Hoeing among the flower-beds on my lawn this morning—for I am a bit of a gardener in my way—I have had the ill-luck to maim a poor yellow slug, who had hidden himself among the encroaching grass on the edge of my little parterre of sky-blue lobelias. This unavoidable wounding and hacking of worms and insects, despite all one's care, is no small drawback to the pleasures of gardening in propri personÂ. Vivisection for genuine scientific purposes in responsible hands, one can understand and tolerate, even though lacking the heart for it oneself; but the useless and causeless vivisection which cannot be prevented in every ordinary piece of farm-work seems a gratuitous blot upon the face of beneficent nature. My only consolation lies in the half-formed belief that feeling among these lower creatures is indefinite, and that pain appears to affect them far less acutely than it affects warm-blooded animals. Their nerves are so rudely distributed in loose knots all over the body, instead of being closely bound together into a single central system as with ourselves, that they can scarcely possess a consciousness of pain at all analogous to our own. A wasp whose head has been severed from its body and stuck upon a pin, will still greedily suck up honey with its throatless mouth; while an Italian mantis, similarly treated, will calmly continue to hunt and dart at midges with its decapitated trunk and limbs, quite forgetful of the fact that it has got no mandibles left to eat them with. These peculiarities lead one to hope that insects may feel pain less than we fear. Yet I dare scarcely utter the hope, lest it should lead any thoughtless hearer to act upon the very questionable belief, as they say even the amiable enthusiasts of Port Royal acted upon the doctrine that animals were mere unconscious automata, by pushing their theory to the too practical length of active cruelty. Let us at least give the slugs and beetles the benefit of the doubt. People often say that science makes men unfeeling: for my own part, I fancy it makes them only the more humane, since they are the better able dimly to figure to themselves the pleasures and pains of humbler beings as they really are. The man of science perhaps realises more vividly than all other men the inner life and vague rights even of crawling worms and ugly earwigs.

I will take up this poor slug whose mishap has set me preaching, and put him out of his misery at once, if misery it be. My hoe has cut through the soft flesh of the mantle and hit against the little embedded shell. Very few people know that a slug has a shell, but it has, though quite hidden from view; at least, in this yellow kind—for there are other sorts which have got rid of it altogether. I am not sure that I have wounded the poor thing very seriously; for the shell protects the heart and vital organs, and the hoe has glanced off on striking it, so that the mantle alone is injured, and that by no means irrecoverably. Snail flesh heals fast, and on the whole I shall be justified, I think, in letting him go. But it is a very curious thing that this slug should have a shell at all! Of course it is by descent a snail, and, indeed, there are very few differences between the two races except in the presence or absence of a house. You may trace a curiously complete set of gradations between the perfect snail and the perfect slug in this respect; for all the intermediate forms still survive with only an almost imperceptible gap between each species and the next. Some kinds, like the common brown garden snail, have comparatively small bodies and big shells, so that they can retire comfortably within them when attacked; and if they only had a lid or door to their houses they could shut themselves up hermetically, as periwinkles and similar mollusks actually do. Other kinds, like the pretty golden amber-snails which frequent marshy places, have a body much too big for its house, so that they cannot possibly retire within their shells completely. Then come a number of intermediate species, each with progressively smaller and thinner shells, till at length we reach the testacella, which has only a sort of limpet-shaped shield on his tail, so that he is generally recognised as being the first of the slugs rather than the last of the snails. You will not find a testacella unless you particularly look for him, for he seldom comes above ground, being a most bloodthirsty subterraneous carnivore who follows the burrows of earthworms as savagely as a ferret tracks those of rabbits; but in all the southern and western counties you may light upon stray specimens if you search carefully in damp places under fallen leaves. Even in testacella, however, the small shell is still external. In this yellow slug here, on the contrary, it does not show itself at all, but is buried under the closely wrinkled skin of the glossy mantle. It has become a mere saucer, with no more symmetry or regularity than an oyster-shell. Among the various kinds of slugs, you may watch this relic or rudiment gradually dwindling further and further towards annihilation; till finally, in the great fat black slugs which appear so plentifully on the roads after summer showers, it is represented only by a few rough calcareous grains, scattered up and down through the mantle; and sometimes even these are wanting. The organs which used to secrete the shell in their remote ancestors have either ceased to work altogether or are reduced to performing a useless office by mere organic routine.

