Wild Vines 
the honors pretty evenly as popular favorites for the cov¬ 
ering of rustic arbors, but in our vicinity the former 
probably leads. The pleasant custom would seem to have 
been handed down to us by our English forbears, for it 
is alluded to by Shakespeare. Do you not remember in 
“Much Ado About Nothing” in Leonato’s garden, 
“the pleached bower, 
Where honeysuckles ripened by the sun 
Forbid the sun to enter; like favorites 
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
Against the power that made it.” 
June 25. —The man who first conceived the idea of en¬ 
circling the trunks of trees with rings of stickiness to 
keep the caterpillars from crawling up into the leaves 
may have thought he had an original idea, but as a 
matter of fact Mother Nature has been doing that very 
thing on some of her plants ever since their creation. 
Growing in neglected fields, or in old country gardens 
sometimes, there is a slender, much-branched herb with 
few leaves but an abundance of minute flowers, soon 
succeeded by swollen green pods of seed. If you gather 
a stalk you will as likely as not feel your fingers stuck 
up by some viscid substance adhering to the stem; so you 
throw that plant away and reach for another. This treats 
you in the same way. Then you look more carefully and 
you find that every one of these plants has a band of some 
purplish, gummy exudation about the stalks below the 
flowers. Stuck fast in these rings are various bugs of low 
degree, obviously all very sorry they came that way. So 
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