IT WAS clearly a runaway match--never indeed was such a sublime elopement. The four horses were coal-black, with blood-red manes and tails; and they were shod with rubies. They were harnessed to a basaltic car by a single rein of flame. Waving his double-pronged trident in the air, the god struck the blue breast of Cyane, and the waters instantly parted. In rushed the wild chariot, the pale and insensible Proserpine clinging to the breast of her grim lover. Through the depths of the hitherto unfathomed lake the infernal steeds held their breathless course. The car jolted against its bed. ‘Save me!’ exclaimed the future Queen of Hades, and she clung with renewed energy to the bosom of the da…
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