Anecdotes of the Learned Pig - With Notes, Critical and Explanatory, and Illustrations from Bozzy, Piozzi &c. &c.

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51017 *** Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive/American Libraries. See https://archive.org/details/anecdotesoflearn00bosw Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). Small capital letters have been transcribed in upper case. ANECDOTES OF THE LEARNED PIG. WITH NOTES, CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY, AND ILLUSTRATIONS FROM BOZZY, PIOZZI, &c. &c. _Epicuri de grege porcus._ LONDON: Printed for T. HOOKHAM, New Bond Street. M,DCC,LXXXVI. ADVERTISEMENT. The Editor is indebted to mere accident for his acquaintance with the following ſprightly performance; and, as it ſeemed to have been the Author’s intention to have written notes, from ſeveral detached papers having reference to the text, the Editor has taken the liberty to introduce them as ſuch, and add ſome trifling references by way of proof or illuſtration, which he hopes may not be deemed impertinent. _May_ 12, 1786. ANECDOTES OF THE LEARNED PIG [1]. The great and learned Pig, of which it is our hap to ſpeak, was produced in a ſty belonging to an old Tory, bookſeller, in [2] _Moorfields_. At that time _Moorfields_ was diſtinguiſhed by rails which [3] fluttered with party writings and libels of every ſort; and it is remarkable that his mother, during her pregnancy, tore down from thoſe rails, and fairly devoured one whole volume of _Filmer_ and all _Sacheverell_’s ſermons at a meal; after which ſhe was obſerved to grunt more and louder, and to lie longer in the ſun, and deeper in the mire, than it had before been her cuſtom to do. She was delivered of our Pig on the morning of the _tenth of June_. He was ſtrong and bony, but of an inelegant form, and betrayed a very uncommon roughneſs in his ſqueak; and it was ſoon after remarked by the neighbours, that his trottings after his mother were made in [4] zig-zags, and not in ſtraight lines as is uſual with other pigs. After his mother, however, he reſolutely trotted, and one morning, as ill fortune would have it, into a garden which had belonged to the great _Milton_, and was now in the poſſeſſion of one of his daughters. Here he fed voraciouſly upon _white roſes_, whilſt his lady mother was buſily employed in rooting up all the _red ones_. He was in this place ſeized by the owner, and ſo ſeverely whipped, that he thought no other than that ſhe was whipping him to death in preparation for a luxurious meal. Of this whipping he retained through life the higheſt reſentment, and bore ever after the moſt inveterate hatred of the whole _Miltonic line_. On the fifth of November following he was taken up, without any warrant, by the rabble, for the uſes of a _Whig feaſt_, and was very near being _roaſted_ at the ſame fire with the _Pope_, the _Devil_, and the _Pretender_; but this being diſcovered to be ſomething _meaſly_, he was turned looſe to be cured, as they deridingly ſaid, by the [5] _royal touch_. Of this event he retained the ſtrongeſt ſenſibility, and conſidered ever after his fellow ſufferers, the _Pope_ and the _Pretender_, with great complacence, if not affection; but as to the other _party_, though expoſed to the ſame diſhonours, there was ſomething in his horns and his tail which he could never be brought to endure. The touch already mentioned, though profanely ſneered at by the _Whig rabble_, was ſoon afterwards in good earneſt applied; but ſo great an obliquity of head had by this time taken place, that it could never be perfectly reſtored. Upon this memorable occaſion there was placed about his neck a ribband of _true blue_, to which hung a ſilver coin, diſplaying royal lineaments of the _Stuart line_, making ſo ſtrong an impreſſion on his young fancy, that for that line he ever after retained the moſt [6] paſſionate regard. Thus decorated, he conſidered himſelf, and was conſidered by others, as a kind of [7] _Tantony_, or _St. Anthony_’s Pig, belonging to the Crown. Not long after this period he was heard one morning as he lay in the ſun to grunt forth, portentouſly the following rhymes: Gruntledum, gruntledum, gruntledum, ſqueak, I hope very ſoon to be able to ſpeak; Through my griſtly proboſcis, I find, that I can Already cry _Ay_ like a Parliament man: Like a maid I ſqueak, like a lover can whine, And ſnort like an Alderman laden with wine. Gruntledum, gruntledum, gruntledum, ſqueak, I hope very ſoon to be able to ſpeak. [1] “He was not at all offended, when, comparing all our acquaintance to ſome animal or other, we pitched upon the elephant for his reſemblance, adding, that the proboſcis of that creature was like his mind moſt exactly, ſtrong to buffet even the tyger, and pliable to pick up even the pin.”