If I were to estimate the average absolute loss of the farmers of this country from Insects at $100,000,000 per annum, I should doubtless be far below the mark. The loss of fruit alone by the devastations of insects, within a radius of fifty miles from this City, must amount in value to Millions. In my neighborhood, the Peach once flourished, but flourishes no more, and Cherries have been all but annihilated. Apples were till lately our most profitable and perhaps our most important product; but the worms take half our average crop and sadly damage what they do not utterly destroy. Plums we have ceased to grow or expect; our Pears are generally stung and often blighted; even the Currant has at last its fruit-destroying worm. We must fight our paltry adversaries more efficiently, or allow them to drive us wholly from the field. Now, I have no doubt that our best allies in this inglorious warfare are the Birds. They would save us, if we did not destroy them. The British plowman, turning his sod with a myriad of crows, blackbirds, etc., chasing his steps and all but getting under his feet in their eager quest of grubs, bugs, etc., is a spectacle to be devoutly thankful for. Whenever clouds of birds shall habitually darken our fields in May and (less notably) throughout the Summer months, we may reasonably hope to grow fair crops of our favorite Fruits from year to year, and realize that we owe them to the constant, and zealous, though not quite disinterested, efforts of our friends, the Birds. But I do not regard the ravages of Insects as entirely due to the reckless destruction and consequent scarcity of our Birds. I hold that their multiplication and their devastations are largely incited by the degeneracy of our plants caused by the badness of our culture. On this point, consider a statement made to me, some fifteen or twenty years ago, by the late Gov. William F. Packer, of Pennsylvania: "I know (said Gov. P.) the narrow valley of a stream that runs into the west branch of the Susquehanna, which was cleared of the primitive forest some forty or fifty years since, and has ever since been alternately in tillage and grass. A road ran through the middle of it, dividing it into two narrow fields. A few years ago, this road was abandoned, and the whole of this little valley, including the road-way, thrown into a single field, which was thereupon sown to Wheat. At harvest-time, this remarkable phenomenon was presented: A good crop of sound grain on the strip four or fire rods wide formerly covered by the road; while nearly every berry on either side of it was destroyed by the weevil or midge."