K 



1bebgerow6 anb Iblllochs 



but in any event Clytie's aspirations met with no Olympic 

 approval and legend tells us that morning after morning and 

 day after day she watched her god making his round of the 

 sky until at last she was turned into a flower to punish her 

 temerity. Ever after, vSO runs the pretty tale, she faced her 

 Sun-god from the earliest dawn to the last descending ray. 

 Now what was the flower which once had been Clytie? If 

 I knew for certain I should surely tell all the world and you, 

 and rich would be my reward for bringing a long suspense to 

 end. But why be so exacting? If you love blue, choose for 

 Clytie this shrinking wild heliotrope, the mere name of 

 which means to turn with the sun. For you then, the story- 

 means heliotrope and the transmogrification of Clytie. If 

 perchance, no wild heHotrope grows in your chilly atmos- 

 phere, and if you will let a glorious yellow blind your mind's 

 eye to all else, then let Clytie speak to you from the heart 

 of this less constant but mighty audacious sunflower, than 

 which no other more boldly stares Apollo eye to eye the 

 hot noon through. Choose you sky-flowers, tum-sols, shy 

 flowers or froward, the legend's as charmingly fitted to the 

 one as to the other and perhaps even Jove himself didn't 

 know into which one he had turned her. With him it must 

 have been all in a day's work and if even worthy Homer nods 

 sometimes as nod he must if we are to beHeve Horace/ then 

 who shall say that mighty Jupiter never took forty winks 

 when his Juno was not looking. Search the Olympic records 

 and you will find that he did many a worse thing while her 





\ 



