"Fatal ?"

66. A

tified pride, and of his extraordinary generosity, was the uppermost feeling in her mind; and this led her to be piqued rather than angry. Luckily, she bethought herself of offering him the hospitality of the house, which helped to divert her confusion. The milk and fruit were brought out; and he tasted them, more, it seemed, out of politeness, than for want of refreshment. Procris cast her eyes, first up the hill, and then at the fawns. She wondered whether the fawns and car would follow the other presents; but upon the whole concluded they would not, unless the traveller meant to stop, which was impossible; at least in that house. She made up her mind therefore to be very angry in case he should offer the fawns; when he interrupted any farther reflections. "Those fawns," said he, 66 came into my possession in a remarkable manner. They are fatal." echoed Procris. "Not in a bad sense," returned the stranger, smiling: I am destined to present them to some fair one, (I know not who she is), who shall honour me with the privileges of a husband, and who is to be fairer than the Goddess that gave them me." strange impossible condition," said Procris; "but who, pray was the Goddess?"" Aurora."-The beautiful wife of Cephalus smiled victoriously at the mention of that name. She had already triumphed over the divinity, and thought that this new test of superiority was scarcely necessary. The Phoenician, upon seeing her turn of countenance, added significantly; " I saw her just now, and must confess that it will take something very extraordinary to surpass her; but I do not conceive it actually impossible." Procris longed to tell him of Aurora's unsuccessful passion for Cephalus. She asked how long it was, since he had seen the Goddess. I saw her but now," said the stranger: "she was conversing in the forest here." "Do you know with whom?" asked Procris. "Oh yes; it was your husband: and this reminds me, that he told me to beg you not to be alarmed, but' he should not return till night-fall." Not till night-fall?" half murmured and half enquired the fair conqueror of Aurora.-Now this was wrong in Cephalus. He was led into the mention of his interview with Aurora by it's being actually the case; but he need not have gone so far with the lesson she had taught him. We blush to say that it succeeded but too well. There is no necessity to pursue the detail farther. Towards night-fall Procris gave anxious looks up the hill, and hoped (which was kind of her) that her husband might receive great pleasure from the present she intended to make him of the fawns. "I think he is coming down the hill," said she. "No," said the stranger. "How can you tell," returned Procris, "with your face turned from the window?" "Look at me," replied he, "and you will know." Procris turned quickly, and looked him in the face. It was Cephalus himself. Astonishment, fear, shame, and a sense of the triumphant artifice of the Goddess, fell upon her at once. She uttered a loud shriek; and tearing her vest from her husband's grasp, darted off into the woods.

Cephalus, in his chariot of fawns, sought her a hundred ways in vain. He was at once angry and sorry: and Aurora found that her artifice had been of no use. She hoped however that time, and the

absence of his wife, would mollify him; and in the meanwhile, secing how sullenly he turned aside whenever she ventured to become manifest, she tried to humble him a little. His skill became less supereminent in the chace. Other dogs ran faster than his; and other' lances took truer aim. The gloom of the forest was still enlightened for him, because she did not wish to let him know how she was trying him; but the name of Cephalus suffered in it's reputation. People began to say that Phalerus was as good as he.

He was sitting at home one evening in a melancholy manner, after an unsuccessful day's sport, when a beautiful female with a dog appeared at the door, and begged permission to rest herself.

