128 



SUMMER 



the months when things stand still. The leaves on the trees are as 

 they were, only less fresh. The fruits hang ripening, and the corn 

 stands ripening, each in a passive way suffering the sun. July has 

 few distinctions of its own. When it surpasses June it also borrows 

 from it ; and its glories of flower and its wealth of insect life are a 

 continuance rather than a beginning. Hay harvest probably drags 

 on, and the corn harvest just does not begin. It is a between time 

 period. In colour, the flowers show very much more red and yellow 

 than prevailed in spring. That splendid tribe of butterflies, the 



fritillaries, are a notable emer- 

 gence of the month. July has 

 its extremes. It is, in volume, 

 the wettest month, for the July 

 showers have twice the weight 

 of water of the April showers ; 

 and it is the hottest month. 



We get in July the 'first 

 faint, hesitant, elusive hints ' of 

 autumn. ' And then he flies 

 away.' The cuckoo gives the 

 first hint of migration, of depar- 

 ture ; and other birds, especi- 

 ally the nightingales and duck, 

 seem to disappear. There is 

 silence and retirement, partly 

 because the energy of spring 

 could not last and was ex- 

 hausting, partly because it is 



the moulting time. The duck so moult that they are beyond the 

 power of flight. Other birds, preparing themselves for the great 

 flights across seas, drop their old and grow their new feathers in 

 pairs successively, so that flight is not in any way prevented. But 

 it becomes a bore, and the bushes are preferred. 



It is astonishing how prominent a part St. Swithin, whose day 

 is the 1 5th, plays in weather lore. The most concise rhyme out of 

 many is this : 



' St. Swithin's day if it do rain, 

 For forty days it will remain. 

 St. Swithin's day an it be fair, 

 For forty days will rain nae mair.' 



YOUNG CUCKOO 



