THISTLES 95 



Then there is that other, lighting up the ditch 

 with the brilliant crimson of its flowers, whose 

 haunts, as in this case, are in watery places, where, 

 as a rule, it can do little harm. It is at once the 

 fiercest-looking and the softest of the whole a not 

 uncommon combination. 



The lance-leaved thistle of waste places that 

 cellar of the foggie, and larder of the children, 

 giving meat to the one, and drink to the other 

 follows. And a round dozen more, not so generally 

 known. 



Three at least are claimants, each with its 

 greater or less number of clansmen. One of them 

 is the cotton thistle, before whose eight or 

 ten feet, as it towers above the farm window, 

 the dwarfed children stand. To the wanderer 

 in out-of-the-way places it must be familiar 

 as growing, during the late summer and into 

 the autumn, in front of many of the cottages, 

 far beyond the eaves of the thatch. I brought 

 a seedling from such a place, which the first 

 year grew to a sturdy plant. The second season 

 it threw out great arms with many flowers, 

 and shed seedlings enough to fill all the gar- 

 dens in the neighbourhood. A stalwart Scot, it 

 has much to say for itself in the matter 



