The Pigs.
London. Published by W. Darton Junʳ. Oct. 5, 1815.
Grandpapa. They are not very difficult. They will eat almost any kind of rubbish and offal: but vegetables of all sorts are best for them. Cabbage stalks, potatoe parings, bean and pea shells, they like very well; and it is a good way to turn them out into the forests, where they meet with plenty of acorns, and mast nuts that grow upon beach trees. With their long snouts they turn up the ground, that they may get at the roots or plants: to prevent this, we are obliged to have a ring thrust through their noses, otherwise they would do a great deal of mischief.
Charles. Are they of much use, grandpapa?
Grandpapa. Not whilst they are alive. When dead, the flesh, you know, is eaten, and is called pork, or bacon if salted in a particular manner. The lard, or some of the fat, is used in making many sorts of plasters, and the bristles are formed into brushes of various kinds; and are used by shoemakers and others in sewing leather, instead of needles.
Arthur. I like little pigs much better than I do great old ones.
Grandpapa. I cannot say the hog is a favourite animal with me. He is not only ugly, but his habits of life are disagreeable. You may have observed that he is very fond of grouting in the mire. Neither his grunting nor his squeaking is pleasant music; and the whole race are so greedy, that, if they have food enough, they will eat till they are too heavy to stand on their legs; even then they will lie on their sides, and eat still. Sometimes the sow will go so far as to devour her own young.
Arthur. Indeed? The unnatural brute!