winged thing in the distance before him that was his father Daedalus.
He longed for one draught of flight to quench the thirst of his
captivity: he stretched out his arms to the sky and made towards the
highest heavens.

Alas for him! Warmer and warmer grew the air. Those arms, that had
seemed to uphold him, relaxed. His wings wavered, drooped. He fluttered
his young hands vainly,--he was falling,--and in that terror he
remembered. The heat of the sun had melted the wax from his wings; the
feathers were falling, one by one, like snowflakes; and there was none
to help.

He fell like a leaf tossed down the wind, down, down, with one cry that
overtook Daedalus far away. When he returned, and sought high and low
for the poor boy, he saw nothing but the bird-like feathers afloat on
the water, and he knew that Icarus was drowned.

The nearest island he named Icaria, in memory of the child; but he, in
heavy grief, went to the temple of Apollo in Sicily, and there hung up
his wings as an offering. Never again did he attempt to fly.




PHAETHON.


Once upon a time, the reckless whim of a lad came near to destroying
the Earth and robbing the spheres of their wits.