The faintness of her voice interested our suffering huntsman. He brought her in with great kindness, set refreshments before her, and could not help gazing with admiration on her lovely face, which covered with blushes, looked with a particularly melancholy expression on the fruits and the bowls of cream. He thought he distressed her, and began playing in a negligent manner with the dog. The animal, at a slight snap of his fingers, darted up on his legs like lightning, and stood panting and looking eagerly towards the door. Cephalus had the finest dogs in Thessaly, yet he doubted whether this was not finer than any of them. He looked at the female, and now saw that she was huskined up like a nymph of the chace. The truth flashes upon me," thought he; "this is a fugitive nymph of Diana. Her buskins and her blushes tell her whole story." The fair stranger seemed first oppressed, and then relieved by his gaze. 66 You guess," ," said she," but too well, I fear, what has put me upon your kind hospitality. But the other sex, especially where they are of the best natures, will be too kind to betray me. I have indeed fled from the company of Diana, having been first left myself by a River-God, who"-She blushed, and was silent. "And this dog?" enquired Cephalus, after reassuring her. "It was my favourite dog in the chace," said she; now my faithful companion in flight. Poor Lailaps!"" And the dog, forgetting his vivacity in an instant, came and lay at his mistress's feet, as if he would have wound about them. They were very beautiful feet. "The River-God doubtless admired them," thought Cephalus. But there was a something in her face more touching than all the shapeliness in the world. It was a mixture of the pensive and the pleasurable, which seemed to say that if she had no cause for trouble, she would have been all tender vivacity. "And whither are you going, fairest ?" asked Cephalus. "To Cyprus."-" To the temple of Venus?""To the temple of Venus:" replied the beautiful stranger, dropping her words and face as she spoke. "I have made a new vow, whicha new vow." And blushing more deeply, she was again silent."Which she shall be able to keep better then the last," thought Cephalus. She sat in a simple posture, her back gently bending, her knees together, her rosy face and languid eyes looking down sideways between her dark heavy curls. She moved the fingers of her right hand towards the dog, as if suapping them; but it was done faintly, and evidently only to do something. Cephalus thought she had a look of Procris; and he did not pity her the less for that. "But what

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are you to do with this dog?" This, it seemed, was a very perplexing question. It was a long time before Cephalus could get an answer; but he was so kind and importunate, and really, with all his love of hunting, appeared to be so much more interested in the nymph than her companion, that at length he did obtain a sort of understanding on the subject. It was necessary to make a renouncement of something highly valued by the possessor, before a new devotee could enter

on the service of Venus. The renouncement was to be made to one of the other sex; and Cephalus, partly out of curiosity, partly out of vanity, partly out of self-interest, and not a little out of an interest of a better sort, contrived to discover, that it would be made, with no prodigious unwillingness, to himself. "Lailaps," said he. The dog started towards him, as if he knew his future master. The lady gave a gentle laugh, and seemed much happier. The supper, that evening, was upon a much easier footing than the luncheon. The next morning, on waking, Cephalus, saw the face of Procris hanging over him. He would have been more astonished had he not remem. bered his own transformation. But he was nevertheless quite enough Procris shook her head at him archly; then kissed him kindly; then burst into tears; then declared herself happy and forgiving, as well as forgiven; and neither of them ever passed a happier day in their lives.

So.

Pro

Procris's account of herself was partly true. Our informant* does not account for a proceeding which certainly requires some explanation; but she l:ad really gone to the haunts of Diana, whose reception of her, though a huntress, was what might have been expected. She begged her, in very explicit terms, to withdraw. cris, however, though she could obtain no sympathy purely on her own account, contrived to waken an interest in the bosom of the divine virgin by telling her of the trick played by Cephalus and Aurora. This she thought abominable. She therefore wrought a counter-change in the appearance of Procris; and giving her a hound out of her own pack, sent her to practise artifice for artifice. She regretted afterwards the having consented to interfere at all in such matters; but the impulse had engaged her to commit herself; and she was too proud and stately to recall what she had done. Procris told all to her husband; and the goddess was little aware how they enjoyed the kind result of her anger, at the expense of her dignity.

It is on record, that our married couple were never so fond of each other, or so contented, as now. Procris, in the gratitude of her joy, was not disposed even to quarrel with Aurora, whom her husband no doubt saw occasionally. But it is not known whether he was kinder to her than before. Procris was inclined to think not, as he said. nothing about it; so certain she had become of his confidence. As to Cephalus, the praises of his wife by his fellow-huntsmen gave him great pleasure, now that he was sure of her loving him unrestrictedly.

What a pity that such a happy state of things was not to last! But Procris had early been taught jealousy. She had even identified it

* Hyginus Fabularum Liber. Cap. 189.

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with a virtue; and by degrees, as little fits of ill temper were exchanged, and she began to think less kindly of herself, she began to be uneasy about others. Unfortunately for this return of her complaint, a little anxious busy-body, whom she had been accustomed to treat with contemptuous indifference, perhaps to shew it too much, came and said to her one day, that as she knew she should not be mortifying her with such petty matters, she might tell her, as a piece of news, that Cephalus was passionately and notoriously in love with a beautiful nymph of the name of Aura. Aurora, you mean,' said Procris, scornfully. "No, no," said the little snappish voice; Aura, Aura :-I know it well enough; all Athens knows it, or else I should not have repeated it. I am no tale-bearer; but I hate to see a man pretending to be what he is not." "Cephalus pretends nothing," said Procris. "Oh-of course," said the gossip; and mighty useful it is to him no doubt, to be so wanting in pretence. But my maxim is, Be decent enough, at least, to appear virtuous." "Yes," thought Procris, "and your whole life would be an exemplification of it, if you could hold your tongue." But the blow was struck. She despised the scandal, while she became it's victim.

