THE YOUNG NATUKALXST. 



113 



tioned in the sixth volume of the "Young Naturalist," p.p. 113,114, 

 together with several larger kinds. 



Here is a grey moth at rest on this gate-post, with a dark red streak 

 across each wing, giving it a very pretty appearance. It is the blood-vein 

 moth Bradypetes amataria. Several of its relatives known as " wave " moths 

 are out now, as the common small four-footed wave (Acidalia bisetata), the 

 northern smoky wave f A.fumata), the ribband wave (A, aversataj, and the 

 small scallop (A. emarginata.) 



Notice that brown bird sitting on the end of that branch looking intently 

 about him. See ! he has caught sight of a fly ; instantly he darts after it, 

 catches it dexterously and returns to his perch. Let us look at him through 

 our field-glass, and see if we can make him out. We see his head and back 

 are brown in colour, with darker spots on the crown of his head. His under- 

 side we notice is dingy white, rather yellowish on the sides of the throat, 

 breast, and abdomen, with a few dark brown streaks extending interruptedly 

 from the chin to the lower part of the breast. We at once recognize it as a 

 spotted fly-catcher (Musicapa grisola), one of our summer visitants. These 

 birds arrive in England about the latter end of May, sometimes in the third 

 week of that month, and they remain here until about the 20th of September, 

 or a day or two later. 



Now we will cross this ditch. As we do so we see numbers of small white 

 moths flying about just above the water. They are known as China-mark 

 moths, and the larvse live an aquatic existence inside cases, much like caddis 

 worms, with which they are often confounded. 



There is our old friend the song thrush merrily singing away. The young 

 thrushes in that nest, which we can just see among the foliage in yonder 

 tree, are doubtless getting a good size now if they are not fledged. I can 

 never see a thrush without thinking of the poet Clare's lines : 



" Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, 



That overhung a mole-hill large and round, 

 I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush 



Sing hymns to sunrise, while I drank the sound 

 With joy — and often an intruding guest 



I watch'd her secret toils from day to day, 

 How true she warp'd the moss to form her nest, 



And model'd it within with wood and clay ; 

 And by and by, like heath bells gilt with dew, 



There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers, 

 Inkspotted over shells of green and blue ; 



And there I witness'd in the summer hours 

 A brood of Nature's minstrels chirp and fly, 



Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky. 



I have noticed that the song thrush varies to some extent in depth of tint. 



