NATURE NOTES. 
1 66 
In a climate where there is so little frost, a combination of 
rain and heat stimulates the growth of all sorts of worms in 
sheep, and especially in young stock. Except, perhaps, that the 
life history of these parasites might not be suitable for Nature 
Notes, instances of extraordinary transformations could be 
given. The wetter the season, the more do blights and mil- 
dews abound. In many parts of the run, the rust on rye grass 
gives quite a yellow tinge to the boots of anyone passing through 
it. This minute fungus originates in the barberry, and in the 
wheat districts of Europe the shrub has been, I believe, extir- 
pated. Ergot, too, is bad in wet seasons, and sometimes causes 
losses of stock. From various diseases all the peach, cherry, and 
apple trees that used to grow wild on the run have died off 
during the last seven years. The peach is attacked with 
“ yellow leaf” or “ curl ” blight, the leaves dropping off until, in 
autumn, only the tips of the boughs are green. Where horses, 
sheep, and wild swine used to wait under the trees and feed 
upon the fallen fruit, now only dead trees remain. The cherry 
groves, too, are succumbing, though the wild black cherry does 
better than the cultivated kinds. All kinds of blights and borers 
thrive upon the apple trees ; the fact is that trees grow in New 
Zealand so easily and well up to a certain age, that but little 
care is taken of them, they are put in “ to take their chance.” 
As an example of wet and warmth, I have seen grass growing 
quite an inch long on the wool of living sheep. After a long 
drought, and then a couple of thunder showers, the meadows 
are white with mushrooms, their tiny parasols, pink lined, 
appearing in a profusion unknown at home. If, however, our 
own orchards are blighted, we have at least done something for 
those in a far country ; our native ladybirds have successfully 
cleared the orange orchards of California from an insect which 
was doing great harm there. 
Already upon the verandahs may be heard the rather shrill 
buzzing of the mason fly as it hovers for a moment ere creeping 
with closed wings into its home ; in shape and colour it is not 
unlike a queen bee. This curious insect builds its clay cells 
beneath verandah shingles, in folds of curtains and suspended 
coats, in keyholes and the backs of books. Both male and 
female labour at the nest; whilst at work, biting and liquef}'ing 
the clay that is carried in their jaws, they buzz continually. 
The load is moist though not wet, and about quarter the size of 
an ordinary pill ; from its shape the clay is apparently picked in 
a single piece from the surface or side of some disintegrating 
lump of mould. After arriving with their loads, they take a few 
moments for breathing, panting like bees after a long flight, then 
the shrill buzzing begins and continues until the clay has been 
suitably adjusted. The mud is laid on in a form that reminds 
me of the swallows’ nests at home. Ver\’ often, to save labour, 
several chambers are placed side by side. When the cell is 
ready, an egg is laid and the interior filled ud with the bodies 
