THE FAERY YEAR 



and oxeye daisy are beginning to show. The 

 linnet-haunted thorn hedge, very thick and bushy 

 through clipping, hides you from any passer-by. It 

 is fine to feel the throb and roar of the engines just 

 above ; the earth fairly quivering under the storm 

 of the iron monster. Often one has looked out of 

 the railway carriage window on a bank sheeted with 

 gorse in May or broom in June, and longed to be 

 there. I found myself in the midst of the butterflies 

 and day-flying moths on a railway bank the other 

 day. Among the butterflies were the common blue 

 in large numbers, one or two specimens of the Bed- 

 ford blue the tiniest of English butterflies the 

 dingy skipper, and the small heath : the moths 

 included the brilliant wood tiger, Mother Shipton, 

 and that lovely little thing, the common heath. I 

 disturbed the wood tiger in a corner close to the 

 hedge. It flew up the side of the bank, and I lost 

 sight of it ; half an hour later I returned to the spot, 

 and up flew the same moth. 



Nature has certainly made no attempt to har- 

 monize the dress of this moth with its environment. 

 It is conspicuous both at rest among the grasses 

 and a-wing. There is a theory that these brilliant 

 colours and marks are sometimes flags of warning, 

 telling birds that those who flaunt them are not good 

 to eat. There is no other way to account for the 

 brilliant dress of many caterpillars. As to the 

 winged insect, however, gaily dressed moth, or 

 butterfly, there is the theory that the brilliance is 

 to attract the females. But suppose the black and 

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