[Contents]CHAPTER XLVCABBAGE-EATERSOne day Jacques came in from the garden with a cabbage root all covered with warts having the shape and size of a pea. In each wart was a little worm.“Some of the cabbages are withering away,” announced the old gardener, “though there are no worms on the leaves. I think the trouble comes from the warts on the roots.”“You have guessed right, my good Jacques,” replied Uncle Paul. “Leave me that root and pull up all the cabbages that appear to you to be affected. Of course you will burn all the diseased roots. By so doing you will arrest the evil in the beginning, as the insect causing the mischief is rare with us. The important thing is not to let it multiply in the garden, even if we have to throw away many of the cabbages in exterminating it.”Uncle Paul’s instructions were followed, and no more warty roots have been seen since. Next day the cabbage’s enemies were the subject of conversation.“Cultivated plants,” said Uncle Paul, “are more exposed to the ravages of insects than the same plants in a wild state, because they are of a finer[334]flavor, tenderer, and of more luxuriant growth. Let us first consider the cabbage, now that Jacques has furnished us the occasion.“Look at this root, quite covered with ugly warts, hollow inside. I open one. What do we find within? A small worm, a larva that would, if left undisturbed, develop into a weevil with a beak that lies down on the breast between the forelegs when the insect curls up and plays dead. This weevil is known to men of science as belonging to a genus calledceuthorhynchus, a name formed from two Greek words and meaning snout-hider. It is black, with grayish hairs on the back and white scales on the belly. Its thorax has a deep furrow and its wing sheaths are ornamented with fine parallel grooves.“It lays its eggs about the beginning of summer. The insect works its way down to the root and punctures it here and there with its beak, laying an egg in each puncture. In flowing around the wounded part the sap of the plant forms a knob or fleshy wart in which the larva grows until the end of October, when the worm leaves this nest to bury itself in the ground, safe from the cold, and undergo transformation. The punctured root exhausts its energies in bleeding sap to form the warts occupied by the larvæ, so that the cabbage rapidly withers away; and in this manner the cabbage-weevil makes itself an enemy much to be feared, especially in England where it is extremely common. Nor does[335]it confine its depredations to cabbages; it attacks turnips also, and radishes and rape.”“This weevil seems to eat a good many things,” said Jules. “I thought each kind of insect always fed on one particular plant.”“You were not far wrong, my boy. In most cases insects have very exclusive tastes, each confining itself to one kind of plant and disdaining all others. Sometimes, however, they vary their diet, and as they are connoisseurs, very well up on vegetable flavors, in changing their food they choose plants having nearly identical nutritive properties, taste, and smell. Do not we ourselves find in the radish and the turnip something of the smell and taste of the cabbage?”“That’s so,” assented Louis.“We find more or less similarity in the qualities characteristic of a great many other plants grouped together by botanists in the family ofcruciferæand including, for instance, the cress, the radish, and colza.”“Botanists, cruciferæ—I don’t know very well what those are,” said Emile.“No, those are strange words to you. Botanists are learned persons who spend their time studying plants and who tell us their names and properties, differences and resemblances, where they grow and when they blossom, with other matters of that sort.”“And cruciferæ?”“That word means cross-bearers and is applied to a large group of plants with blossoms having four[336]pieces or petals placed two by two, opposite each other, so as to form a sort of cross. A good example is the colza blossom. Plants with cross-shaped flowers include the cabbage, rape, turnip, radish, clove, colza, cress, and many others.”“They are all cruciferæ?”“Yes, all cruciferæ. But their likeness is not confined to the shape of the blossom; their inner properties also, such as smell, taste, and the rest, are the same, or very nearly so. Consequently, the cabbage-weevil, as knowing a little creature as can be found, goes to the turnip when there are no cabbages to be had, to the colza if turnips also are lacking, or to other plants still, but always to some member of the cruciferæ family. Other insects show this same peculiarity, each species having its particular group of plants and going from one to another without ever making a mistake as to family.”“Then they are expert botanists, I should say,” Jules remarked.“One might almost think so; at least they show in their choice so keen a discernment that often men of science go to school to them to learn the various degrees of relationship in the plant world.”“Oh, Uncle Paul, you are joking!” exclaimed Jules.“Joking? Listen. You know the nasturtium, that beautiful orange-colored flower ending at the bottom in a kind of horn; and you know the mignonette, that sweet-smelling plant that Mother Ambroisine grows in the window.”[337]“Yes, I know them.”