JULY 



THE MOON OF THE DEER 



A LL winter we long for summer. We 

 shut our eyes to the beauties of the 

 snow, and of the bare trees, and cry "Oh, 

 for the time of singing birds ! " 



It is not July that we mean when we speak 

 of summer. After we have passed the years 

 when, as good Americans and true, Inde- 

 pendence Day, with its lights and noises and 

 excitements, fills us with joy ; after we have 

 learned that love of country is a thing so deep, 

 so quiet, so sacred that it can never be put 

 into words, we do not care for the mid- 

 summer month, and would be glad if it 

 were possible to curtail it to a February 

 shortness. The almanac men would have 

 done far better had they doubled the number 

 of the days of April and May, June and 

 October, and had halved or even quartered 

 the allotment of some of the other months. 

 K 145 



