of the month the great majority of the cock _bayas_
or weaver-birds have assumed their black-and-golden wedding garment;
nevertheless they do not as a rule begin to nest before July.

The curious excrescence on the bill of the drake _nukta_ or comb-duck
is now much enlarged. This betokens the approach of the nesting season
for that species.

If the monsoon happen to burst early many of the birds which breed in
the rains begin building their nests towards the end of June, but, in
nine years out of ten, July marks the beginning of the breeding period
of aquatic birds, therefore the account of their nests properly finds
place in the calendar of that month, or of August, when the season is
at its height.

JULY

Alas! creative nature calls to light
Myriads of winged forms in sportive flight,
When gathered clouds with ceaseless fury pour
A constant deluge in the rushing shower.
_Calcutta: A Poem_.

In July India becomes a theatre in which Nature stages a mighty
transformation scene. The prospect changes with kaleidoscopic
rapidity. The green water-logged earth is for a time overhung by dull
leaden clouds; this sombre picture melts away into one, even more
dismal, in which the rain pours down in torrents, enveloping
everything in mist and moisture. Suddenly the sun blazes forth with
indescribable brilliance and shines through an atmosphere, clear as
crystal, from which every particle of dust has been washed away.
Fleecy clouds sail majestically across the vaulted firmament. Then
follows a gorgeous sunset in which changing colours run riot through
sky and clouds--pearly grey, jet black, dark dun, pale lavender, deep
mauve, rich carmine, and brightest gold. These colours fade away into
the darkness of the night; the stars then peep forth and twinkle
brightly. At the approach of "rosy-fingered" dawn their lights go out,
one by one. Then blue tints appear in the firmament which deepen into
azure. The glory of the ultramarine sky does not remain long without
alloy: clouds soon appear. So the scene ever changes, hour by hour and
day by day. Had the human being who passes July in the plains but one
window to the soul and that the eye, the month would be one of pure
joy, a month spent in the contemplation of splendid dawns, brilliant
days, the rich green mantle of the earth, the majesty of approaching
thunderclouds, and superb sunsets. But, alas, July is not a month of
unalloy