"But who considers right will find, indeed, 'Tis Holy Island parts us, not the Tweed. Nothing but clergy could us two seclude, No Scotch was ever like a bishop's feud. All Litanys in this have wanted faith, There's no--_Deliver us from a Bishop's wrath._ Never shall Calvin pardoned be for sales, Never, for Burnet's sake, the Lauderdales; For Becket's sake, Kent always shall have tails." It may be remembered that Lord Monboddo, a Scotch judge of last century, and a philosopher of some repute, though of great eccentricity, stoutly maintained the theory that man ought to have a tail, that the tail is a _desideratum_, and that the abrupt termination of the spine without caudal elongation is a sad blemish in the origination of man. The tail, the point in which man is inferior to the brute, what a delicate index of the mind it is! how it expresses the passions of love and hate! how nicely it gives token of the feelings of joy or fear which animate the soul! But Lord Monboddo did not consider that what the tail is to the brute, that the eye is to man; the lack of one member is supplied by the other. I can tell a proud man by his eye just as truly as if he stalked past one with erect tail; and anger is as plainly depicted in the human eye as in the bottle-brush tail of a cat. I know a sneak by his cowering glance, though he has not a tail between his legs; and pleasure is evident in the laughing eye, without there being any necessity for a wagging brush to express it.