NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



253 



For the New England Farmer. 

 THE WILLEY STRAWBERRY. 



Mil. Editor: — In your number of the Farmer 

 for June 24, I notice a query respecting the Wii- 

 ley strawberry. I have, as you remark, expressed 

 my belief that the variety known here and distribu- 

 ted pretty kirgely by myself, as the "Wiliey," 

 may be identified with the "Hudson" of Cincin- 

 nati. 



Mr. A. H. Ernst, of Cincinnati, a gentleman 

 well known to the pomological woild for his en- 

 thusiasm and correctness in these matters, doubt- 

 ed my views. I therefore requested him to send 

 me a few plants each, of the Hudson and Willey, 

 as he liad them; this was done, and I planted 

 them with great care in beds, side by side, that I 

 might examine them in connection. They both 

 fruited last and the present season, and referring 

 to my notes made in portfolio, I find as follows: — 

 "The berry of Willey rounder and borne on short- 

 er footstalks, trusses larger and more abundant in 

 fruit, flavor slightly more acid than the Hudson. — 

 Neck not as universal or as distinct as in the Hud- 

 son." My impressions of their identity were be- 

 fore made from my recollections of the Hudson, 

 when living at Cincinnati, and so nearly were they 

 alike that I could not class them as distinct, until 

 after having thus carefully examined them side by 

 side for two years. 



The origin of the Willey seems unknown, and 

 cannot be traced other than as follows: — Two 

 varieties of berries were brought here some 

 years since from New York. On opening the bun- 

 dle for planting out, the name of one variety was 

 mislaid and finally lost. These passed into the 

 hands of Mr. Willey, then of Cleveland, who fully 

 distributed to all that wanted, as the plants in- 

 creased; but at the same time without having care 

 taken to eradicate seedlings of chance. The re- 

 sult has been that the variety known and grown by 

 many as the "Willey" is a mixture, and having 

 more false than true plants. The Willey is pistil- 

 late. Respectfully, 



F. R. Elliott. 



Cleveland, Ohio, July 2, 1851 . 



For the New England Farmer. 



THE POTATO DISEASE. 



Mr. Cole: — On Saturday last, I was informed 

 by Mr. Page, the superintendent of our town-farm, 

 that while examining his early potatoes for the in- 

 sect spoken of by Mr. Flanders, he had discovered a 

 depredator of a much more formidable character, and 

 such as he had never before seen. He described it 

 as a worm, about half an inch in length, that eat 

 the leaves of the potato, in a manner not unlike that 

 of the silk worm, on the leaves of the mulberry. 

 On going among his potatoes, I found that his de- 

 seiiption was not exaggerated. On every hill, 

 more or less of these worms were to be found. On 

 some of the leaves, clusters of half a dozen were 

 found together, voraciously devouring the leaf. 

 Some of the vines were entirely stripped of their 

 leaves. If this insect should spread among the po- 

 tatoes, as its appearance now indicates it may, it is 

 apparent that it must destroy them root and branch. 

 I called the attention of a gentleman* of as much 

 observation in these matters as any among us, to 

 this insect, and he said he had never seen anything 

 like it before. It struck me as being sufficiently 



novel to be worthy of notice. The worm appears 

 to be of every dimension, from a half-inch in length 

 downwards. Its head is black and shining. Its 

 back is a yellowish brown. It has six legs in front 

 and two in the rear. Its general appearance is 

 sluggish. Its movements and manner of eating 

 very much resembles the silk-worm. I state such 

 features as I saw, not knowing its scientific charac- 

 t".ristics. I do not put it forward as the cause of 

 the potato rot, because I have little confidence that 

 any insect is the cause, but I do think it threatens 

 destruction to the potato wherever it abounds. Nu- 

 merous deposits of its eggs, of a yellow color, were 

 to be seen on the stocks and leaves where it had 

 been. 



In connection with this allow me to state, that 

 Mr. Page finds a small black Jly on all his potatoes, 

 operating very busily, and puncturing the leaves 

 with innumerable holes, about the size of a com- 

 mon pin. He thinks these insects are not new. 

 He thinks he has seen such ever since he has 

 known the potato. He has made a liberal appli- 

 cation of lime upon his fields, to save his crop if 

 possible. The last year he lost by the rot about 

 one thousand bushels. He is a farmer of much prac- 

 tical observation, whose judgment is worthy of en- 

 tire confidence. Very truly yours, 



Danvers, July 7, 1851. j. w. p. 



*Dr. Andrew Nichols, late President of the Essex Nat. His. 

 Soc. 



Remarks. — We have had this same kind of a 

 worm on our potatoes for several years. Sometimes 

 quite numerous in patches, or on a few hills; and 

 another season, but few were seen. So we do not 

 think that they will be very numerous, and gener- 

 ally destructive. 



There are numerous insects that infest the pota- 

 to, generally doing but little injury. As insects are 

 something tangible, and may be magnified into im- 

 portance by glasses of great power, it is high time 

 that those who hold that they cause the potato rot 

 should give us something definite on the subject — 

 should collect the insects, describe and exhibit 

 them. 



For the New England Farmer. 

 THU SEASON, THE CITY AND THE 

 COUNTRY. 



Summer's beauty is around us — warm winds, 

 cool dews, refreshing streams, rich foliage, waving 

 trees, shady woods, verdant flowers, all conspire to 

 enjoyment. The whispering insects on the ground, 

 the hum of bees among clover, the song of birds in 

 the boughs, the bleatings of cattle over hill and 

 dale, the sun's first rise in a heaven of blue, his 

 last rays over the hills of the west, the balmy 

 hour of evening with the soft moon far aiiove, awak- 

 en feelings wliich nothing but poetry can express; 

 nay, reader, have not poets ever been trying to 

 give expression to what is inexpressible — the in- 

 ward condition of soul whose pulse beats ever in 

 unison with nature without. 



But alas ! the resident of the city hears little of 

 rural sounds, sees little of its beauty and feels less 

 of its enjoyment; what he sees must be passing 

 glimpses, what he hears ho heeds not, and what 

 he imagines must come through the pages of the 