“Then tell me whether you find between mignonette, nasturtium, and cabbage any resemblance, any sign of plant-relationship.”“No, indeed! Those three plants are wholly unlike one another: their flowers haven’t the same shape, nor their leaves, nor yet their fruit.”“Well, my dear boy, you, who rather pride yourself on knowing something about flowers, really know much less about them than a poor little green caterpillar very common in our gardens; and many persons of far more learning than you could take lessons from this same caterpillar. It feeds indifferently on various cruciferæ, such as the cabbage, rape, and the turnip; but it also feeds on the nasturtium and the mignonette. Why? You must ask the scientists who make a thorough study of plants and are determined to find out the minutest details concerning them. They would tell you that there is something in their innermost structure, something invisible to our untrained eyes, that makes the nasturtium and the mignonette very nearly akin to the cruciferæ without looking like them. It is enough to puzzle anybody, I admit. A worthless caterpillar has, from the beginning of the world, eaten mignonette as well as turnip, cabbage as well as nasturtium, and has been familiar with plant-relationships unsuspected by science until our own time.”“I should like to see this caterpillar that knows so much about plants.”“Your desire shall be gratified without delay.”[338]
[Contents]CHAPTER XLVCABBAGE-EATERSOne day Jacques came in from the garden with a cabbage root all covered with warts having the shape and size of a pea. In each wart was a little worm.“Some of the cabbages are withering away,” announced the old gardener, “though there are no worms on the leaves. I think the trouble comes from the warts on the roots.”“You have guessed right, my good Jacques,” replied Uncle Paul. “Leave me that root and pull up all the cabbages that appear to you to be affected. Of course you will burn all the diseased roots. By so doing you will arrest the evil in the beginning, as the insect causing the mischief is rare with us. The important thing is not to let it multiply in the garden, even if we have to throw away many of the cabbages in exterminating it.”Uncle Paul’s instructions were followed, and no more warty roots have been seen since. Next day the cabbage’s enemies were the subject of conversation.“Cultivated plants,” said Uncle Paul, “are more exposed to the ravages of insects than the same plants in a wild state, because they are of a finer[334]flavor, tenderer, and of more luxuriant growth. Let us first consider the cabbage, now that Jacques has furnished us the occasion.“Look at this root, quite covered with ugly warts, hollow inside. I open one. What do we find within? A small worm, a larva that would, if left undisturbed, develop into a weevil with a beak that lies down on the breast between the forelegs when the insect curls up and plays dead. This weevil is known to men of science as belonging to a genus calledceuthorhynchus, a name formed from two Greek words and meaning snout-hider. It is black, with grayish hairs on the back and white scales on the belly. Its thorax has a deep furrow and its wing sheaths are ornamented with fine parallel grooves.“It lays its eggs about the beginning of summer. The insect works its way down to the root and punctures it here and there with its beak, laying an egg in each puncture. In flowing around the wounded part the sap of the plant forms a knob or fleshy wart in which the larva grows until the end of October, when the worm leaves this nest to bury itself in the ground, safe from the cold, and undergo transformation. The punctured root exhausts its energies in bleeding sap to form the warts occupied by the larvæ, so that the cabbage rapidly withers away; and in this manner the cabbage-weevil makes itself an enemy much to be feared, especially in England where it is extremely common. Nor does[335]it confine its depredations to cabbages; it attacks turnips also, and radishes and rape.”“This weevil seems to eat a good many things,” said Jules. “I thought each kind of insect always fed on one particular plant.”“You were not far wrong, my boy. In most cases insects have very exclusive tastes, each confining itself to one kind of plant and disdaining all others. Sometimes, however, they vary their diet, and as they are connoisseurs, very well up on vegetable flavors, in changing their food they choose plants having nearly identical nutritive properties, taste, and smell. Do not we ourselves find in the radish and the turnip something of the smell and taste of the cabbage?”“That’s so,” assented Louis.“We find more or less similarity in the qualities characteristic of a great many other plants grouped together by botanists in the family ofcruciferæand including, for instance, the cress, the radish, and colza.”“Botanists, cruciferæ—I don’t know very well what those are,” said Emile.“No, those are strange words to you. Botanists are learned persons who spend their time studying plants and who tell us their names and properties, differences and resemblances, where they grow and when they blossom, with other matters of that sort.”“And cruciferæ?”“That word means cross-bearers and is applied to a large group of plants with blossoms having four[336]pieces or petals placed two by two, opposite each other, so as to form a sort of cross. A good example is the colza blossom. Plants with cross-shaped flowers include the cabbage, rape, turnip, radish, clove, colza, cress, and many others.”