Yonder valley with verdure clothed would be a capital place for my emporium for porpoises, or so-called sea-pigs.
Bluegrass.
I implore you, Mayor Whetstone, do not project across my mental line of sight that animal, either in its terrestrial or marine form.
Whetstone.
He fills his destiny to the full; and besides, he is the most intelligent of animals. It is a historical fact that he was taught to play whist fifty years before the clever dog.
Bluegrass.
He jars on the landscape, and is a discord amidst the dulcet harmony of the waves.
Whetstone.
What would you have? The good pig eats all he can while he can; therefore he eats like a pig. Major Bluegrass, let me hear no more of your disparaging comments on the honest and assiduous pig,—the most useful and business-like of all our domestic animals. He can nobly hold up his head and represent corn converted. And while he turns the cornfields into bank-notes, shall we blame him if he does not serenade us with the notes of a silver flute?
Scythe.