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6. Clothes' Moths. I recollect some time ago reading

some notes by an ardent aviculturist who advised the culti¬

vation of the larvae of the common clothes’ moth, and their use

as a food for ornamental finches. I have never ventured on the

experiment, but the plan will doubtless be found an excellent

one by those who do not object to an abundant supply of clothes’

moths in their dwellings. I believe the birds are very fond of

them.


7. Fresh Ants' Eggs. I have elsewhere, on more than one

occasion, described a method of collecting these, and therefore

need only insist here on their great value for Waxbills,

Grassfinclies, and the more delicate insectivorous birds. The

difficulty of collecting them, however, places them beyond the

reach of most aviculturists.


8. Aphides, spiders, caterpillars, and flies are useful,

but cannot generally be collected so easily as earwigs and

cockroaches.


Perhaps I should apologise for taking up space in

the Magazine with these rather elementary notes, but in

aviculture, as in other matters, there is some danger of falling

into a routine, and this, I think, generally takes the form

of depending too much on the shop foods and uegledting the

more natural foods.



THE LINNET.



In a tower above the gateway of the old Cathedral close

Is a little leaded window of a chamber of repose,


And, outside it, hangs in sunshine and the gently passing air,


In its wooden cage, a linnet, with a song without compare:


Sweet is all its simple singing, and as sweet as if ’twere free,


And you know not what the value of its singing is to me,


In the Minster, in the lofty choir where the light but filters dim,


I hear the mighty organ and the deep and solemn hymn ;


I hear the fresh young voices, as in rapture, clearly rise

With the basses and the tenors in the splendid harmonies ;


And I love the choired singing, but my heart will ever be

With the little simple linnet that is singing there for me !


For he wakes in me sweet memories of the happy times of old,


And the greenery of the summer trees, and the fields of harvest gold,

And the peace of all the grazing herds, and the sheep-bell’s soothing

charm,


And the dear old moss-roofed cottage by the orchard at the Farm ;


So you know now why the little linnet, singing there for me,


Dearer than the Minster’s choiring to my heart will ever be !


T. G. b. (Brighton).



