bray, and the dog when it sees its master. At the sight of a rival the
dog holds its tail up stiffly, unless, indeed, the rival is a bigger dog
than itself, in which case the index goes down quickly between the legs.
An elated horse elevates its tail, and so does a duck in the same mood.
A lizard preparing to fight another lizard

Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail,

and the raging lion of fiction lashes its sides with the same nervous
instrument.

It would be tedious to dwell on the pretty part which the tail plays in
the courtships of sparrows and pigeons, or on the sprightly attitudes by
which birds of all sorts let off their spirits when shower and sunshine
have overfilled their hearts with gladness. But birds twitch their tails
constantly, without meaning anything by it. The ceaseless wagging of a
wagtail is a mere habit of cheerfulness, like the twirling of her thumbs
by an idle Scotswoman. The long tail is there and something must be done
with it. Look at the embarrassment which a nervous young man shows about
the disposal of his hands; how he thrusts them into his trouser pockets,
hangs them by their thumbs from the arm-holes of his waistcoat, or gives
them a walking-stick to play with. I like to imagine what such a fellow
would do with a long tail if he had it--how he would wind it round each
leg in turn, rub up his back hair, and describe figures on the floor.
But no animal so self-conscious as man could bear up long under the
nervous strain of having to think continually of its tail. It would die
young and the race would become extinct. Perhaps it did.

A final word on the conclusion of the whole matter, for these
reflections have a moral. As habit becomes character, so expression