# The Hog (Youatt)/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
In Greece and the neighboring islands, swine were common at an early period, and were kept in large droves by swineherds; for we read in Homer's Odyssey, which is supposed to have been written upwards of 900 years B.C., that Ulysses, on his return from the Trojan war, first sought the dwelling of Eumæus, his faithful servant, and the keeper of his swine: and that office must then have been held in high esteem, or it would not have been performed by that wise and good old man.
The rude tables of the ancient Britons were chiefly supplied from their herds of swine, and the flesh of these animals furnished them with a great variety of dishes. (Cæsar, book i. chap 1.)
Sharon Turner, in his History of the Anglo-Saxons, while enumerating their live stock, states they had "great abundance of swine;" and adds, that although horned cattle are occasionally mentioned in grants, wills, and exchange of property, swine are most frequently spoken of. The country then abounded with woods and forests, and these are seldom particularized without some mention being made of the swine fed in them. These animals appear in fact to have constituted a considerable item in the wealth of an individual, for legacies of them often occur in wills. Thus Alfred, a nobleman, bequeathed to his relatives a hide of land with one hundred swine, and directs that another hundred shall be given for masses for the benefit of his soul; and to his daughters he leaves two thousand. So Elfhelm left land to St. Peter's at Westminster, on the express condition that they should feed a herd of two hundred swine for the use of his wife.
In the original Doomsday-Book for Hampshire, where an estimate of the value of the lands and forests belonging to the king, the monasteries, the hundreds, and other divisions is given, the number of hogs which can be fed on each separate portion is invariably specified.
In the oldest of the Welsh Triads, (which treat of the events of Britain in general,) we find evidence of the early domestication of swine, for one of these contains a recital of the actions of three powerful swineherds in the Isle of Britain, "over whom it was not possible to prevail or gain," and who restored the swine to their ​owners with increase. Some of the fabulous narrations blended with the history of these swineherds have been attributed by antiquarians to a period antecedent to Christianity.
In the laws of Howel Dha, there is a chapter on the value of animals, in which it is stated "that the price of a little pig from the time it is born until it grows to burrow, is one penny; when it ceases sucking, which is at the end of three months, it is worth twopence; from that time it goes to the wood with the swine, and it is considered as a swine, and its value is fourpence; from the Feast of St. John unto the 1st day of January, its value is fifteenpence; from the 1st of January unto the Feast of St. John, its value is twenty-four pence; and from that time forward its value shall be thirty pence, the same as its mother."
"The qualities of a sow are, that she breeds pigs and do not devour her young ones. The seller must also warrant her sound against the quinsy for three days and nights after she is sold. If she should not possess these qualities, one third of her price must be returned. The value of a boar is equal to the value of three sows."
The British forests, which formerly occupied the greater part of England, were peopled by the swinish multitude. Hertfordshire was nearly covered with wood and forest land; Buckinghamshire boasted its magnificent Bern Wood; Hampshire, its extensive New Forest; nor were the other counties destitute of these sylvan retreats, which have latterly vanished before the axe of the woodman and the industry of the husbandman.
In 1646 Norwood in Surrey is described as containing 830 acres from which the inhabitants of Croydon "have herbage for all kinds of cattle, and mastage for swine without stint."
The right of the forest borderers to fatten their swine in the various forests, formerly royal property, is very ancient, being evidently anterior to the Conquest. At first a small tax or fee was paid by those holding this right; but whether this went to the crown, or consisted in a certain gratuity to the forest ranger or the swineherd, is nowhere specified in the records. This privilege, like all others, was greatly abused; for many of the keepers availed themselves of it, and kept large herds of swine which they suffered to run the forests during the whole of the year, doing exceeding damage to the timber as well as to the land.
The actual period for which it was lawful to turn swine into the royal woods and forests for masting, was from fifteen days before Michaelmas to forty days afterwards, and this was termed the pawnage month.
Nor was the practice of feeding swine in herds, peculiar to this country. In Calabria they are grazed in herds, and the keeper uses a kind of bagpipe, the tones of which, when the period arrives for their being driven home, quickly collects the scattered groups from every part. In Tuscany it is the same.
