FIELD NOTES. 289 



seem to hybernate in the chinks of, and especially underneath, 

 bark in winter, some of them in a sort of webby cocoon which 

 they spin. Numbers of small pupse, too, choose— or have in 

 their pre-existence chosen — the same situations, and especially 

 that extremely common one, about here, of the Cinnabar Moth. 

 Its luridly-coloured caterpillar, banded with deep black and 

 yellow, is all over the common fleabane, that grows something like 

 a scanty crop over much of the sandy soil hereabouts, and when 

 about to pupate, as I have noticed with interest, it ascends the 

 trunk of the Scotch fir, and undergoes the change in one of the 

 numerous chinks of its flaky bark. I have seen numbers of 

 them thus ascending and entering, but I do not know from how 

 great a distance they come to the trees. Probably it is only 

 from quite near, for the majority, to get to them, would have to 

 travel farther than can be supposed possible, and, moreover, fir- 

 trees in these parts date only from some fifty years ago, I believe, 

 if so far back as that. Doubtless it is mere chance, but when 

 one sees them crawling towards the trees, and ascending as 

 soon as they get to them, it looks as though they were acting 

 under some special impulse. These caterpillars are, I believe, 

 nauseous to birds. I have thrown them to fowls, who appeared not 

 to see them. This, I suppose, is an example of warning coloration. 

 December 10th. — Of all birds, Moorhens seem to me to utter 

 the most extraordinary sounds. They have purrs, mews, ex- 

 plosions, and so forth, all of them having a certain brazen 

 resonancy which suggests more a metal instrument than anything 

 made of flesh and blood. Transliteration is wholly impossible, 

 yet what say you to "chook-oo, chook-oo," followed by a long- 

 drawn guttural note, something like — if it could be like anything 

 — " ger-oorrrrr," or to a sudden " currew-oo," with an inde- 

 scribable resonant, burring trill in it ? 



" Que pensez-vous de ca inon chien ? 

 Que pensez-vous de ca mon chat? " 



December 11th (cold frosty morning, but bright and fine. 

 Light snow on the ground). — At 8.50 a.m. I was by the streamlet, 

 at that part of it which I call the creek, behind and well concealed 

 by the willow, as yesterday, but in a more comfortable position. 

 As I got there I heard quite close, amongst the sedge, a peculiar, 

 almost squeaking, note, quite different to that of the Moorhen. 



