ail of the cow is of less protection to her than is that of the horse
to him. Her great need of it is to fight flies, and, if attacked in the
rear, it furnishes a good hold for her enemies. Then her bony stern,
with its ridges and depressions and thin flanks, is less fit in any
encounter with storm or with beast than is her head. On the other hand,
the round, smooth, solid buttocks of the horse, with their huge masses
of muscles, his smooth flanks, and his tail--an apron of long, straight,
strong hair--are well designed to resist storm and cold. What animal is
it in Job whose neck is clothed with thunder? With the horse, it is the
hips that are so clothed. His tremendous drive is in his hips.

IV. AN UNSAVORY SUBJECT

If a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, I suppose the breath
of the obscene fungus by any other name would smell as rank. The
defensive weapon of our black-and-white wood pussy would probably not be
less offensive if we called him by that name alone, instead of the
common one by which he is universally known.

While in southern California last winter I heard of one that took up his
abode in the basement of a house that stood on the side of a hill in the
edge of the country. It was in a sort of lumber-room where all sorts of
odds and ends had accumulated. On some shelves was a box of
miscellaneous articles, such as lids to tin cans, bed castors, old
toothbrushes, bits of broken crockery, pieces of wire, chips of wood,
and the dried foot and leg of a hen. One morning, on opening the door of
the basement, the mistress of the house was surprised to see the whole
collection of trash laid out in a line across the floor. The articles
were placed with some degree of regularity covering a space about
fifteen inches wide and ten feet in length. There were sixty-one
articles in the row.

Having such an unsavory creature in the basement of one's house is
rather ticklish business; not so perilous as a stick of dynamite, yet
fraught with unpleasant possibilities. They cleared away the exhibit and
left the door open, hoping their uninvited guest would take his
departure. But he did not. A few nights later he began another
collection, finding a lot of new material--among other things a box with
old atomizer bulbs, four of which bulbs he arranged here and there, in
the row--a motley array.

What is his object? I confess I do not know. No one has seen him do it,
as he works at night, but there is little dou