​In Germany almost every village has its swineherd, who at break of day goes from house to house collecting his noisy troop, blowing his still more noisy cow-horn, and cracking his clumsy whip, until the place echoes with the din. The following very amusing account of that important personage, the Schwein-General, has lately been given in a popular work:
"Every morning I hear the blast of a horn, when, proceeding from almost every door in the street, behold a pig! The pigs generally proceed of their own accord; but shortly after they have passed, there comes a little bare-headed, bare-footed, stunted child about eleven years old. This little attendant of the old pig-driver facetiously called at Langen-Schwalbach the 'Schwein-General, knows every house from which a pig ought to have proceeded: she can tell by the door being open or shut, or even by footmarks, whether the creature has joined the herd, or is still snoring in its sty. A single glance determines whether she shall pass a yard, or enter it; and if a pig, from indolence or greediness, be loitering on the road, the sting of the wasp cannot be sharper or more spiteful than the cut she gives it.
"Besides the little girl who brought up the rear, the herd was preceded by a boy of about fourteen, whose duty it was not to let the foremost advance too fast. In the middle of the drove, surrounded like a shepherd by his flock, slowly stalked the 'Schwein-General.' In his left hand he held a staff, while round his right shoulder hung a terrific whip. At the end of a short handle, turning upon a swivel, there was a lash about nine feet long, each joint being an iron ring, which, decreasing in size, was closely connected with its neighbor by a band of hard greasy leather. The pliability, the weight, and the force of this iron whip, rendered it an argument which the obstinacy even of the pig was unable to resist; yet, as the old man proceeded down the town, he endeavored to speak kindly to the herd.
"As soon as the herd had got out of the town, they began gradually to ascend the rocky, barren mountain which appeared towering above them, and then the labors of the Schwein-General and his staff became greater than ever; in due time the drove reached the ground which was devoted for that day's exercise, the whole mountain being thus taken in regular succession.
"In this situation do the pigs remain every morning for four hours, enjoying little else but air and exercise. At about nine or ten o'clock they begin their march homeward, and nothing can form a greater contrast than their entry does to their exit from their native town.
"Their eager anxiety to get to the dinner trough that awaits them is almost ungovernable, and they no sooner reach the first houses of the town than away each of them starts towards his home.
"At half-past four the same horn is heard again; the pigs once ​more assemble, ascend the mountains, remain there for four hours, and in the evening return to their styes.
"Such is the life of the pigs, not only of Langen-Schwalbach, but those of every village throughout a great part of Germany: every day of their existence, summer and winter, is spent in the way described."
In France, swine are kept in herds, and in many districts the feeding of them in the woods and forests, (le glandage,) under certain conditions and restrictions, has been a source of no inconsiderable emolument to the forester. Indeed, to such an extent was it carried in certain localities, that it became an object of political economy. But of late years it has much diminished; the progress of agriculture is fast sweeping away those immense tracts of woodland country which formerly existed in England and France, and with them depart the denizens of the forest, wild or tame.
Nature designed the hog to fulfil many important functions in a forest country. By his burrowing after roots and such like, he turns up and destroys the larvæ of innumerable insects that would otherwise injure the trees as well as their fruit. He destroys the slug, snail, snake, and adder, and thus not only rids the forest of these injurious and unpleasant inhabitants, but also makes them subservient to his own nourishment, and thus to the benefit of mankind.
The fruits which he eats, are such as would otherwise rot on the ground and be wasted, or yield nutriment to vermin; and his digging for earth-nuts, &c., loosens the soil and benefits the roots of the trees. Hence, hogs in forest-land may be regarded as eminently beneficial, and it is only the abuse of it which is to be feared. The German agriculturist, Thaër, does not, however, advocate the forest feeding of swine unless they are kept in the woods day and night and carefully sheltered; as he conceives that the bringing them home at night heats their blood, and nullifies the good effects of the day's feeding. He likewise considers that, although acorns produce good firm flesh, beechmast makes unsound oily fat.
But if he is a useful animal in this public point of view, how much more so is he to individuals? Among the poorer classes of society how often is the pig their chief source of profit. In Ireland is this especially the case; there he is emphatically "the gintleman what pays the rint" better treated often than the peasant's own children. The small cost at which these animals can be reared and fattened, and their fecundity and wonderful powers of thriving under disadvantages, render them an actual blessing to many a poor cotter, who, with his little savings, buys a young and ill-conditioned pig, fattens it on all the refuse he can beg or spare, or collect, and sells it at a good profit, or occasionally, perhaps, kills it for the use of his family, who thus obtain an ample supply of cheap, nutritious diet.
