stuffing animals until existence is a burthen, be—as I heard a horrified lady remark—barbarous, whether it call for the attention of the Royal Humane Society; whether it improve or spoil the meat; whether it be an advantage or disadvantage that your bacon should be all lard; and whether obesity per se be an edifying or unedifying sight, I shall not stop to inquire; but I cannot refrain from placing upon record the heroic conduct, of which I was witness, during one of my glimpses, on the part of a pig only eleven months old. He and his brother—par nobile fratrum—had eaten of wash until they couldn’t stand; they had sunk upon the straw in a state of torpor, whilst their keeper watched them with tender solicitude. A deep sleep stole gradually upon them, but the hero was evidently disturbed in his slumbers; there was something on his mind, if he had one, or on whatever pigs have instead, if he hadn’t. I looked anxiously round to discover the cause, when lo! in a corner of the trough I discovered a mouthful undevoured; then I understood the ground of his uneasiness, and entered thoroughly into his feelings; presently he started,—twice by resting his chin upon his brother’s back he strove but in vain to gain his legs; at the third trial, undismayed by fraternal grunts and kicks, he staggered up on all fours; guided not by sight—for his eyes had long been closed with fat—but by the intuition which is second-sight to genius, he waddled slowly towards the trough; with unerring snout he detected the morsel—with a single effort he bolted it down, and, with the grunt of a pig which had done its duty, dropped peacefully asleep! I could see the keeper was moved; he did not indulge in vulgar emotion; he uttered no sigh and shed no tear; but pensively, with the tip of his stick, he stroked the hero’s bristles.
On the part of the oxen and kine, I saw nothing to equal this; amongst them the most vigorous display was made by a fierce little Highland heifer; but it was not in the noble cause of eating—she simply made a horned demonstration against the prevailing colour, magenta. No harm ensued, I am happy to say, but I think the fair wearer of magenta ribbons will do well to choose a different colour the next time she pats a Highland heifer. She looked very nice in them, I must say; but the tip of a horn thrust into the cheek might have spoilt the effect of even the ribbons.
What company did I see? Oh, every kind. Ladies and no ladies, and gentlemen and no gentlemen. Were there any clergymen? Oh! dear yes, several: so, you see, it is quite proper to go there. They had come principally, it is presumed, for the purpose of being able to read, with the effect which personal experience would enable them to give, “many oxen are come about me.” Then there were those gentlemen whose trousers are always a puzzle to me,—they fit quite close at the knee and also at the ankle, and are wrinkled all the way down the leg. By a stretch of imagination I can realise the getting them on, but the taking them off is beyond my powers; perhaps they never are taken off, and that accounts for the wrinkles; still it must be acknowledged that they are very suggestive of an acquaintance with horses and cattle.
There was also a representative of those eccentric persons who fancy that everybody must be deaf of one ear at any rate, if not of both; so being about to bargain with B, for a beast, he commences thus:
A. “Which side do you hear best on?”
B. “Both.”
A. (rather staggered at this bold answer). “Eh? both? Then it don’t matter which side I stand on, does it?”
B. “Not a bit.”
A. “Excuse my asking the question, but I know most people hear better on one side than the other.”
And A, after this totally unfounded assertion, begins to talk in a key which makes it a matter of perfect indifference whether B was hard of hearing or no, as he might be heard with ease outside the building.
Up-stairs I was taken by a crowd of involuntary bearers, not that they actually carried me, but they effectually prevented my walking, and when I arrived I had the pleasure of seeing nothing, as I haven’t the gift of looking through a material body; but I could gather from shouts and conversation what was going on;—there were steam-ploughs and corn-lifters, and chaff-cutters and (cruelty and ingenuity combined) the patent mouse-trap, in which each captive sets the trap for a brother mouse. And, to crown all, there were two rival vendors of original patent cattle-food, exactly opposite each other, but I believe this arrangement did not result in any consequence more terrible than vociferous speechifying. I heard nothing of human gore.
Both down-stairs and up there were opportunities, eagerly taken advantage of, for the favourite sport of kicking, elbowing, and treading upon toes; nor did gentlemen with sticks and umbrellas fail to perform the obvious duty of carrying them, ferule upwards, obliquely over their shoulders, that being almost the only way of ensuring an injury to your neighbour’s eye. Whether these gentlemen were surgeons or not I can’t say, but, if not, very likely many of their friends are, and their conduct is therefore creditable to them. After getting an umbrella very nearly inserted where a pinch of snuff is considered by some people to produce a pleasant titillation, I thought the broad pavé of Baker Street would be safer,—made the best of my way thither, and sallied forth from the Repository by that door where a policeman is placed, whose very arduous duty it is to tell persons to “turn to the right when they get out;” a rather unnecessary piece of advice, as you can’t turn any other way.
THE PATRIOT ENGINEER.
“Sirs! may I shake your hands?
My countrymen, I see!
I’ve lived in foreign lands
Till England’s Heaven to me.
A hearty shake will do me good,
And freshen up my sluggish blood.”
Into his hard right hand we struck
Gave the shake, and wish’d him luck.
