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Mr. Reginald Phillipps,



off by my host to give an opinion on the unhappy condition of a

valuable tree, which I found in a parlous plight. Here was a

splendid stick of timber—I forget the species, it was new to me—

with the bark, from the top to the bottom of the trunk and along the

main boughs, not peeling off so much as bulging out and becoming

detached from the stem : never before nor since have I seen such

a case. Doubtless the tree was or had been infested with the larvae

of some moth, probably of one which bores into and lives in the

wood for some four years before it develops into its imago state. If

the tree had been in the country proper, our familiar friend the Green

Woodpecker, or some of its congeners, would have found it and

would not have rested until every grub had been cut out — and the

life of the tree would have been saved. But, in the absence of the

Live Bird, man was helpless, and could only look on in despair

while the tree was being done to death by a miserable grub.


I have read somewhere that certain savants of the U.S.A.

(? of the United States Forest Service) have expressed the opinion

that, if it were not for the Woodpeckers (and, presumably, other

genera, such as the Cassiques — see our Magazine VI. pp, 24, 25,

December, 1899), there would not be a living tree in the whole of

Tropical America, so rampant there is insect life. Is it going too

far to suggest that the three Americas are saved by the wondrous

variety of their marvellous collection of Live Birds !


At my house here, there are two little bits of ground which

we will call, respectively, the front garden and the back garden.

During a good part of the year, the garden in the front is as full of

flowering plants as we can manage to squeeze in. Until some time

towards the end of June, matters progress very well, and the flowers

are our delight, and the admiration of all who pass to and fro. But,

as soon as the House-Sparrows (the only avian visitors to the front)

have reared their broods and moved on to the parks and other open

spaces, a change comes over the scene—the birds go and the cater¬

pillars come, caterpillars and grubs of various sizes, shapes and

shades, differing in form, colour and habits, but all alike in their

determination to turn my garden into a wilderness. In vain I try

quassia, hellebore, tobacco powder, and other cures recommended

by experts—they care for none of these things. Some of the “cures,”