Were it not for this animal, many of the laboring poor would ​scarcely be able to keep a roof over their heads, therefore, we may with justice designate the hog "the poor man's friend."
With the exception of the rabbit, swine are the most prolific of all domesticated animals, and this is another argument in their favor. Nor does its value cease with its life; there is scarcely a portion of the pig that is not available for some useful purpose. The flesh takes the salt more kindly than that of any other animal, and, whether dried as bacon, or salted down as pickled pork, forms an excellent and nutritious food, exceedingly valuable for all kinds of stores. The fat, or lard is useful for numerous purposes the housewife, the apothecary, and the perfumer in particular, know how to value it; the head, the feet, and great part of the intestines, all are esteemed as delicacies. Brawn, that far-famed domestic preparation—which is evidently no recently invented dish, for at the marriage of Henry IV., in 1403, and of Henry V. in 1419, we find, among other records quoted by Strutt, that brawn and a kind of hashed pork formed the staple dishes—is made from the hog. The bristles, too, are another important item in the matters furnished by swine; they are used by brushmakers, and are necessary to the shoemaker, and some idea may be formed of the extent to which they form an article of use and of commerce, when we state that in the year 1828 alone, 1,748,921 lbs. of hog's bristles were imported into England, from Russia and Prussia. As these are only taken from the top of the hog's back, each hog cannot be supposed to have supplied more than 7680, which, reckoning each bristle to weigh two grains, will be one pound. Thus, in Russia and Prussia in 1728, 1,748,921 hogs were killed to supply the consumption of bristles in England. The skin is formed into pocket-books, employed in the manufacture of saddles, and of various other things, and even the ears are eaten in pies.
It has been too much the custom to regard the hog as a stupid, brutal, rapacious, and filthy animal, grovelling and disgusting in all his habits; intractable and obstinate in temper. But may not much of these evil qualities be attributable to the life he leads? In a native state swine seem by no means destitute of natural affections; they are gregarious, assemble together in defence of each other, herd together for warmth, and appear to have feelings in common; no mother is more tender of her young than the sow, or more resolute in their defence. Besides, neglected as this animal has ever been by authors, there are not wanting records of many anecdotes illustrative of their sagacity, tractability, and susceptibility of affection. How often among the peasantry, where the hog is, in a manner of speaking, one of the family, may this animal be seen following his master from place to place, and grunting his recognition of his protectors.
The well-authenticated account of the sow trained by Toomer, a ​gamekeeper to Sir Henry Mildmay, testifies to the teachability of these animals; and therefore, as it is our intention to defend them from many of the aspersions cast upon them, we will quote it.
"Toomer actually broke a black sow to find game, and to back and stand. Slut was bred in, and was of that sort which maintain themselves in the New Forest without regular feeding, except when they have young, and then but for a few weeks, and was given, when about three months old, to be a breeding sow, by Mr. Thomas to Mr. Richard Toomer, both at that time keepers of the forest. From having no young she was not fed or taken much notice of, and, until about eighteen months old, was seldom observed near the lodge, but chanced to be seen one day when Mr. Edward Toomer was there. The brothers were concerned together in breaking pointers and setters, some of their own breeding, and others sent to be broke by different gentlemen; of the latter, although they would stand and back, many were so indifferent that they would neither hunt, nor express any satisfaction when birds were killed and put before them. The slackness of these dogs first suggested the idea that, by the same method, any other animal might be made to stand, and do as well as any of those huntless and inactive pointers. At this instant the sow passed by, and was remarked as being very handsome. R. Toomer threw her a piece or two of oatmeal roll, for which she appeared grateful, and approached very near; from that time they were determined to make a sporting pig of her. The first step was to give her a name, and that of Slut (given in consequence of soiling herself in a bog) she acknowledged in the course of