249 



NOTES ON A GEUB FOUND INFESTING THE 

 OECHARDS OF HOBAET, WITH A FEW 

 EEMAEKS ON THE SUBJECT OF INSECT 

 PESTS GENERALLY. 



By Alex. Moeton, F.L.S. 



On tlie 9t]a of November I received a number of cherries 

 from Mr. E. Walker, of Hobart, which were infected with 

 a small grub. After examination, I am led to believe that 

 the grub is identical with a native of the United States, known 

 there as the plum curculio (Gonotraclielus nenuphar), of the 

 family Curculionide. I understand it was first noticed about 

 Hobart last year, but has enormously increased since its first 

 approach, and is attacking the best kinds of cherries, such as 

 the Florence and Bigaroo. It is so destructive that the most 

 vigorous measures should be taken by orchardists in whose 

 gardens it appears to prevent it spreading to places as yet free 

 from its ravages. From William Saunder's " Insects injurious 

 to fruit," I extract the following : — " This insect is, without 

 doubt, the greatest enemy the plumgrower has to contend with, 

 for when allowed to pursue its course unchecked it often 

 destroys the entire crop. The perfect insect is a beetle 

 belonging to a family known under the several names of 

 curculios, weevils, and snout beetles. It is a small, rough, 

 greyish, or blackish beetle, about one-fifth of an inch long, 

 with a black shining hump on the middle of each wing case, 

 and behind this a more or less distinct band of a dull ochre 

 yellow colour, with some whitish marks about the middle. The 

 snout is rather short. The female lays her eggs in the young 

 green fruit shortly after it is formed, proceeding in the following 

 manner : Alighting on a plum, she makes with her jaws, which 

 are at the end of her snout, a small cut through the skin of the 

 fruit, then runs the snout obliquely under the skin to the depth 

 of about one-sixteenth of an inch, and moves it backward and 

 forward until the cavity is smooth and large enough to receive 

 the egg to be placed in it. She then turns round, and 

 dropping an egg into it, again turns and pushes it with her 

 snout to the end of the passage. Subsequently she cuts a 

 crescent-shaped slit in front of the hole so as to undermine the 

 egg and leave it in a sort of flap, her object apparently being 

 to wilt the piece around the egg and thus prevent the growing 

 fruit from crushing it. The whole operation occupies about 

 five minutes. The stock of eggs at the disposal of a single 



