VI 



AUTUMN TIDES 



rpHE season is always a little behind the sun in 

 -'- our climate, just as the tide is always a little 

 behind the moon. According to the calendar, the 

 summer ought to culminate about the 21st of June, 

 but in reality it is some weeks later; June is a 

 maiden month all through. It is not high noon in 

 nature till about the first or second week in July. 

 When the chestnut-tree blooms, the meridian of the 

 year is reached. By the first of August it is fairly 

 one o'clock. The lustre of the season begins to 

 dim, the foliage of the trees and woods to tarnish, 

 the plumage of the birds to fade, and their songs to 

 cease. The hints of approaching fall are on every 

 hand. How suggestive this thistle-down, for in- 

 stance, which, as I sit by the open window, comes 

 in and brushes softly across my hand! The first 

 snowflake tells of winter not more plainly than this 

 driving down heralds the approach of fall. Come 

 here, my fairy, and tell me whence you come and 

 whither you go? What brings you to port here, 

 you gossamer ship sailing the great sea? How ex- 

 quisitely frail and delicate! One of the lightest 

 things in nature; so light that in the closed room 