“They are all cruciferæ?”“Yes, all cruciferæ. But their likeness is not confined to the shape of the blossom; their inner properties also, such as smell, taste, and the rest, are the same, or very nearly so. Consequently, the cabbage-weevil, as knowing a little creature as can be found, goes to the turnip when there are no cabbages to be had, to the colza if turnips also are lacking, or to other plants still, but always to some member of the cruciferæ family. Other insects show this same peculiarity, each species having its particular group of plants and going from one to another without ever making a mistake as to family.”“Then they are expert botanists, I should say,” Jules remarked.“One might almost think so; at least they show in their choice so keen a discernment that often men of science go to school to them to learn the various degrees of relationship in the plant world.”“Oh, Uncle Paul, you are joking!” exclaimed Jules.“Joking? Listen. You know the nasturtium, that beautiful orange-colored flower ending at the bottom in a kind of horn; and you know the mignonette, that sweet-smelling plant that Mother Ambroisine grows in the window.”[337]“Yes, I know them.”“Then tell me whether you find between mignonette, nasturtium, and cabbage any resemblance, any sign of plant-relationship.”“No, indeed! Those three plants are wholly unlike one another: their flowers haven’t the same shape, nor their leaves, nor yet their fruit.”“Well, my dear boy, you, who rather pride yourself on knowing something about flowers, really know much less about them than a poor little green caterpillar very common in our gardens; and many persons of far more learning than you could take lessons from this same caterpillar. It feeds indifferently on various cruciferæ, such as the cabbage, rape, and the turnip; but it also feeds on the nasturtium and the mignonette. Why? You must ask the scientists who make a thorough study of plants and are determined to find out the minutest details concerning them. They would tell you that there is something in their innermost structure, something invisible to our untrained eyes, that makes the nasturtium and the mignonette very nearly akin to the cruciferæ without looking like them. It is enough to puzzle anybody, I admit. A worthless caterpillar has, from the beginning of the world, eaten mignonette as well as turnip, cabbage as well as nasturtium, and has been familiar with plant-relationships unsuspected by science until our own time.”“I should like to see this caterpillar that knows so much about plants.”“Your desire shall be gratified without delay.”[338]
CHAPTER XLVCABBAGE-EATERS
One day Jacques came in from the garden with a cabbage root all covered with warts having the shape and size of a pea. In each wart was a little worm.“Some of the cabbages are withering away,” announced the old gardener, “though there are no worms on the leaves. I think the trouble comes from the warts on the roots.”“You have guessed right, my good Jacques,” replied Uncle Paul. “Leave me that root and pull up all the cabbages that appear to you to be affected. Of course you will burn all the diseased roots. By so doing you will arrest the evil in the beginning, as the insect causing the mischief is rare with us. The important thing is not to let it multiply in the garden, even if we have to throw away many of the cabbages in exterminating it.”Uncle Paul’s instructions were followed, and no more warty roots have been seen since. Next day the cabbage’s enemies were the subject of conversation.“Cultivated plants,” said Uncle Paul, “are more exposed to the ravages of insects than the same plants in a wild state, because they are of a finer[334]flavor, tenderer, and of more luxuriant growth. Let us first consider the cabbage, now that Jacques has furnished us the occasion.“Look at this root, quite covered with ugly warts, hollow inside. I open one. What do we find within? A small worm, a larva that would, if left undisturbed, develop into a weevil with a beak that lies down on the breast between the forelegs when the insect curls up and plays dead. This weevil is known to men of science as belonging to a genus calledceuthorhynchus, a name formed from two Greek words and meaning snout-hider. It is black, with grayish hairs on the back and white scales on the belly. Its thorax has a deep furrow and its wing sheaths are ornamented with fine parallel grooves.“It lays its eggs about the beginning of summer. The insect works its way down to the root and punctures it here and there with its beak, laying an egg in each puncture. In flowing around the wounded part the sap of the plant forms a knob or fleshy wart in which the larva grows until the end of October, when the worm leaves this nest to bury itself in the ground, safe from the cold, and undergo transformation. The punctured root exhausts its energies in bleeding sap to form the warts occupied by the larvæ, so that the cabbage rapidly withers away; and in this manner the cabbage-weevil makes itself an enemy much to be feared, especially in England where it is extremely common. Nor does[335]it confine its depredations to cabbages; it attacks turnips also, and radishes and rape.”