brink,

No arm was there to save,

Then sprang from the height, like a bird in its flight, And sank 'neath the moonlit wave;

To hide her grief and her broken heart,

In the silence of the grave.

But He who died for bond and free,

Looked downward from on high,

He stooped to save the soul of the slave,
And bore it beyond the sky:

Where grief and wrong are alike unknown,
And tearless is every eye.

A. A. J.

148

THE APRIL FOOL.

APRIL is the time for waggery-King Stulto hath taken his place: he is seated on his throne of log-wood; his toe is on his goose, and. Tomfoolery is now paramount.

Your fool is truly of a most ancient house. There is not a name of any note within the circumbelt of our English seas-nay, nor elsewhere which may not claim the head of the asinine brute in its heraldic insignia. The ass may be quartered by the noblest of our old English kings-the high-mettled Plantagenets. I never dream of the Tudors' shield without observing a fat goose proper emblazoned therein; the Bourbon stock is proverbially prolific of fools without alloy; and there are heads very innocent of pith-of brains-in the princely house of Hanover. There have been wiser men than the second George. I speak no treason here-the Queen dominant of the day I love.

It is most pleasant to me to recollect the first confessed fool I ever beheld. He was the poetry of an itinerant squad of mountebank equestrians. I saw him indulge in his merry freaks among the green dewy knolls and verdant shades of the handsomest village in the world, on a merry spring-time morning. I was then an unbreeched urchin. At that time, O Punch! thou most conceited, careless, merry, anacreontic, amatorial blockhead! thou pigmy Falstaff of these degenerate days! thou hadst never visited the glimpses of these eyes; I knew nothing-I had conceived nothing of thy infinite drollerics; thy rough, good-humoured, martial waggeries; thy ludicrous patience under broomstick buffettings: thine eternally merry, Momus-fashioned face; thy thin, elderly, old-boyish legs; thy cheek wrinkled with eternal smiles; thy wife, thy baton, or thy gallows; all these were matters of which I was utterly ignorant when I first gazed upon the mountebank fool. By this hand, I thought he was a creature of some other element. If any charitable soul had told me he was a grandson of the man in the moon, who had wandered earthward, and subjected himself to the tyrannical dominion of that mighty magician, the master of the mountebanks, I should have given him credence. He seemed to be a beast, endowed with no reason, but immense waggery- -a droll creation--a vagary of nature-some emigrant from the land of elfs.

The next day he was pointed out to me in a dirty jacket and ragged corduroys.

I wished the gentleman with black Pluto, or elsewhere, for his goodnatured but evil-working information. The fool—the enigma -the mysterious creature who had delighted, puzzled, and almost terrified me, appeared to be a mere man. He was putting up a pole with the master who had whipped him; they were hail-fellow-well