The reason why some mollusks have thus lost their shells is clear enough. Shells are of two kinds, calcareous and horny. Both of them require more or less lime or other mineral matters, though in varying proportions. Now, the snails which thrive best on the bare chalk downs behind my little combe belong to that pretty banded black-and-white sort which everybody must have noticed feeding in abundance on all chalk soils. Indeed, Sussex farmers will tell you that South Down mutton owes its excellence to these fat little mollusks, not to the scanty herbage of their thin pasture-lands. The pretty banded shells in question are almost wholly composed of lime, which the snails can, of course, obtain in any required quantity from the chalk. In most limestone districts you will similarly find that snails with calcareous shells predominate. But if you go into a granite or sandstone tract you will see that horny shells have it all their own way. Now, some snails with such houses took to living in very damp and marshy places, which they were naturally apt to do—as indeed the land-snails in a body are merely pond-snails which have taken to crawling up the leaves of marsh-plants, and have thus gradually acclimatised themselves to a terrestrial existence. We can trace a perfectly regular series from the most aquatic to the most land-loving species, just as I have tried to trace a regular series from the shell-bearing snails to the shell-less slugs. Well, when the earliest common ancestor of both these last-named races first took to living above water, he possessed a horny shell (like that of the amber-snail), which his progenitors used to manufacture from the mineral matters dissolved in their native streams. Some of the younger branches descended from this primÆval land-snail took to living on very dry land, and when they reached chalky districts manufactured their shells, on an easy and improved principle, almost entirely out of lime. But others took to living in moist and boggy places, where mineral matter was rare, and where the soil consisted for the most part of decaying vegetable mould. Here they could get little or no lime, and so their shells grew smaller and smaller, in proportion as their habits became more decidedly terrestrial. But to the last, as long as any shell at all remained, it generally covered their hearts and other important organs; because it would there act as a special protection, even after it had ceased to be of any use for the defence of the animal's body as a whole. Exactly in the same way men specially protected their heads and breasts with helmets and cuirasses, before armour was used for the whole body, because these were the places where a wound would be most dangerous; and they continued to cover these vulnerable spots in the same manner even when the use of armour had been generally abandoned. My poor mutilated slug, who is just now crawling off contentedly enough towards the hedge, would have been cut in two outright by my hoe had it not been for that solid calcareous plate of his, which saved his life as surely as any coat of mail.

How does it come, though, that slugs and snails now live together in the self-same districts? Why, because they each live in their own way. Slugs belong by origin to very damp and marshy spots; but in the fierce competition of modern life they spread themselves over comparatively dry places, provided there is long grass to hide in, or stones under which to creep, or juicy herbs like lettuce, among whose leaves are nice moist nooks wherein to lurk during the heat of the day. Moreover, some kinds of slugs are quite as well protected from birds (such as ducks) by their nauseous taste as snails are by their shells. Thus it happens that at present both races may be discovered in many hedges and thickets side by side. But the real home of each is quite different. The truest and most snail-like snails are found in greatest abundance upon high chalk-downs, heathy limestone hills, and other comparatively dry places; while the truest and most slug-like slugs are found in greatest abundance among low water-logged meadows, or under the damp fallen leaves of moist copses. The intermediate kinds inhabit the intermediate places. Yet to the last even the most thorough-going snails retain a final trace of their original water-haunting life, in their universal habit of seeking out the coolest and moistest spots of their respective habitats. The soft-fleshed mollusks are all by nature aquatic animals, and nothing can induce them wholly to forget the old tradition of their marine or fresh-water existence.