“This weevil seems to eat a good many things,” said Jules. “I thought each kind of insect always fed on one particular plant.”“You were not far wrong, my boy. In most cases insects have very exclusive tastes, each confining itself to one kind of plant and disdaining all others. Sometimes, however, they vary their diet, and as they are connoisseurs, very well up on vegetable flavors, in changing their food they choose plants having nearly identical nutritive properties, taste, and smell. Do not we ourselves find in the radish and the turnip something of the smell and taste of the cabbage?”“That’s so,” assented Louis.“We find more or less similarity in the qualities characteristic of a great many other plants grouped together by botanists in the family ofcruciferæand including, for instance, the cress, the radish, and colza.”“Botanists, cruciferæ—I don’t know very well what those are,” said Emile.“No, those are strange words to you. Botanists are learned persons who spend their time studying plants and who tell us their names and properties, differences and resemblances, where they grow and when they blossom, with other matters of that sort.”“And cruciferæ?”“That word means cross-bearers and is applied to a large group of plants with blossoms having four[336]pieces or petals placed two by two, opposite each other, so as to form a sort of cross. A good example is the colza blossom. Plants with cross-shaped flowers include the cabbage, rape, turnip, radish, clove, colza, cress, and many others.”“They are all cruciferæ?”“Yes, all cruciferæ. But their likeness is not confined to the shape of the blossom; their inner properties also, such as smell, taste, and the rest, are the same, or very nearly so. Consequently, the cabbage-weevil, as knowing a little creature as can be found, goes to the turnip when there are no cabbages to be had, to the colza if turnips also are lacking, or to other plants still, but always to some member of the cruciferæ family. Other insects show this same peculiarity, each species having its particular group of plants and going from one to another without ever making a mistake as to family.”“Then they are expert botanists, I should say,” Jules remarked.“One might almost think so; at least they show in their choice so keen a discernment that often men of science go to school to them to learn the various degrees of relationship in the plant world.”“Oh, Uncle Paul, you are joking!” exclaimed Jules.“Joking? Listen. You know the nasturtium, that beautiful orange-colored flower ending at the bottom in a kind of horn; and you know the mignonette, that sweet-smelling plant that Mother Ambroisine grows in the window.”[337]“Yes, I know them.”“Then tell me whether you find between mignonette, nasturtium, and cabbage any resemblance, any sign of plant-relationship.”“No, indeed! Those three plants are wholly unlike one another: their flowers haven’t the same shape, nor their leaves, nor yet their fruit.”“Well, my dear boy, you, who rather pride yourself on knowing something about flowers, really know much less about them than a poor little green caterpillar very common in our gardens; and many persons of far more learning than you could take lessons from this same caterpillar. It feeds indifferently on various cruciferæ, such as the cabbage, rape, and the turnip; but it also feeds on the nasturtium and the mignonette. Why? You must ask the scientists who make a thorough study of plants and are determined to find out the minutest details concerning them. They would tell you that there is something in their innermost structure, something invisible to our untrained eyes, that makes the nasturtium and the mignonette very nearly akin to the cruciferæ without looking like them. It is enough to puzzle anybody, I admit. A worthless caterpillar has, from the beginning of the world, eaten mignonette as well as turnip, cabbage as well as nasturtium, and has been familiar with plant-relationships unsuspected by science until our own time.”“I should like to see this caterpillar that knows so much about plants.”“Your desire shall be gratified without delay.”[338]
One day Jacques came in from the garden with a cabbage root all covered with warts having the shape and size of a pea. In each wart was a little worm.
“Some of the cabbages are withering away,” announced the old gardener, “though there are no worms on the leaves. I think the trouble comes from the warts on the roots.”
“You have guessed right, my good Jacques,” replied Uncle Paul. “Leave me that root and pull up all the cabbages that appear to you to be affected. Of course you will burn all the diseased roots. By so doing you will arrest the evil in the beginning, as the insect causing the mischief is rare with us. The important thing is not to let it multiply in the garden, even if we have to throw away many of the cabbages in exterminating it.”
Uncle Paul’s instructions were followed, and no more warty roots have been seen since. Next day the cabbage’s enemies were the subject of conversation.
“Cultivated plants,” said Uncle Paul, “are more exposed to the ravages of insects than the same plants in a wild state, because they are of a finer[334]flavor, tenderer, and of more luxuriant growth. Let us first consider the cabbage, now that Jacques has furnished us the occasion.
