98 
ladies’ department. 
16 th.—Salmagundy says Aunt Charity died of a 
Frenchman! now I am sadly afraid I shall die of a 
woodpecker! for, of all animated things, they rouse 
my curiosity the most. The day is cold, and a light 
snow is falling, looking very beautifully, hut not 
very tempting to leave a warm fire and my writing 
table to go into the orchard; hut all day I have been 
attracted to the window by a scarlet-capped, white- 
bosomed, dandified woodpecker, who, by his busi¬ 
ness-like air and earnest manner of prying into all 
the holes and corners about the trunks of the trees, 
convinces me that there are secrets to be discovered 
that I am not willing he should keep to himself, how¬ 
ever glad I may be of his assistance in discovering 
them: besides, I am much interested in a bunch of 
dried leaves that has dangled on the branch of a plum 
all winter, having more meaning in it than people 
suspect, or I am much mistaken. The long-handled 
rake shall help me to that secret; so snow and cold 
to the contrary, notwithstanding, I will go—better 
die of cold than of a woodpecker! 
Well, here I am back again. The day is not as 
cold as I thought. My thick coat and wadded 
hood have kept off the light snow, and my gum 
shoes prevented my feet from suffering, while I fully 
gratified my curiosity. The bunch of dried leaves 
proved a screen to a cocoon that I shall be glad to 
watch, as I suspect it to be the winter home of a 
large green worm that was feeding on the tree last 
summer. The woodpecker was in search of the 
worm that is so destructive to the apple orchards, 
and had succeeded in destroying many that were 
sufficiently near the surface for his curious long 
tongue to reach; but the older ones had gone too 
far for him, and required some contrivance on my 
part to find them ; a piece of stout bonnet wire I 
find very effectual. Some had gone beyond the 
reach of the wire; but I am told that mercurial 
ointment filled into the hole will poison them—I 
will try to-morrow. 
Fig. 29. 
This worm is much to be dreaded, and carefully 
guarded against. It is the larva or young of a 
beetle called Sapuda bivottata. The face and lower 
part of the body is white; the wings and head are 
marked by two white and three cinnamon brown 
stripes, from the eyes to the tips of the wing cases ; 
the horns or antennae are longer than the body, they 
are from one-half to three-quarters of an inch in 
length. They begin to appear early in June, 
escaping from the tree in the night, which is their 
time for flight and motion, concealing themselves 
during the day among the leaves of the trees on 
which they feed. The eggs, which are of a pale 
grass-green, are deposited under the loose bark of 
the tree, from three to twenty in number. In favor¬ 
able weather the young worms soon hatch, and 
penetrate the bark. During the first year they are 
easily destroyed, as they live in or immediately un¬ 
der the bark ; the second year they penetrate one or 
two inches into the wood, and during ‘hat time they 
are in reach of the woodpecker or a piece of wire ; 
the third and last year they become more voracious 
and much larger, and penetrate a foot or more into the 
body of tne tree. Their path is always upwards, and 
as they arrive at maturity bore near the surface, and 
lie concealed under the bark while in the pupa 
state. When its transformation takes place, it 
gnaws a hole in the bark and makes its escape; 
therefore, the first clear warm afternoon, the girls 
shall go with me, and with pruning knives and wire 
in hand, will share the sport with the woodpeckers; 
and if I hear of any of the boys killing a wood¬ 
pecker, I won’t say what I will do, but I think I 
shall hand them over to a smart rubbing with the 
oil of hickory ! 
THE GARDEN. 
The month of winds and storms, noisy, boister¬ 
ous March, has forced himself into notice, like a 
great overgrown school-boy, who, having missed 
lunch, rushes home ravenous for his dinner, and is 
quietly told to wait patiently, for it will not be 
ready this half hour. 
In these rapidly lengthening days and warm sun¬ 
shine, we feel that spring has come indeed; and if 
we do not hurry our preparations for gardening, wm 
shall be caught napping by bright, showery April, 
all smiles and tears, and birds and flowers, before 
we are half ready for it. Those beautiful harbin 
gers of spring, the modest snowdrop, the crocus, the 
green and yellow hellebore, and the mezereon, with 
its clusters of dark rose-eolored flowers, have 
bloomed amid alternate storms and calms, and are 
no more seen; all but the last have withdrawn to 
their earthy beds, to enjoy another ten months 
sleep. It warms my very heart to look out upon 
the sheltered borders, and see the gay daffodils and 
merry-looking purple polyanthuses, nodding to 
welcome each other to life and light—and the vio¬ 
lets shedding their fragrance from, every sunny 
bank. The hearts-ease, which have cheered us all. 
winter, are so common now, even in the garden 
walks, that they would be scarcely worth noticing, 
were it not fora sort of individuality in each flower, 
a saucy, good-natured confidence, in its quaint way 
of looking up at one, as if to say, “ I am laughing 
at you!” that one cannot choose but gather, and 
love them. 
Here is a merry blackbird too, perched on the top¬ 
most twig of yonder red maple, carolling like any 
mocking bird, and making as much noise as if he 
alone was worth attending to in this busy work-a- 
day world—but there is no time to listen to music 
now, for everything hurries me to look after my 
vegetable treasures. E. S. 
Hints to Ladies. —Stair carpets should always 
have a slip of paper put under them at and over the 
edge of every stair, which is the part that first 
wears out, in order to lessen the friction of the 
carpet against the boards beneath. The strips 
should be within an inch or two as long as the carpet 
is wide, and about four or five inches in breadth 
This simple plan, so easy of execution, will preserve 
a stair carpet half as long again as it would last 
without the strips of paper. 