the day, and never afterwards forgot. Within a fortnight she would find and point partridges or rabbits, and her training was much forwarded by the abundance of both which were near the lodge; she daily improved, and in a few weeks would retrieve birds that had run as well as the best pointer, nay, her nose was superior to the best pointer they ever possessed, and no two men in England had better. She hunted principally on the moors and heaths. Slut has stood partridges, black-game, pheasants, snipes, and rabbits, in the same day, but was never known to point a hare. She was seldom taken by choice more than a mile or two from the lodge, but has frequently joined them when out with their pointers, and continued with them several hours. She has sometimes stood a jacksnipe when all the pointers had passed by it: she would back the dogs when they pointed, but the dogs refused to back her until spoke to, their dogs being all trained to make a general halt when the word was given, whether any dog pointed or not, so that she has been frequently standing in the midst of a field of pointers. In consequence of the dogs not liking to hunt when she was with them, (for they dropped their sterns and showed symptoms of jealousy,) she did not very often accompany them, except for the novelty, or ​when she accidentally joined them in the forest. Her pace was mostly a trot, was seldom known to gallop, except when called to go out shooting; she would then come home off the forest at full stretch, for she was never shut up but to prevent her being out of the sound of the call or whistle when a party of gentlemen had appointed to see her out the next day, and which call she obeyed as regularly as a dog, and was as much elevated as a dog upon being shown the gun. She always expressed great pleasure when game, either dead or alive, was placed before her. She has frequently stood a single partridge at forty yards' distance, her nose in an exact line, and would continue in that position until the game moved: if it took wing, she would come up to the place, and put her nose down two or three times; but if a bird ran off, she would get up and go to the place, and draw slowly after it, and when the bird stopped she would stand it as before. The two Mr. Toomers lived about seven miles apart, at Rhinefield and Broomey lodges; Slut has many times gone by herself from one lodge to the other, as if to court the being taken out shooting. She was about five years old when her master died, and, at the auction of his pointers, &c., was bought in at ten guineas. Sir Henry Mildmay having expressed a wish to have her, she was sent to Dogmersfield Park, where she remained some years. She was last in the possession of Colonel Sykes, and was then ten years old, and had become fat and slothful, but could point game as well as ever. She was not often used, excepting to show her to strangers, as the pointers refused to act when out with her. When killed she weighed 700 lbs. Her death-warrant was signed in consequence of her having been accused of being instrumental to the disappearance of sundry missing lambs. (Daniel's Rural Sports.)
Colonel Thornton also had a sow which was regularly taught to hunt, quarter the ground, and back the other pointers. Some thirty years since, it was mentioned in the public papers, that a gentleman had trained swine to run in his carriage, and drove four-in-hand through London with these curious steeds. And not long since the market-place of St. Albans was completely crowded, in consequence of an eccentric old farmer, who resided a few miles off, having entered it in a small chaise-cart drawn by four hogs at a brisk trot, which pace they kept up a few times round the area of the market-place. They were then driven to the wool-pack yard, and after being unharnessed were regaled with a trough of beans and wash.
A gentleman present offered 50l.. for the whole concern as it stood, but his offer was indignantly declined. In about two hours the anmals were reharnessed, and the old farmer drove off with his extraordinary team. He stated that he had been six months in training them.
​Nor are these cases without parallel, for Montfaucon informs us that Heliogabalus, the Roman emperor, trained boars, stags, and asses to run in his chariot; and Pennant states that in Minorca, and that part of Murray which lies between the Spey and Elgin, swine have been converted into beasts of draught, and that it is by no means unusual to see a cow, a sow, and two young horses yoked together in a plough, and that the sow is the best drawer of the four. In Minorca, the ass and hog may be regularly seen working together in turning up land.
