The Sprawler, above, is so-called because its caterpillar throws back its head and front quarters when surprised, in what could be considered - at a stretch - the caterpillar version of a sprawl. I find this explanation a bit contrived and am content to feel that the moth's beautiful tweedy livery is the sort of thing worn by idle gentlemen in clubs who sprawl in armchairs.
The Feathered Thorn - actually two of them in my trap and one of the grass nearby - is named on account of the feathery antennae sported by the male. He comes to light happily but the females are more reticent and I have yet to see one.
The eggboxes also contained another Merveille du Jour, above, well-known for brining me a great sense of satisfaction, and a lovely Red-green Carpet, below. It was joined by another one nestled on a nearby wall amid the skeletal remains of a dead ivy which look like the fossilised bones of ancient sea creatures.