dency to return to the precise forms of the original type.
The earliest botanists had not failed to notice the tendency to aberration in plants of almost every class, under certain disturbing influences. They no doubt observed at the same time, that some kinds of plants were much more prone than others to sport into singular monstrosity of growth under such influences. They were not, however, sufficiently accomplished physiologists to perceive the general principles by means of which these changes took place; yet, nevertheless, hit upon methods of perpetuating such monstrosities of growth as promised to be of advantage, in rendering certain plants better adapted for particular uses. In consequence, however, of having but a superficial notion of the causes of such changes, their attempts to produce them arbitrarily, by artificial means, in the first instance, were often extremely puerile in their character. For instance, in the case of certain plants, the colours of which are apt to vary under the influence of ordinary garden culture, while such changes of hue are of extremely rare occurrence in their natural state, they sought to govern the changes of colour by the influence of ordinary dyes. I find it stated in a popular work, not a century old, that silks of various colours drawn through the bulb of a tulip, and there allowed to remain, would cause stripes of colour to appear in the flowers produced from a bulb so treated—the stripes being of the colours of the silks inserted in the bulb. It is well known that the Tulipa gesneriana, the origin of nearly all the garden varieties, is, in its natural state, of a monotonous purplish pink colour, unvaried by stripings or markings of any kind. When, however, it finds itself in a rich garden soil, with plenty of room, instead of being crowded with other plants, as in its wild state, the flower breaks into various changes of colour, with a natural disposition to striping; so that an amateur of the eighteenth century performing the operation described above upon a bulb of the common Tulipa gesneriana, in its original state, would be very likely to fancy that the pink or purple stripes which he saw produced by the legitimate influences of soil and situation, were the effects of his inserted silks.
I know of a recent instance in which an amateur of dahlias, naturally wishing to produce dahlia flowers of a blue colour, hitherto found imposible, placed half a pound of French ultramarine about the tubers of a white dahlia when he planted them, in full confidence that a plant bearing flowers of a resplendent azure would be the necessary result. It is, I presume, useless to record the occurrence of a bitter disappointment to the ingenious amateur. Certain plants are, however, strikingly influenced in the colour of their flowers by the nature of the soil in which they are grown. But, then, it is not by the process of dyeing. Especial properties are chemically eliminated by the vital principle of certain plants, which produce particular colours in their flowers; but, in most cases, their colours are of almost an opposite kind to those which would be expected from the practitioners in silk and ultramarine for such purposes. For instance, a rich orange-coloured liquid, produced from the rust of iron, will change the colour of the flowers of the Hydrangea hortensis from a pale light pink or lilac to a beautiful azure, but not to a fulvous orange, which the gentleman practising in ultramarine would naturally have expected.
But variations in mere colour, though they must be regarded as monstrosities (inasmuch as, if a child were born with the entire skin of a bright sky-blue, it would necessarily be placed in the category of monstrous aberrations), are not precisely the kind of vegetable monstrosities of which I am more particularly treating, though they serve to illustrate the general principle of aberration from typical characteristics. The especial vegetable monstrosities, the nature of which I am about to attempt an explanation, are those which, by a skilfully conducted series of developments, have furnished us with essential articles of food, and which may therefore be fairly termed “useful monstrosities.”
The deformities of plants, which, through the medium of horticultural skill, have become not only table-delicacies, but, in some instances, almost necessaries of life, may be divided into five distinct classes—first, of root; secondly, of leaf; thirdly, of inflorescence; fourthly, of the seed-vessel; and fifthly of the seed itself.
Of the monstrosities of root, that of the Daucus carota, or wild carrot, may serve as a very striking example. This plant belongs to the natural order, termed Umbelliferæ, in consequence of the plants belonging to it producing their flowers in umbels or spreading flatted clusters, which, while the flowers are in bud, are often depressed in the centre of the flat cluster, which gives it somewhat the form of a shallow circular basket without a handle. Many of the plants belonging to this tribe are poisonous, among which the well-known hemlock (Conium maculatum) may be cited. Even the Daucus itself is far from pleasant tasted in its natural state, in which it is only used in medicine; the name Daucus (from the Greek δαίω, to make hot) having reference to its hot and pungent taste. This small, tough, and pungent root, however, when the plant is transferred from its native woods to a deep, rich soil, and having sufficient space given to it, soon exhibits a tendency to rapid development. The first crop, however, raised from wild seeds sown in prepared garden-soil, does not exhibit an enlargement of root which would at once tempt the gardener to proceed with its culture; but the rich orange colour of the root, which at once becomes brighter by culture, may, without reference to size, or increased tenderness of texture, have tempted an inquisitive cultivator to test its flavour. That its bright colour did attract early attention, we know from its popular name, which is derived from the Celtic word kar, which means red. If tasted, the decreased medicinal qualities of hotness and pungency, which disappear with the increasing size of the root, would naturally be observed, especially as the flavour, deprived of its hotness, becomes sweet and pleasant.
A second sowing, with seeds gathered from those plants which displayed the most marked tendency