Henderson gives another, and a very simple account, illustrative of the tractability of swine:
"About twenty-five years ago my father farmed very extensively in various parts of the kingdom, and upon one of his farms in Redkirk, in the parish of Gretna Green, Dumfriesshire, kept at times upward of one hundred swine. It so happened that the keeper of that flock was either taken unwell or abruptly left his service one harvest, when every creature able to work was employed in reaping. A brother and I, being the only idlers about the premises, the above flock was given in charge to us for a few days, until the proper keeper was found; we were then reluctantly obliged to march off with our 'hirsel' early every morning to a clover-field about a mile distant, with our dinners, books, and great-coats, &c., packed upon our backs: we, however, soon began to think it was a great hardship for us to be groaning under our loads while so many stout, able ponies were trotting along before us at their ease, and immediately set about training one of them to relieve us of our burdens, which we accomplished in a few days by occasionally scratching the animal and feeding it with bread, &c., out of our hands. It became at last so docile as to stand every morning until it received the burden girted upon it, and then marched on in the rear, which place it was trained to keep, as we had more than once lost our dinners when it was allowed to join the herd; and in the same manner we soon trained two or three more into carrying the baggage in turns. Having been so successful in this training exploit, we then thought it would be turning our punishment into pleasure if we could train each of us one to ride: this was no sooner thought of than commenced, and although we received many a tumble, yet we soon accomplished our design, and succeeded in breaking in each two or three chargers. At length our system became so complete, that we not only rode to and from the field, but whenever any of the herd were likely to stray, or go into some adjoining field of corn, &c., each alternately mounted his charger, and went off at full gallop to turn back and punish the transgressors.
"Such as were trained, seldom or never went astray, being always about hand, and in readiness to be mounted; in short, such days as my father was from home, it was not unusual for a group of servants ​to receive amusement from my brother and I running set matches with our steeds, which were determined in the usual manner, with whip and spur; and in this latter management there was no such thing as bolting or tumbling going on, which occurred frequently during the training season. This system however, came at length to my father's ears, for one or two of the racers happening to die in consequence of too severe heats, or too much weight: when we were immediately disbanded from our office, and (our holidays being expired) ordered off to school again, which we set about with as much reluctance as we did the first morning in driving the hundred swine to the clover-field." (Henderson's Practical Grazier.)
The learned pig is another illustration of this same quality. This creature had been taught to pick up letters, written upon pieces of card, at command, and arrange them into words. It was first exhibited in the vicinity of Pall-Mall, in 1789, at 5s. each person. The price of admission was afterwards reduced to 2s. 6d., and finally to 1s..
The showman stated that he had lost three hogs in the course of training. Since then there have been many successors of the "learned pig" exhibited at different places, but none equal in talent to the original.
The next thing which we shall claim for our porcine clients is sagacity; nor are we here in want of illustrative evidences of their possession of it. But in general there is nothing in the life of a hog, in his domesticated state at least, which calls for any exercise of reasoning powers. His sole business is to eat, drink, sleep, and get fat; all his wants are anticipated, and his world is limited to the precincts of his sty or of the farm-yard. Yet even in this state of luxurious ease, individuals have shown extraordinary intelligence.
Mr. Craven, relates the following anecdote of an American sow: "This animal passed her days in the woods, with a numerous litter of pigs, but returning regularly to the house in the evening, to share with her family a substantial supper. One of her pigs was, however, quietly slipt away to be roasted; in a day or two afterwards another; and then a third. It would appear that this careful mother knew the number of her offspring, and missed those that were taken from her, for after this she came alone to her evening meal. This occurring repeatedly, she was watched out of the wood, and observed to drive back her pigs from its extremity, grunting, with much earnestness, in a manner so intelligible, that they retired at her command, and waited patiently for her return.
Surely this must be the result of something very like reasoning powers? "A gentleman residing at Caversham bought two pigs at Reading market, which were conveyed to his house in a sack, and turned into his yard, which lies on the banks of the river Thames.
"The next morning the pigs were missing. A hue and cry was ​immediately raised, and towards the afternoon a person gave information that two pigs had been seen swimming across the river at nearly its broadest part.
"They were afterwards observed trotting along the Pangbourn road, and in one place where the road branches off, putting their noses together as if in deep consultation. The result was their safe return to the place from which they had originally been conveyed to Reading, a distance of nine miles, and by cross roads.
"The farmer from whom they had been purchased, brought them back to their owner, but they took the very first opportunity again to escape, recrossing the water like two dogs, thus removing the stigma on their race, which proverbially disqualifies them for 'swimming without cutting their own throats,' and never stopped until they found themselves at their first home."
