MOTH-HUNTING. 25 



the very same ; and tWs is secured. Presently there comes 

 rushing down the lane, with headlong speed, one far larger 

 than the common set, and visible from afar by its white- 

 ness. Prepare ! Now strike ! This prize, too, is won — 

 the "swallow-tail moth," a cream-coloured species, the 

 noblest and most elegant of its tribe Britain can boast. 



But now the west is fading to a ruddy brown, and the 

 stars are twinkling overhead. He forsakes the lane, and 

 with palpitating heart stands before one of the sugared 

 trees. The light of his lantern is flashed full on the 

 trunk ; there are at least a dozen flutterers playing 

 around the temptation, and two or three are comfortably 

 settled down and sucking away. IMost of them are mean- 

 looking, gray affairs ; but stay ! what is this approaching, 

 with its ten patches of rosy white on its olive wings ? 

 The lovely " peach-blossom," certainly : and now a pill- 

 box is over it, and it is safely incarcerated. He moves 

 cautiously to another tree. That tiny little thing, sitting 

 so fearlessly, is the beautiful " yeUow underwing," a sweet 

 little creature, and somewhat of a rarity ; this is secured. 

 And now comes a dazzling thing, the " burnished brass," 

 its wings gleaming with metallic refulgence in the lamp- 

 light ; but (0 infortunate puer F) a nimble bat is before- 

 hand with you, and snaps up the glittering prize before 

 your eyes, dropping the brilliant wings on the ground for 

 your especial tantalisation. Well, never mind ! the bat is 

 an entomologist, too, and he is out mothing as well as 

 you ; therefore allow him his chance. Here is the " copper 

 underwing," that seems so unsuspicious that nothing 



