ready prickly fashion against the probable assaults of their natural enemies. They have forged darts, but have not learned to poison them. Their prickly leaves and wings are amply sufficient for defense, without the necessity for developing a virulent juice to be injected into the very veins of their savage aggressors. Natural selection can never push any special line of evolution further than is imperatively called for by the wants and circumstances of the particular species. It always necessarily leaves off just at the point where the protection afforded is fully sufficient to guard the kind from the possibility of extinction. The thistles have found in actual practice that prickles alone are quite enough to secure their boasted immunity from extraneous attacks: the nettles have practically discovered for themselves that without stings they would soon be landed in the final limbo of utter nonentity.
Circumstances have still preserved for us a very tolerable series of the successive stages whereby our existing thistles have gradually acquired their present prickly and repellent characteristics. In the good old days, while evolution was still fighting hard for public recognition, it used to be urged by the uninstructed outsider that we never found any “missing links.” As a matter of fact, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the links are not and never were missing at all; and the practical difficulty is rather to establish any well-marked distinctions of kind than to discover long series of intermediate individuals. Just as the white man gradually merges into the negro by slow steps, when we cross Europe, Asia, and Africa, through Italians, Greeks, Levantines, Arabs, Egyptians, Nubians, Abyssinians, and true Soudanese, so the various kinds of thistles merge imperceptibly one into the other by innumerable varieties and natural hybrids. To be sure, there are such things as well-marked species in nature; but there are also groups which it is impossible anywhere to split up into good and distinctly different kinds. The brambles, the wild roses, the St. John's-worts, and the epilobes absolutely defy regular classification: the thistles, though perhaps a little more amenable to the subtile arts of the artificial species-maker, still constantly glide one into the other by strangely graduated intermediate forms. The great crux really lies in the problem of the existence of such natural gradations; for, according to the strict Darwinian principles, the better adapted and more specialized forms ought to crush out the intermediate types, and leave the species well demarkated one from the other by broad intervals. Probably the true explanation of the anomaly is to be found in the wide distribution and high adaptability of these dominant forms; they can accommodate themselves exactly to such an extraordinary variety and diversity of situations, that special intermediate types answer best in every intermediate soil or climate.
The most primitive and unarmed class of the thistle tribe is well represented by the saw-wort of our copses, a true thistly plant in all its