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Procris, who was on a visit with Cephalus to her father, had heard of a spot, in which he reposed himself every day after the chace. Here, it was added, the lady as regularly met him. He was even so impatient for her sight, that if she delayed a minute beyond the usual time, he called upon her aloud, in the fondest manner. Come, come, sweet Aura," said he, "and cool this glow in my bosom."

Now his delight in the new spot, and the invocation also, were both very true; only the informant forget to mention, and Procris to remember, that although Aura was the name of a female, it also signified the fresh air.

One day, Cephalus went as usual into his favourite haunt, to enjoy it's freshness, verdure, and seclusion. The place has been very prettily described by Ovid.

Est prope purpureos colles florentis Hymetti

Fons sacer, et viridi cespite mollis humus.

Sylva nemus non alta facit: tegit arbutus herbam.:
Ros maris, et lauri, nigraque myrtus olent.
Nec densæ foliis buxi, fragilesque myricm,
Nec tenues cytisi, cultaque pinus abest.
Lenibus impulse Zephyris, auraque salubri,
Tot generum frondes, herbaque summa tremunt.

Art. Amat. Lib. III. v. 687.

Close by the flowery purple hill
Hymettus, may be found

A sacred fountain, and a plot
Of

green and lovely ground.

'Tis in a copse. The strawberry
Grows blushing through the grass;

And myrtle, rosemary, and bay
Quite perfume all the place.

Nor is the tamarisk wanting there;
Nor clumps of leafy box;

Nor slender cytisus; nor yet

The pine with it's proud locks.

1

Touched by the zephyrs and sweet airs,
Which there in balm assemble,
This little world of leaves, and all
The tops of the grass tremble.

Cephalus lay upon a slope of the velvet ground, his hands behind his head, and his face towards the balmy heaven. Ile little thought that Procris was near. She was lurking close to him behind some boxtrees. She listened. There was not a sound, but that of the fountain, the noise of whose splashes was softened by the trees that half encircled it. She listened again, thinking she heard her husband speak. It was only the fervid bees, buzzing along from Hymettus, and murmuring as if disdainfully in her ear. A variety of feelings agitate her. Now she is sorry that she came, and would have given any thing to be back again. Now she longs to know who her rival is. Now she is sorry again, and feels that her conduct is unworthy, let her husband's be what it may. Now she reassures herself, and thinks that he should have at least been ingenuous. Jealousy and curiosity prevail, and she still looks and listens. The air seems more then usually quiet; and the bees worry her with their officious humming. Cephalus leaps up, and plays idly with his javelin. Still nothing is said. Nobody appears. She expects the lady every minute to issue from the trees; and thinks how she shall confound her. But no one comes. At last, her husband speaks. She parts the box-trees a little more, to listen the keener. Come, gentle Aura," cried he, as if in a tone of reproach: Come, and breathe refreshment upon me:-thou scarcely stirrest the poplars to day." Procris leaped up in an extacy of delight and remorse, and began tearing back the boughs to go to her hushand. He starts up. Ile thinks it a deer hampered in the thicket, and raises his javelin to dart it. Forbear, forbear, miserable man: it is thy more miserable wife! Alas! the javelin is thrown, and the wife pierced. Upon coming up to secure his prey, he finds, with a dumb despair, that it is Procris dying. She does not reproach him. She reproaches only herself. "Forgive me," said she, "dear Cephalus," pressing her cheek against his: "I was made wise in vain once, and I am now wise again too late. Forgive my poor jealous heart, and bless me. It weeps blood for it's folly." And as she spoke, she sobbed aloud; and the pen:tent tears gushed away, as if to emulate the gushing of her heart. Cephalus, bewildered and agonized, uttered what kind and remorseful words his lips could frame, pressing her all the while gently to his heart. He saw that the wound was mortal, and it was quickly so. Her eyes faded away while looking at him; but opening her lips, she still made a yearning movement of them towards his. It reminded him of paying that affectionate office to the departing spirit; and stooping with a face washed in tears, he put his mouth upon her's, and received at once her last kiss and breath.

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