ce, who was following him. Past Lethe, across the Styx they went, he
and his lovely wife, still silent as a shade. But the place was full of
gloom, the silence weighed upon him, he had not seen her for so long; her
footsteps made no sound; and he could hardly believe the miracle, for
Pluto seldom relents. When the first gleam of upper daylight broke through
the cleft to the dismal world, he forgot all, save that he must know if
she still followed. He turned to see her face, and the promise was broken!

She smiled at him forgivingly, but it was too late. He stretched out his
arms to take her, but she faded from them, as the bright snow, that none
may keep, melts in our very hands. A murmur of farewell came to his
ears,--no more. She was gone.

He would have followed, but Charon, now on guard, drove him back. Seven
days he lingered there between the worlds of life and death, but after the
broken promise Hades would not listen to his song. Back to the earth he
wandered, though it was sweet to him no longer. He died young, singing to
the last, and round about the place where his body rested, nightingales
nested in the trees. His lyre was set among the stars; and he himself went
down to join Eurydice, unforbidden.

Those two had no need of Lethe, for their life on earth had been wholly
fair, and now that they are together they no longer own a sorrow.

ICARUS AND DAEDALUS

By Josephine Preston Peabody

Among all those mortals who grew so wise that they learned the secrets of
the gods, none was more cunning than Daedalus.

He once built, for King Minos of Crete, a wonderful Labyrinth of winding
ways so cunningly tangled up and twisted around that, once inside, you
could never find your way out again without a magic clue. But the king's
favor veered with the wind, and one day he had his master architect
imprisoned in a tower. Daedalus managed to escape from his cell; but it
seemed impossible to leave the island, since every ship that came or went
was well guarded by order of the king.

At length, watching the sea-gulls in the air,--the only creatures that
were sure of liberty,--he thought of a plan for himself and his young son
Icarus, who was captive with him.

Little by little, he gathered a store of feathers great and small. He
fastened these together with thread, moulded them in with wax, and so
fashioned two great wings like those of a bird. When they were done,
Daedalus fitted them to his own shoulders, a