—Piozzi, p. 205.—N.B. For elephant our author probably read _pig_. [2] We have ſought for information concerning this fact, that the gentleman deſignated in the text was born in _Moorfields_, or that his father was a bookſeller there, which, however, we confeſs to have heard, but when or where we can by no means remember. [3] Cloath ſpice, line trunks, or flutt’ring in a row, Befringe the rails of _Bedlam_ or Soho. POPE’S IM. OF HORACE, Ep. I. B. 2. [4] “When in company where he was not free, or when engaged earneſtly in converſation, he never gave way to ſuch habits, which proves that they were not involuntary.” I ſtill, however, think, that theſe geſtures were involuntary; for ſurely had not that been the caſe, he would have reſtrained them in the public ſtreets.—Boſwell’s Tour, p. 9. [5] The pretence of a miraculous power in the cure of the evil was the moſt extraordinary ſtrain of that King-craft of which James the Firſt ſo loudly boaſted. No manly man, under the circumſtances of the caſe, would have ſet up this pretence, or have expected any effect from it but that of public deriſion and contempt; but weak and credulous men take, perhaps, the beſt meaſure of human weakneſs and credulity, and ſo deep did this fraud ſtrike its roots, that, authenticated as it was by the clergy, and annually certified by the ſurgeons and phyſicians of the royal houſehold, it ſurvived the civil war, was reſtored with Charles the Second, extended beyond the revolution, and was only extinguiſhed by the act of ſettlement, which, taking the principles of the Britiſh government out of the clouds, placed them on the firm baſis of the earth. The pretenſions of Alexander were of a bolder and more rational ſort, and held to be ſo important, that his ſucceſſors, who had no kindred intereſt in the horns of Ammon, yet mingled them in their crowns and tiaras, till at laſt the Roman Titans tumbled from their ſeats one after another theſe fictitious gods. The moſt deceitful glimmer of divine claim ſeems to have had more influence on the mind of the perſon who ſeems to have been deſignated in the text, than the moſt ſolid principles of political right. [6] “I mentioned Lord Hailes as a man of anecdote—He was not pleaſed with him for publiſhing only ſuch memorials as were unfavourable for the _Stuart_ family.”—Boſwell’s Tour, p. 312. [7] Tantony pigs were pigs who belonged formerly to the Convent of St. Anthony in the city. Collars were placed about their necks, inſcribed _St. Anthony_. They fed all over the town, and out of reſpect to the fathers of that convent, it was uſual for the paſſengers to give them biſcuits, and other things carried for that purpoſe in their pockets. The pigs of courſe followed the paſſengers in this expectation; and hence came the expreſſion of one perſon’s following another like a Tantony pig. This being publicly known, the neighbours now put on him a human coat, in which condition he appeared as if the _Hog in armour_ had deſcended from his ſign-poſt to mingle in ſociety, and converſe with man. Nor did they ſtop here, but ventured alſo to recommend him for a penſion to the great _miniſterial hog_, though, for the preſent, however, without effect; for though it was evident enough that our learned Pig could ſay _Ay_, yet it did not follow that he would be always diſpoſed to do ſo. He was therefore turned looſe into the ſoil of this great town to ſubſiſt as he could, where, _idling_ and _rambling_, he picked up ſometimes flowers, and ſometimes thiſtles, a great number of Greek and Hebrew roots, with an immenſe quantity of verbage of every ſort [8]. It is for his honour that he routed in this rich compoſt for years without giving any offence, except that, through reſentment to the Miltonic line, he aſſociated rather too long with a very obſcene animal of the pig kind, called a [9] _Lauder_; and except, that he was taken ſometimes with ſtrange freaks, and fancied once that he ſaw ſomething in the [10] ſhape of a ſound of a knocking; and excepting alſo his too ſonorous gruntulations, and that long concatenation of ſoapy bubbles which uſually frothed from his mouth [11]. In the midſt of theſe reſearches he had one morning the