Here we see difficulties overcome, and a strange element encountered, in order to arrive at a far distant spot—the home to which the animals were attached. Some recollection of that place or some association of ideas must have influenced the proceedings of these animals; but to what faculty shall we attribute their swimming the river in a direct line with their old master's house, and then finding their way so immediately thither? And how shall we account for their thus acting in concert, if pigs are to be considered as the stupid obtuse brutes most persons are in the habit of designating them? Such instances of sagacity in the dog and the horse scarcely astonish us, because we allow to them a certain degree of reasoning power. But is not the great development of it in them as much arising from their intercourse, if such we may term it, with man?—from their being his companions, educated and ordered by him? "I have observed great sagacity in swine," observes Darwin, in his "Zoonomia," "but the short lives we allow them, and their general confinement, prevent their improvement, which would otherwise probably equal that of the dog."
"The Naturalist's Library" gives another anecdote of a hog which is indicative of no small degree of instinct or intelligence: "Early in the month, a pig that had been kept several days a close prisoner to his sty, was let out for the purpose of its being cleaned and his bed replenished. On opening the sty-door, he anticipated the purpose of his liberation by running to the stable, from which he carried several sheaves of straw to his sty, holding them in his mouth by the band. The straw being intended for another purpose, it was carried back to the stable; but the pig, seizing a more favorable opportunity, regained it, to the amazement of several persons, who were pleased to observe the extraordinary instinct of this wonderful pig.
Swine have also been repeatedly known to attach themselves to individuals, and to other animals, and to manifest great docility gentleness, and affection.
​Mr. Henderson says, "I have a young sow of a good breed, so docile that she will suffer my youngest son, three years of age, to climb upon her back and ride her about for half an hour at a time, and more; when she is tired of the fun, she lays herself down, carefully avoiding hurting her young jockey. He often shares his bread and meat with her."
A pig belonging to a baker in Kinghorn, county Fife, became so attached to a bull-dog that it would follow and sport with him, and follow her master, when he was accompanied by this dog, for five or six miles. The dog was fond of swimming, and the pig imitated this propensity; and if any thing was thrown into the water for the dog to fetch out, the pig would follow and dispute the prize with him very cleverly and energetically. These two animals invariably slept together.
M. de Dieskau tells us that "he made a wild boar so tame that the animal, although nearly three years old, would go up stairs to his apartment, fawn upon him like a dog, and eat from his hand. He also endeavored to bring up one which he caught very young, and which formed such an attachment to a young lady in the house that he accompanied her wherever she went, and slept upon her bed. Once he attacked her maid as she was undressing her mistress, and, had he been strong enough, would have done her some mortal injury. This lady was the only person in the house for whom the creature showed any affection, and yet he was not fed by her. At last he fretted himself to death on account of a fox which had been taken into the house to be tamed."
A very amusing account of a "pet pig" is given by a lady, in "Chambers' Edinburgh Journal:"—
"Being at a loss to know what to do with the refuse of our garden, Aunt Mary suggested that a pig should be purchased. Accordingly our little damsel Annette was despatched to a neighboring farmer, and, in exchange for a few shillings, she brought home a fat, fair, round pig, just six weeks old; and in her haste to display her bargain she tumbled it out in the sitting-room. Nothing daunted by the splendor of its new abode, the pig ran up and down, snorting and snuffing at every chair and table in the room, overturning with his snout my aunt's footstool, and trying his teeth on her new straw work-basket. After the pig had been duly admired and commented on, Annette was desired to install it in its own domicile; but this was more easily said than done; for being, I suppose, pleased with his new quarters, Toby—for so we named him—ran hither and thither, now scudding behind a chair or table, now whisking under the sofa; at length Annette succeeded in dragging him from his hiding-place while he roared out 'Murder!' as plain as a pig could speak. Annette was very fond of dumb creatures, as she called them; the pig became her darling, and for want of a companion of ​her own species, Toby became her constant associate; and finding his visits to the kitchen were winked at, he made use of the privilege, and would bask himself at full length before the fire. He even ventured occasionally to follow her into the front lobby; and if, as sometimes was the case, she put him into the yard, he would kick up such a row at the kitchen door to be let in, thumping on it with his snout, that she was fain to admit him to his old quarters. Toby was of a very social disposition, and so fond of Annette, and so grateful for her kindness, that he would follow her about everywhere; indeed to my great surprise, one day I found him standing sentry over her while she was putting down the stair carpet, and he seemed to be watching her proceedings with a very sagacious