general appearance and habits, but absolutely devoid of thorns or prickles. The leaves, indeed, are toothed and pointed, but the points never project into fierce spines, as in the more advanced kinds; and even the little scales that form a cup for the flower-head, though faintly stiff and sharp, are scarcely if at all defensive in character. The flower, of course, is usually the first part to be specially protected, because upon it depend the future seeds and the hope of coming generations of thistles. Just as instinct teaches female animals to fight fiercely and bravely for their young, so natural selection teaches menaced plants to ann themselves stoutly against the threatening depredators of their seeds and blossoms. The reason why the saw-wort and its unarmed South European allies have managed to do without the protective inventions of their more developed relations is no doubt because they live mostly in thickets and woody places, not much overrun by cattle or horses. Their neighbors in the open meadows and pastures have been compelled long since to adopt more military tactics in order to save themselves from premature extinction. Often, indeed, in a close-cropped paddock, you will find only two kinds of tall plant uneaten by the beasts—the meadow buttercup, preserved from harm by its acrid juices, and the creeping thistle, armed all round with its long rows of parallel prickles.
In the mountains of Wales and the north of England there is yet another kind of true thistle, classed as such by technical botanists (for the saw-wort is artificially relegated to a distinct genus), which is also destitute of prickles on the leaves, though it sometimes shows the first faint beginnings of a prickly tendency around the scaly flower-cup, and in the bristly teeth of its crinkled leaves. From this early stage in the evolution of thistledom we can trace the gradual steps in the defensive process, through thistles that grow with prickly leaves, and those in which the prickly margins begin to run a little down the stem, to those which have clad themselves from top to toe in a perfect mail of sharp spines, so that it becomes quite impossible to grasp them anywhere with the hand, and they can only be eradicated by the hoe or plow. It is a significant fact that the most persistent and troublesome of all these highly developed kinds, the creeping thistle, now universally diffused by man over the globe, is a special weed of cultivation, far most frequently found in tilled fields, and seldom disputing with the simpler forms the open moors, mountains, or pastures. It does not trust entirely, like others of its kind, to its floating seeds, blown about everywhere as they are by their light tag of thistle-down; but it creeps insidiously underground for many yards together, sending up from time to time its annual stems, and defying all the attempts of the agricultural interest to exterminate it bodily by violent measures. This is the common and familiar pale purplish thistle of our English corn-fields, and there can be little doubt that it has developed its curious underground habits by stress of constant human warfare,
