THE TURNING TIDE 



EVEN in the luxuriant fullness of the end of June there are 

 hints that the year is turning towards its decline ; and as the 

 sheer sunshine reaches its height in July, these warnings to 

 the watchful eye increase, and signal in a sort of secret code 

 the still distant oncoming of autumn. The mere shortening 

 of the day seems almost negligible, when even the equinox 

 is still remote, and any more definite suggestion of autumn 

 darkness is precluded by the lingering evening glows which 

 are at their richest in July. But one of the inexhaustible 

 interests of the naturalist is to notice the earliest growth of 

 each season's features, while they are still latent and obscure ; 

 and autumn can be seen germinating in the shade of summer, 

 like a seedling oak or sycamore in the depths of a tangled 

 shrubbery. 



The turning-point of summer declares itself both by 

 positive and negative signs, and both can be so easily over- 

 looked that there is keen zest in observing them. It is 

 much easier, for example, to note the date of the first singing 

 of the blackbird or garden warbler than of its last strain ; 

 the birds give no warning of farewell, and we need to listen 



