4 
THE NATURALISTS’ JOURNAL. 
differences are markedly brought before the eye at a single 
glance, yet, contrary to their suggestion the plants are one and 
the same. Often in old deserted gardens will be seen various 
varieties of the cabbage (including the red) in stages of reversion 
to type, some having perhaps reached there. This is nothing 
uncommon. So soon as art leaves the scene and cultivation is 
denied them they immediately commence to revert to the form 
of their ancestors, and if left undisturbed, will, in a very short 
time accomplish their degeneracy. At the same time it is 
difficult to conceive the primary means that enervated the wild 
variety into the commencement of that series of changes which 
has resulted at the present day in so numerous an assembly of 
cabbages, borecoles, savoys, cauliflowers, and broccolis—all most 
useful and delicately flavoured vegetables. It is difficult to 
understand, I say, how such have been evolved from the woody 
stemmed, glaucous herb of the sea shore. 
There are three plants very much like the wild form of B. 
olercicea and which in all probability were derived from it, I 
allude to B. campestris , including B. napa (the turnip) and B. 
rapa (rape or coleseed). There are many indications that favour 
the theory of B. olercicea being its initative, and it is singular to 
note that nowhere are the above forms (which may be considered 
as agrarian) truly wild, but closely accompany cultivation in its 
travels through Asia, Europe, and America. 
From the remotest times the cabbage has been cultivated as 
an article of food. The Greeks were well acquainted with it, 
and added to their mythology yet another myth to account for 
its appearance. Zeus, say their poets, was called upon to give 
judgement between the two conflicting pieces (chunks, as our 
American friends would say) of supernatural wisdom. This 
caused him to perspire profusely, whether ft om the enormity of 
the task or natural causes, little matters ; at any rate we are 
told that the cabbage sprang from the moisture. I daresay there 
is some little degree of meaning hidden in the story, perhaps 
having reference to the labour required to make the plant tit 
for its mission as a wholesome vegetable. 
The Romans, it seems, where also very partial to the cabbage 
and ate it either raw or with vinegar, and Pliny relates that in 
Italy such enormous cabbages grew that the table of a poor 
man could scarcely support one. The same author records 
several kinds, among them one which, he says, was frequentlv 
placed in cases recently containing oil, securely sealed and kept 
for a length of time, or used as a vegetable diet on long voyages. 
The young and crisp sprouts were in particular esteemed a 
great dainty, although it is recorded that Apicius and Drusus 
rejected them. But these two were epicures of the deepest 
dye, and had they lived in our day would probably have rejoiced 
their palate over the sprightly Gorgonzola, the high toned hare, 