air. In process of time there came another proof that the course of true love never did run smooth. Annette fell into bad health, and returned to her home; the damsel who replaced her, had no taste for the society of pigs; so she thumped Toby away from the kitchen door, and many were the blows he got from her broom, or whatever missile first came to hand. Toby was soon exiled to his sty, much against his inclination, for he evidently would have preferred bivouacking in the back premises. We seldom passed to the garden without throwing him some comfort in the shape of a few cabbage-leaves, a handful of acorns, or a bunch of turnip-tops. It was truly amusing to see Toby make his bed. As the straw which was furnished for it was rather long and coarse, Toby used to take it bunch by bunch in his teeth, and run into a corner, breaking it into small pieces; and having accomplished this feat, he proceeded to arrange his couch in the most methodical manner. One day, Betty having omitted to give him his dinner, Toby in a great passion, jumped out of his sty, and came running to the kitchen door to see what was the reason of his being so shamefully neglected, and loud and long were his remonstrances on the subject. Finding it difficult to get the poor animal properly attended to, he was transferred to a neighbor; and we never gave him a successor, as we scarcely expected to find in another of his species that gratitude for kindness and affection for his friends, which shone so conspicuous in the character of poor Toby,"
It may appear absurd to claim cleanliness as a swinish virtue; but in point of actual fact the pig is a much more cleanly animal than most of his calumniators give him credit for being. He is fond of a good cleanly bed; and often, when this is not provided for him, it is curious to see the degree of sagacity with which he will forage for himself. "A hog is the cleanliest of all creatures, and will never dung or stale in his sty if he can get forth," says a quaint old writer of the sixteenth century, and we are very much of his opinion. But it is so much the habit to believe that this animal may be kept in any state of filth and neglect, that "pig" and "pig-sty" are terms ​usually regarded as synonymous with all that is dirty and disgusting.
His rolling in the mud is alleged against him as a proof of his filthy habits; if so, the same accusation applies to the elephant, the rhinoceros, and other of the Pachydermata. May this not rather be for the purpose of cooling themselves and keeping off flies, as we admit it to be in the case of the animals above mentioned? Savages cover themselves with grease in hot climates in order to protect their skins; may not instinct teach animals to roll themselves in mud for a similar purpose?
Pigs are exceedingly fond of comfort and warmth, and will nestle together in order to obtain the latter, and often struggle vehemently to secure the warmest berth.
They are eminently sensitive of approaching changes in the weather, and may often be observed suddenly to leave the places in which they had been quietly feeding, and run off to their styes at full speed, making loud outcries. When storms are overhanging, they collect straw in their mouths, and run about as if inviting their companions to do the same; and if there is a shed or shelter near at hand, may be seen to carry and deposit it there, as if for the purpose of preparing a bed. Hence has arisen the common Wiltshire saying, "Pigs see the wind." Virgil, in enumerating the signs of settled fine weather, notices this peculiarity in swine:—
"Nor sows unclean are mindful to provide
Their nestling beds of mouth-collected straw!"
Foster says—"When hogs shake the stalks of corn, and thereby spoil them, it indicates rain; and when they run squeaking about and throw up their heads with a peculiar jerk, windy weather is about to commence."
Darwin observes—"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."
In their domesticated state, swine certainly are very greedy animals; eating is the business of their lives; nor do they appear so very delicate as to the kind or quality of the food which is set before them. Although naturally herbiverous animals, they have been known to devour carrion with all the voracity of beasts of prey, to eat and mangle infants, and even gorge their appetites with their own young.
Low, however, says—"Instances have occurred in which a sow has been known to devour her young; but rarely, if ever, does this happen in a state of nature. It is not unreasonable to believe that when an act so revolting does occur, it arises more from the pain ​and irritation produced by the state of confinement, and often filth, in which she is kept, and the disturbances to which she is subjected, than from any actual ferocity: for it is well known that a sow is always unusually irritable at this period, snapping at all animals that approach her. If she is gently treated, properly supplied with sustenance, and sequestered from all annoyance, there is little danger of this ever happening."
Roots and fruits are the natural food of the hog, in a wild as well as in a domesticated state; and it is evident that, however omnivorous this animal may occasionally appear, its palate is by no means insensible to the difference of eatables, for whenever it finds variety it will be found to select the best with as much cleverness as other quadrupeds. "In the peach-tree orchards of North America," says Pennant, "where hogs have plenty of delicious food, they have been observed to neglect the fruit that has lain a few hours upon the ground, and patiently wait for a considerable time for a fresh windfall."