good fortune to throw up this ſentiment in rhyme: Say, what is a Tory? A Tory is he Who thinks kicking ſhould paſs through every degree; And that all political motion ſhould go From the toe to the bum, from the bum to the toe. Then what is a [12] Whig? A dog full of knavery, A raſcal, a ſcoundrel impatient of ſlavery, A malignant, a thief;—then tell me if Whig Be any more better than gruntledum pig? [8] The perſon here deſigned is allowed by the courteſy of the times to poſſeſs a nervous and elegant ſtile; but ſo unhappy is the writer of this note, that he can by no means concur in the general praiſe. He has a notion of Saxon ſimplicity, from which all departure, not enforced by neceſſity, and regulated by taſte, aſſimilating, as much as may be, foreign words to the genius of the Saxon tongue, is to him intolerable. But the writer here ſpoken of was wholly deficient in taſte, and appears to refer his Engliſh to ſome foreign ſtandard chanting forth polyſyllables, and tiring the ear with dull returns of the ſame cadences, for ever advancing like a poſt horſe, two up and two down, and incapable of changing his pace, without throwing both himſelf and his rider in the dirt. But hack writers, like hack horſes, find it for their eaſe to practiſe an uniform rate. [9] _There is_, ſays a remarker on the life of Milton, _a high degree of prepollent probability that the letter in the Gentleman’s Magazine for the month of Auguſt 1747, page 363 and 364, ſigned William Lauder, came from the amicable hand of the writer of that life_. I do not, however, believe that the writer of Milton’s life was in the ſecret of Lauder’s forgeries, the fact itſelf being of ſo extraordinary a nature, that it is not probable that any two perſons, ſeparately capable of committing it, ſhould ſo fortuitouſly meet together; yet ſuch was his malevolence towards Milton, that we muſt admit it to have greatly clouded his underſtanding. He undoubtedly wrote the preface and the poſtſcript to Lauder’s publication: in alluſion to which, Doctor Douglas ſays, _that ’tis hoped, nay ’tis expected, that the the elegant and nervous writer, whoſe judicious ſentiments and inimitable ſtyle point out author of Lauder’s preface and poſtſcript, will no longer allow one to plume himſelf with his feathers, who appears ſo little to have deſerved his aſſiſtance_. Lauder confeſſes his guilt in a letter to Doctor Douglas, and takes all the obloquy on himſelf; but in a ſubſequent letter he declares, that the penitential one was written for him by that very gentleman, who has ſince written the life of Milton, and makes ſome complaints of a breach of friendſhip, _in which he had placed the moſt implicit and unlimited confidence_; but as he never charged, that I know of, the writer of Milton’s life with any participation in the forgery, we impute to him nothing but a ſtrange malignity which darkened his underſtanding. It muſt be owned, however, that he cut off the wreck of Lauder with great management, as well as competent ſucceſs. I remember that he boaſts in his life of Milton of his having written a prologue to the Comus of Milton, for the benefit of one of his grand daughters. This, I ſuppoſe, he would paſs for his benevolence; but he muſt excuſe me; I am not ſo much the dupe of charity as to believe, that he who ſo brutally calumniates Milton, his father, mother, uncles, wives, and children, _and all unfortunate ſouls that trace him in his line_, would be moved by any charitable diſpoſition towards any deſcendant of Milton’s, as being ſuch. The fact, I believe, is, that, finding Milton reduced by the labours of his friend Lauder to a level with his wiſhes, he practiſed, in concurrence with Mr. Lauder, one further act of malice, and endeavoured to fix an obligation on Milton in the perſon of his granddaughter, conferred by his moſt inveterate foes as the effect of ſatiated vengeance, converted into mingled pity and contempt. If there is any harſhneſs in this note, let it be remembered, that it ſpeaks of a man who, in the inſtance mentioned, let looſe the moſt outrageous malignity againſt one, who, whatever political errors he might have imbibed in common with a great majority of the nation, was, however, as a private man, of ſo exemplary a virtue, as to do the higheſt honour to literary purſuit, and whoſe genius, as a poet, conferred celebrity on the nation itſelf, and in whoſe protection therefore we ought to have taken a greater ſhare. [10] The hiſtory of this knocking is curious; it forms ſuch a drama of comedy, tragedy, and farce, from its firſt commencement in Cock Lane, paſſing through the ſolemn vaults of Clerkenwell, and then to Weſtminſter Hall, as, I believe, never was exhibited in any other country; a drama wherein childiſhneſs and age, gravity, dignities, folly, fraud, ſuperſtition, and credulity, were all largely and confuſedly thrown in to thicken the plot. That the perſon here deſignated ſhould carry out of this ſcene any reſpectability of character, is a proof that either he muſt have poſſeſſed great intrinſic worth, who could bear ſuch large deductions, or that public opinion has ceaſed to be the teſt of merit, if any baſe metal can in this manner paſs current for gold. [11] Our biographer ſhould have told us alſo, that once he joined the train of fancy, and paſſing the limits of fact, entered by the Shakeſpearean gate into fairy land. But in an evil hour, “No favouring Sybil marked the devious way.” Never was man or pig ſo aſtounded! and no wonder. He had ſtumbled unaccountably on the creations of ſenſibility, and found no correſponding emotions within; yet, unconſcious of defect, he pretended a knowledge of the country, and even offered himſelf as an unerring guide; but not long; for, tired with the maze, he gave way, at length, to new adventurers, and fled as another Gulliver out of Lilliput, where he had only encumbered the land. [12] “No man, however, was more jealouſly attached to his party; he not only loved a man the better, if he hated a _Whig_. Dear Bathurſt, ſaid he to me one day, was a man to my very heart’s content; he hated a fool, and he hated a rogue, and he hated a _Whig_; he was a very good hater.”—Piozzi’s Memoirs, p. 83. “_Pulteney_ was as paltry a fellow as could be. He was a _Whig_, who pretended to be honeſt; and you know it is ridiculous for a _Whig_ to pretend to be honeſt.” Boſwell’s Journal, p. 424. Talking of Granger—“The dog is a _Whig_: I do not like much to ſee a Whig in any dreſs; but I hate to ſee a _Whig_ in a parſon’s gown.”—_Ibid._ p. 312. There needed no more; a penſion was immediately hung about his neck, and the letters L. L. D. ſoon afterwards impreſſed on his rump [13]. And now who but our Pig? lying in the ſun, cheek by jowl, by the great miniſterial Hog, routing in the political ſoil, and throwing up daily the moſt delicious pig-nuts with his ſnout; nor did theſe diſcoveries reſt wholly in himſelf; for the great Hog would ſometimes let fall, from behind, certain rich, but often crude and ill-digeſted, materials, which were taken up in the Weſtphalian mode by our Pig, and delivered again better concocted to the many-headed beaſt: and hence we were taught, that Taxation was no Tyranny, and that a good American war was a very commodious and ſalutary thing. Great applauſe enſued, but not unattended with envy, there being at the time many ſnarlers who have ſaid, and now ſay, that it were better if our Pig had been, before this period, well ſouſed in the pickling tub, and that even the great miniſterial Hog himſelf had been hung up for bacon. I decide nothing on theſe brawls; yet, having reſpect to a certain ſuppoſed dignity in our Pig, it may, perhaps, excite ſome wonder, that he, whoſe politics were of no older a date than his penſion, and who had hitherto never routed out of the moral track, ſhould all at once lend himſelf out in this manner, and make his conſcience reſponſible for meaſures, of the principles or effects of which he muſt have been ſo incompetent a judge. But I anſwer in few words, that, like all other politicians, he had his propenſities; that it was, perhaps, the nature of the animal, and that mingling his humours and his reaſon together, there might have been a competent ſincerity in the caſe. But what ſhall we ſay to the indecency of his turning up the graves of _Pope_ and [14] _Swift_, (for I ſpeak not now of Milton) and goring them, Tories as they were, with ſo malicious a tooth? I anſwer, firſt, that they were not Tories. _Pope_ placed his glory in moderation; and _Swift_ was the renegade of one party, without being the convert of the other. But it was not _Whig_ or _Tory_, I believe, which now moved our Pig: there are other inſtinctive enmities in the world. Theſe men of real genius were ſatiriſts by profeſſion, and the natural enemies of Pigſ—“_The fewer ſtill I name_,” ſays Pope, “_I hurt the more_.”