62 
CHOICE BRITISH FERNS. 
must be searched for assiduously if growing fronds — even large 
ones — are found to stop short in their growth and topple over, 
as it is very fond of eating its way into the base of the 
frond, and thus doing fatal injury, not necessarily to the 
plant, but to its symmetry. Fronds attacked by this marauder 
remain attached to the crown, being merely bored through 
the centre ; hence its ravages can be discriminated from those 
of the next foe on our list. 
The leather- coated grub of the daddy longlegs resembles a 
small, dull black sausage, about lin. long, when full grown. 
It betrays its unwelcome presence by the same sort of attack 
as the little snail aforesaid, but on a larger scale : a promising 
plant is suddenly found with most of the young, rising fronds 
nipped cleanly off, and lying loose. The enemy will not be 
far away; he is principally a night-feeder, and makes his 
lair close to his larder. The best and securest plan is to lift 
the plant bodily out of the soil, with as much earth as possible. 
Trowel down the sides of the hole, to see if the vermin is 
there; if not, he or they — there are often two or three to- 
gether — will be in the ball, and will probably drop out if it 
be loosened and shaken. When they do make their appearance, 
a powerful electric shock, or the heel of a boot, with a man 
in it, are the best things to apply ; we usually adopt the latter. 
Slugs, snails, and grubs we have seen how to deal with; 
their ravages can generally be checked before much damage 
is done, because, having a comparatively long life, and plenty 
of time to do havoc in, they are leisurely in their work — have 
a gentlemanly meal, and a long snooze, and so on. Cater- 
pillars, however, whose lease of destruction is a short one, 
have no such redeeming characteristics ; they are greedy, never 
know when they have had enough, and, moreover, obtain our 
hospitality under the falsest of false pretences. We are 
charmed, for instance, during the summer, by the visit to our 
Fernery of two or three pretty butterflies, or silvery moths, 
which have flown in through the ventilator, and which we 
charitably assist in their efforts to escape. A poetical little 
episode! Yes, indeed, but our poetical visitors have doubtless 
left a more prosaic legacy behind, which in August betrays 