“Look at this root, quite covered with ugly warts, hollow inside. I open one. What do we find within? A small worm, a larva that would, if left undisturbed, develop into a weevil with a beak that lies down on the breast between the forelegs when the insect curls up and plays dead. This weevil is known to men of science as belonging to a genus calledceuthorhynchus, a name formed from two Greek words and meaning snout-hider. It is black, with grayish hairs on the back and white scales on the belly. Its thorax has a deep furrow and its wing sheaths are ornamented with fine parallel grooves.
“It lays its eggs about the beginning of summer. The insect works its way down to the root and punctures it here and there with its beak, laying an egg in each puncture. In flowing around the wounded part the sap of the plant forms a knob or fleshy wart in which the larva grows until the end of October, when the worm leaves this nest to bury itself in the ground, safe from the cold, and undergo transformation. The punctured root exhausts its energies in bleeding sap to form the warts occupied by the larvæ, so that the cabbage rapidly withers away; and in this manner the cabbage-weevil makes itself an enemy much to be feared, especially in England where it is extremely common. Nor does[335]it confine its depredations to cabbages; it attacks turnips also, and radishes and rape.”
“This weevil seems to eat a good many things,” said Jules. “I thought each kind of insect always fed on one particular plant.”
“You were not far wrong, my boy. In most cases insects have very exclusive tastes, each confining itself to one kind of plant and disdaining all others. Sometimes, however, they vary their diet, and as they are connoisseurs, very well up on vegetable flavors, in changing their food they choose plants having nearly identical nutritive properties, taste, and smell. Do not we ourselves find in the radish and the turnip something of the smell and taste of the cabbage?”
“That’s so,” assented Louis.
“We find more or less similarity in the qualities characteristic of a great many other plants grouped together by botanists in the family ofcruciferæand including, for instance, the cress, the radish, and colza.”
“Botanists, cruciferæ—I don’t know very well what those are,” said Emile.
“No, those are strange words to you. Botanists are learned persons who spend their time studying plants and who tell us their names and properties, differences and resemblances, where they grow and when they blossom, with other matters of that sort.”
“And cruciferæ?”
“That word means cross-bearers and is applied to a large group of plants with blossoms having four[336]pieces or petals placed two by two, opposite each other, so as to form a sort of cross. A good example is the colza blossom. Plants with cross-shaped flowers include the cabbage, rape, turnip, radish, clove, colza, cress, and many others.”
“They are all cruciferæ?”
“Yes, all cruciferæ. But their likeness is not confined to the shape of the blossom; their inner properties also, such as smell, taste, and the rest, are the same, or very nearly so. Consequently, the cabbage-weevil, as knowing a little creature as can be found, goes to the turnip when there are no cabbages to be had, to the colza if turnips also are lacking, or to other plants still, but always to some member of the cruciferæ family. Other insects show this same peculiarity, each species having its particular group of plants and going from one to another without ever making a mistake as to family.”
“Then they are expert botanists, I should say,” Jules remarked.
“One might almost think so; at least they show in their choice so keen a discernment that often men of science go to school to them to learn the various degrees of relationship in the plant world.”
“Oh, Uncle Paul, you are joking!” exclaimed Jules.
“Joking? Listen. You know the nasturtium, that beautiful orange-colored flower ending at the bottom in a kind of horn; and you know the mignonette, that sweet-smelling plant that Mother Ambroisine grows in the window.”[337]
“Yes, I know them.”
“Then tell me whether you find between mignonette, nasturtium, and cabbage any resemblance, any sign of plant-relationship.”
“No, indeed! Those three plants are wholly unlike one another: their flowers haven’t the same shape, nor their leaves, nor yet their fruit.”
“Well, my dear boy, you, who rather pride yourself on knowing something about flowers, really know much less about them than a poor little green caterpillar very common in our gardens; and many persons of far more learning than you could take lessons from this same caterpillar. It feeds indifferently on various cruciferæ, such as the cabbage, rape, and the turnip; but it also feeds on the nasturtium and the mignonette. Why? You must ask the scientists who make a thorough study of plants and are determined to find out the minutest details concerning them. They would tell you that there is something in their innermost structure, something invisible to our untrained eyes, that makes the nasturtium and the mignonette very nearly akin to the cruciferæ without looking like them. It is enough to puzzle anybody, I admit. A worthless caterpillar has, from the beginning of the world, eaten mignonette as well as turnip, cabbage as well as nasturtium, and has been familiar with plant-relationships unsuspected by science until our own time.”
“I should like to see this caterpillar that knows so much about plants.”
“Your desire shall be gratified without delay.”[338]