50 American Fern Journal 



* 



for years in a tight case made of black walnut, which is 

 said to be disagreeable to the taste, or smell senses, of 

 insect life. 



But about twelve years ago, suddenly I discovered that 

 a new enemy had attacked my herbarium. He first 

 * appeared in the shape of a little brown or chestnut-colored 

 beetle, about one-tenth of an inch long, with a small 

 head and bright eyes. He w&s an active, wide-awake 

 athlete — on the race course — an artful dodger, an edu- 

 cated West Point military tactician, and an experienced 

 field botanist. 



When cornered he would roll up into a ball in a little 

 of the dust he had made, so that only sharp eyes could 

 see him. He made regular subterranean approaches 

 with galleries here and there through genus covers, and 

 sheets. And the fellow even seemed to know which was 

 the rare little plant, and to stop and eat off its head 

 when passing by common things. 



A reinforcement soon appeared on the enemy's side. 

 Little wigwams were built up on the plants with walls 

 of plant dust, and in each appeared a white grub, who 

 soon proved himself worthy of his ancestry. 



I experimented with them for months. As to food 

 they were regular ravening wolves. The honey clovers, 

 and the strongest mints, the bitterest Compositae, and 

 the "deadly" umbels, the Solanums, and even a fine 

 specimen of the hellebore, most half a century old, all 

 were sweet morsels to them. I think they were careful 

 not to provoke me too much, as they only skirmished a 

 little in my pet ferns, 500 in number. But they ruined 

 a third of my 50 Solidagos, and a quarter of my 100 

 grasses, and made lint of some dozen beauty thistles. 



I tried to fight back. I bottled beetles and experi- 

 mented with them, gave them shower baths of kerosene 

 and alcohol and turpentine, painted one white with a 

 double solution of arsenic, and fed it to another with a 

 stick. And they one and all went on their way rejoicing. 



