gish and indolent; when young, however, it is lively and energetic, and disposed to indulge in sportive gambols, which, for any thing we can see, are quite as amusing as those of lambs.
Many extraordinary examples of the docility and intelligence of the too much despised hog are on record. Be it remembered, that it belongs to that group of which the sagacious elephant forms a portion not that we assert the intellectual equality of the two animals; still, we believe that the hog may be trained to various modes of labor, with far less trouble than is generally supposed. It is not, however, needed for any such purposes; consequently, except in a few isolated instances, its education is utterly neglected; all it has to do is to eat and sleep, and become fat—its utility to man commencing at its death, by the knife of the butcher. Yet, even under the disadvantages in which the pig is placed—debarred its liberty, prevented from exercising its natural instincts, and undisciplined in the slightest degree—it manifests both discernment and attachment; it recognizes the voice, and even the footsteps of its feeder, and is evidently pleased with his notice. Instances of the attachment of pigs to particular persons, and even to other animals, are on record. It is not often, however, that porcine familiarity is encouraged. Setting all prejudice aside, it must be confessed that the animal would be more likely to prove troublesome and annoying, than agreeable or welcome. We have, however, heard of persons who have petted pigs, and know many who would abhor to partake of the flesh of one reared upon their own premises a circumstance not to be wondered at, when we consider that, while alive, the animal not only knew them, but greeted their approach, and displayed unmistakable signs of attachment.
The senses of smell, taste, and hearing, are possessed by the hog in great perfection. It is a common saying that pigs can smell the coming storm; certain it is that they are very sensitive of approaching changes of weather. They become agitated, hurry under shelter, and during the continuance of the storm utter screams, run about with straw in their mouths, or carry it to their sty as if to add to their comfort and defence. This peculiarity has been noticed in ancient times, as well as in the present. Dr. Darwin, in his Zoonomia, says, "It is a sure sign of a cold wind when pigs collect straw in their mouths, and run about crying loudly. They would carry it to their beds for warmth, and by their calls invite their companions to do the same, and add to the warmth by numerous bedfellows." At all times pigs are fond of huddling together under the straw, but especially in chilly or windy weather, from which the young in particular appear to suffer much. From this cause, litters of pigs farrowed during a severe winter are often greatly thinned, and the survivors thrive with difficulty.
