_Twelfth Day, 1823._
The pig was above my feeble praise. It was a dear pigmy. There was some
contention as to who should have the ears; but, in spite of his
obstinacy, (deaf as these little creatures are to advice,) I contrived
to get at one of them.
It came in boots, too, which I took as a favor. Generally these pretty
toes--pretty toes!--are missing; but I suppose he wore them to look
taller.
He must have been the least of his race. His little foots would have
gone into the silver slipper. I take him to have been a Chinese and a
female.
If Evelyn could have seen him, he would never have farrowed two such
prodigious volumes; seeing how much good can be contained in--how small
a compass!
He crackled delicately.
I left a blank at the top of my letter, not being determined which to
address it to: so farmer and farmer's wife will please to divide our
thanks. May your granaries be full, and your rats empty, and your
chickens plump, and your envious neighbors lean, and your laborers busy,
and you as idle and as happy as the day is long!