The Music of the Marsh 



a bunch of hard ben-ies, at fii-st green, later ahnost 

 M'hite, and not good to eat. 



In early June on any thorn or Avillow growing 

 along the road to the marsh a sJKjrt search will 

 re\'eal a treasure that I do not understand why The 

 poets fail to sing. You find a dangling, oblong Moth of 

 cocoon, hanging tVom a twig by a l)it of spinning. 

 The outside apj^ears as if it Avei'e coated ^\'ith 

 linie and then wrapped in leaves, whose reining 

 shows Avith remarkable clearness. All the long 

 winter, during the cold rains, snows, ice, and winds, 

 it hangs and is buffeted; but by late ]May or early 

 June a wet spot develo])s on the top. Soon a 

 struggling big night moth climl)s out and clings 

 with its feet to the inider side of a limb. 



There tlie crumpled ■wet wings straighten, ex- 

 pand, and develo]i a swec]) of from six to six and 

 a half inches — larger than a wren — and take on 

 an indescribable richness of color. Almost every 

 shade from lightest tan to dark-broA\n makes up 

 a complicated series of linings and veinings, that 

 are brighter in color on the upper side and touched 

 AA'ith i)ink. Each wing has a transparent eye-spot 

 like isinglass, so that print can be read through it, 

 and the body and feet are covered with long, fine, 

 velvety down. 



Tlie moths fly the first night after they emerge; 

 mate, deposit their eggs, and soon die. The cater- 

 l^illar that hatches, eats thorn or willow leaves, 



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