According to Linnæus, the hog is more nice in the selection of his vegetable diet than any of our other domesticated herbivorous animals. This great naturalist states that—
| | The Cow | eats | 276 | plants and rejects | 218 |
| | "Goat | " | 449 | " | 126 |
| | "Sheep | " | 387 | " | 141 |
| | "Horse | " | 262 | " | 212 |
| but that | the Hog only | " | 72 | " | 171 |
They are gifted with an exquisite sense of smell as well as touch, residing in the snout, and this enables them to discover roots, acorns, earth-nuts, or other delicacies suitable to their palates, which may be buried in the ground.
In some parts of Italy swine are employed in hunting for truffles, that grow some inches below the surface of the soil, and form those pickles and sauces so highly esteemed by epicures. A pig is driven into a field, and there suffered to pursue his own course. Wherever he stops and begins to root with his nose, truffles will invariably be found.
The last charge which we shall endeavor to refute is that of intractability. All the offences which swine commit are attributed to an innately bad disposition; whereas they too often arise solely from bad management or total neglect. Would horses or cattle behave one iota better, were they treated as pigs too often are? They are legitimate objects for the sport of idle boys, hunted with dogs, pelted with stones, often neglected and obliged to find a meal for themselves, or wander about half-starved. Can we wonder that, under such circumstances, they should be wild, unmanageable brutes? Look at the swine in a well-regulated farm-yard—they are as ​peaceable, and as little disposed to wander or trespass, as any of the other animals that it contains. Here, as in many other things, man is but too willing to attribute the faults, which are essentially of his own causing, to any other than their true source.
Martin says:—It has been usual to condemn the domestic hog, in no very measured terms, as a filthy, stupid brute, at once gluttonous, obstinate, and destitute of intelligence. Against this sweeping censure we beg to enter our protest. With regard to the filthiness of the hog in a state of confinement, every thing will depend on the trouble taken by its keeper. He may allow the sty or the yard to be covered with filth of every description, as disgraceful to himself as it is injurious to the animals. In this case the hog is the sufferer, for naturally it delights in clean straw, luxuriating in it with evident pleasure, its twinkling little eyes and low grunt expressing its feelings of contentment. In fact, the hog, so far from being the filthiest, is one of the cleanliest of our domestic quadrupeds, and is unwilling to soil the straw bed of his domicile if any thing like liberty be allowed him. It may be here said, is not the hog fond of wallowing in the mire? Undoubtedly it is; and so are all the genuine pachydermata, as the elephant, the rhinoceros, and the tapir. The skin of these animals, thick as it may be, is nevertheless sensitive, and a covering of mud is doubtless intended as a protection to the skin in the heat of summer, (the time in which the hog chiefly delights to wallow,) both against the scorching rays of the sun and the attacks of myriads of puny but intolerable winged persecutors. No animal delights more to have its hide rubbed and scratched than the hog a circumstance which every one practically conversant with pigs must have very frequently noticed.
With respect to the gluttony of the pig, we acknowledge him to be "a huge feeder;" but so is the horse or the ox, and indeed every animal that has to support a bulky carcass; and not only so, but become fat upon vegetable aliment. To a certain extent, indeed, the hog is omnivorous, and may be reared on the refuse of the butchers' slaughter-houses; but such food is not wholesome, nor is it natural; for though this animal be omnivorous, it is not essentially carnivorous. Vegetable productions, as roots and grain, beech-mast, and acorns, constitute the staple of its natural diet; hence, the refuse of the dairy farm is more congenial to the health of the animal, to say nothing of the quality of its flesh. All animals eat with a keen relish the hog amongst the rest; besides, his appetite is pampered, the object being to make him fat: and certainly a well-fed, plump hog is a more comely-looking beast than the gaunt, lean, flat-sided animals so generally seen in France and Germany. However, if the charge of gluttony be proved against the pig fattening in his sty, it may be equally proved against the ox fattening in his stall. When old, or when oppressed by fat, the hog, it must be confessed, is ​sluggish 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.