Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-12-17
WORLD FAMOUS STORIES
THE ORIGIN OF ROAST PIG
BY CHARLES LAMB.

The fame of Charles Lamb 1775-1S34 a,
English writer. rests entirely upon his de
ilghtful essays, better known as the Essays
OF Ella He and his sister Mary, also
wrote the Tales from Shakespeare that
many children like so well. Although not
strictly a writer of stories some Of Lamb 5
work approaches the narrative sketch IN
form and IS interesting for the story element
III lt.l
The swineherd Ho-t, having gone
out into the woods one morning, as
his manner was, to collect food for
his hogs, left his cottage In the care
of his eldest son, Bo-bo, great Tub
berly boy, who, being fond Of playing
with fire, as youngsters of his age
commonly are, let some sparks escape
into a bundle of straw, which, klndllnS
quickly, spread the confagration over
every part of their poor mansion I'LL
it was reduced to ashes.
Together with the cottage IA sorry
makeshift of a building, indeed, what
was of much more importance, fine
litter of young pigs, no less than nine
in number, persisted. Pigs In emma,
where this happened, have been
esteemed a luxury all over the East
from the remotest times. Bo-bo was
in the utmost CONSERVATION, not so
much for the sake of the tenement.
which his father and he could easily
build up again with a few dry
branches and labor Of an hour or two
at any time, as for the loss of the
pigs.
While Bo-bo was thinking what he
should say to his father, and wringing
his hands over the smoking remnants
of one of those untimely sufferers, an
od0r assailed his nostrils unlike any
scent which he had before experienced.
What could it proceed from?
Il couldn't come from the burnt
cOttage-he had smelt that smell be-
fore, for this was by no means the
first accident of the kind which had
occurred through the negligence OF
this unlucky young tfrebrand. Much
less did the OdOr resemble that of any
known herb weed, or flower. A pre-.
mOnitary moiStening at the same time
overlooked his neither lip. He knew
not what to think.
Then he stopped down to feel th>
pig. if there were any signs of life
in it. He burnt his fingers. and Il
cool them he applied them TO hi,
mouth. Some of the crumbs of the
scorched skin of the pig had come
away on his fingers, and for the first
time in his life tin the worlds life
indeed, for before him no man haG
known it, Bo-bo tasted that crisp crust
of cooked pork known as cracking,
Again BO-bo felt and fumbled at the
pig. 1t did not burn him so much
now; still he licked his fingers from
a sort of habit. The truth at length
broke into his slow understanding that
it was the pig that smelt so, and the
pig that tasted so delicious: and, sur,
rendering himself up to the newborn
pleasure. he fell to tearing up whole
handfuls of the scorched skin with the
flesh next it, and was examining /
down his throat in his beastly fashion.
when his father entered amid the
smoking rafters, armed with a re-
tributory cudgel, and finding how
affairs stood. began to rain blows
upon the young rogue's shoulders a,
thick as hailstones. which Bobo
needed not any more than if they
had been flies.
The tickling pleasure which Bo-bo
experienced had rendered him quite
callous to any inconvenience h,
might feel His father might lay on
but he could not beat him from his
pig till he had fairly made an end of
it. when, becoming little more aware
of his situation, something like the
following dialogue ensued: