This section is from "The Horticulturist, And Journal Of Rural Art And Rural Taste", by P. Barry, A. J. Downing, J. Jay Smith, Peter B. Mead, F. W. Woodward, Henry T. Williams. Also available from Amazon: Horticulturist and Journal of Rural Art and Rural Taste.
Few circumstances excite the surprise of observers more than the production of one flower by the interior of another. And yet there is no preternatural phenomenon more easily explained when the true nature of a flower is understood. That curious apparatus, with its panoply of brilliant colors, its transparency, its fragrance, and the important special duties confided to it by nature, is, in the eyes of science, merely a collection of leaves in a transformed condition, and is itself but a branch stunted in its growth.
The truth of this theory is proved by the following circumstances more especially: 1. That every part of the apparatus of a flower, however unlike a leaf, will occasionally, in the presence of disturbing influences, become a mere leaf; 2, that that peculiar property of forming a bud, or rudimentary branch, in the axil, which is an especial attribute of a leaf, also belongs to the parts of which a flower consists; 3, that the floral organs stand in the relation to each other as the ordinary leaves upon an ordinary stunted branch, such, for instance, as the rosette of a Houseleek (Sempervivum;) and 4, that a flower will occasionally grow into a branch leaving its petals at the base.
The first is illustrated by the green-flowered primroses, proliferous plantains, and those Potentillas whose flowers become in hot weather tufts, or rosettes, of leaves. The second by little branches shooting up from among the parts of the flower, as in the pear tree, which will occasionally form two or three little pears in its inside, each of which is traceable to the axil of some one or other of the floral parts, and by the common occurrence of a brood of little roses, starting up from among the petals of a common rose. The third may be seen by any one who compares the rosette of the Houseleek with a double Camellia, a double Ranunculus, or a double Anemone. Of the fourth we have instances in pears and apples producing a branch from their centre, and in roses.
In all these instances the secrets of floral structure are revealed by accident to the eye of intelligence. Nor have artists failed to profit by them, as we see in the carvings and scroll work of the sculptor and the architect. Even the curious fact that one flower will grow out of another has been seized upon by them for the purpose of decorating the points of separation of branches, and this in a manner which, however conventional, is perfectly consistent with the true forms of Nature.
Nowhere, however, has the tendency of one flower to give birth to another been shown in a more unexpected manner than in the case here illustrated. In the aquarium at Syon House, it was observed, a few weeks ago, that the beautiful water lily called Nymphce Devoniensis, had produced a flower from the midst of which rose another lily like itself, hanging gracefully at the end of another stalk.
When flowers thus become proliferous, it usually happens that the whole central system lengthens, as is shown in the rose, the metamorphosed branch merely reverting to its original condition and lengthening by the point, always represented by the centre of the flower. But in this instance the mode was changed, and the new flower with its stalk proceeded directly from the axil or base of one of the stamens, as is seen in figure A, which represents a section of the flower rather magnified. The Nymphaea therefore belongs to the examples which are to be included in the second of the four classes mentioned at the commencement of this article, and it is by far the most striking instance of the kind yet on record.
But the disturbance of the natural condition of this water lily was by no means confined to the production of a second flower. On the contrary, it extended to the innermost organs, and forced the very stigmas to grow up into small green leaves, folded up, as they always are, in the young bud. Two instances of the kind are shown in figure A.
This monstrosity, for a monster it is, serves to illustrate a very important truth which those who are engaged in works of decorative art should never lose sight of. Any amount of departure from the strict forms of plant-objects is allowable in a conventional mode of representation, provided that departure is consistent with the rules by which is regulated the development of the plants to bo represented. These rules constitute the theory of structure which every decorative artist ought to understand thoroughly; and the case before us shows how it may be applied in one direction which was perhaps very little expected. Flowers may be made to grow out of flowers, with perfect propriety, when the exigencies of art demand it; although leaves cannot be made to grow out of leaves without violating the first principles of vegetable structure, and thus offending the educated eye by the production of that which is wholly irreconcilable with truth or possibility. - Gardener's Chronicle.
In proof that lilies are not the only "vegetables" which have a fondness for "sporting," I append an outline of a specimen of the Williams' Favorite apple, which might well pass for that of a pear.
The apple from which it was traced was one of three which 1 had this season, all differing somewhat in form, but of an unmistakable pear shape, and having the usual color of the variety. Indeed, so strong was the resemblance of one specimen, that a good pomologist upon being asked to name the pear, unhesitatingly pronounced it the Forelle.
WILLIAMS' FAVORITE APPLE.
I' have bad grapes, precisely resembling in form a small ribbed tomato, appearing as if formed by the union of several berries, in a semi-fluid state. The cause of such a sport I can readily refer to the presence of an abnormal number of pistils in the flower, but I acknowledge myself at a loss to determine what should change an apple into the shape of a pear.
"Want of method in Pomological Writings," (159.) I quite agree with Mr. Hanchett, in thinking that a little closer adherence to system would greatly improve some of the treatises on fruits, but dissent entirely from the ideas respecting flavor advanced by him.
He takes the ground that taste and flavor are two very different, and quite independent attributes, and considers the expression " a sweet or sour flavor" "a perversion of language".
I remember no definition which bears Mr. H. out in these opinions, or which countenances the idea that he conveys, that a fruit has no flavor of its own, and that it has none unless that of something else, as lemon, musk, almond, etc.
This seems to me preposterous. If a sweet or an acid is not a flavor, I am of the opinion that Mr. H. will be somewhat puzzled to enumerate many fruits which have one, for how very few are there in which any other flavor than that resulting from a mingling of sugar and acid can be detected. What constitutes a so-called "vinous flavor," but a mixture of these two properties? The early harvest apple, for example, has no other flavor that I can discover, but a mixture of sweet and sour, but does Mr. H. or any one else consider it flavorless? I do not see why a pear or an apple is not as well entitled to possess a flavor of its own, as an orange or a lemon. Would Mr. H. in describing the lemon, say that it had a " lemon flavor" or that its flavor was a mixture of acid with a small proportion of sugar?
I do not by any means object to the employment of these or similar terms in describing fruits, the flavor of which bears any resemblance to any other fruit, nut, etc., but I think that Mr. H. "puts too fine a point upon it," and that the distinction drawn by him, if scientifically correct, (which I am not prepared to admit,) is too nice to be practically available.
There is no such thing, of course, as a "perfumed flavor," and Mr. H. is quite right in considering such an expression " an intolerable perversion".
 
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