—“_Bond is but one, but Balaam is a ſcore_;” and again, “An hundred ſmart in _Timon and in Balaam_.” And I believe that our Pig ſmarted in _Bentley_, _Tibbald_, and poſſibly in many others; the ſtorm had but juſt patted before him, and he heard the arrowy ſhower ſtill rattle in his ear, and was conſcious, perhaps, that had he come forth a day ſooner, he would have been placed in a diſtinguiſhed, but, to him, a very unpleaſant, niche in the Dunciad of _Pope_, “Sacred to ridicule his whole life long, “And the ſad burden of ſome merry ſong.” [13] Our author daſhes away from thing to thing with very little method or order. He might, however, have touched on the occupation of a ſchoolmaſter, ſo honourable for a _pig_; in proof of which, we could have furniſhed him with the following document: “At Edial, near Litchfield, in Staffordſhire, young gentlemen are boarded and taught the Latin and Greek languages by Samuel Johnſon.” ADVERTISEMENT IN THE GENT. MAG. 1736, p. 428. [14] “He ſeemed to me to have an unaccountable prejudice againſt Swift; for I once took the liberty to aſk him, if Swift had perſonally offended him; and he told me, he had not.”—Boſwell’s Tour, p. 38. Where he inſults therefore the mighty dead, his rage is at leaſt natural; and when, to wound _Pope_, he ſuborns the tongue of a [15] kitchen wench, he preſerves, however, a nice proportion between his end and his means, doing, with very ſingular propriety, the baſeſt thing in, what muſt be allowed to be, the loweſt way. But we abſtain, we affect not gravity, we even forget his almoſt felonious attack upon Milton, and proceed. We have already noted the facility with which our learned Pig could ſay _Ay_. It was a great accompliſhment; but he had alſo his defects. [16] No art, no inſtruction could ever bring him to make a tolerable bow, or indeed to practice any civil grimace whatever; and his higheſt approach, in this way, towards humanity, never went farther than to entitle him, from the moſt exquiſite judge, to the character of a very _reſpectable Hottentot_: and hence he became at laſt to be conſidered as a very great [17] _Bore_; under which diſgrace he retired to a brewery in the Borough.—Happy retirement! for here he was fed with the freſheſt grains by the fair hand of a lady, who condeſcended to become the prieſteſs of our Pig; a lady who had acquired the Greek language without loſing her own, and whoſe manners and latinity were both equally pure. How great therefore muſt have been his grief, when he afterwards ſaw his fair provider melt away into the arms of a ſoft, but doubtleſs ſinewy Signor, and bathe herſelf, as it is yet her fortune to do, in the voluptuous warmths of Italy. But her’s, however be the praiſe, that, compoſed of gentle paſſions, ſhe conſcientiouſly ſacrificed, at thirty-eight, fortune, freedom, and England, only to legalize her delights. Never in any future period may ſhe be repentant of her choice, but always find in the joys of harmony a compenſation for the decays of love. From the fair hand of this lady our Pig was not only fed with the fineſt grains, but with the choiceſt green peas alſo, the earlieſt of the year—delicious food, as he himſelf confeſſes—for a [18] _Pig_. By her too was prepared for him the moſt inviting draff, which he ſwilled up at all hours with huge avidity and delight. But the lady had her humours; ſhe grew tired of one thing, and fond of another; ſhe ſought, upon preſſing inducements, the great rendezvous of Bath; and ſo the joys of the brewery had an end. Many were of opinion, (for who can pleaſe all,) that a certain diſtillery in the neighbourhood would have been a more apt and proper retreat for our Pig;—but there were difficulties; I enter not into domeſtic affairs; but whether there was any whiggiſm, or rivalſhip, or jealouſy, or what elſe in the caſe, I know not; but certain it is, that Sir Joſeph and he could never, as they ought, well pig together. During the happy period above mentioned, it came into the fancy of our Pig to journey into Scotland in the character of a travelling bear, with a ragged ſtaff in his paws, and a [19] monkey on his back. When he firſt obtained a penſion, he had been very affectionately conſidered by the people of that country, and in a manner naturalized, and become one of them; but he diſcovered ſoon afterwards, and more particularly on this occaſion, ſo much of the badger in his diſpoſition, that they found great reaſon to complain of the ſtrength and harſhneſs of his jaw. On his return he reſorted again to his beloved brewery, as yet profuſe of grains and draff, where he grunted forth, as was his cuſtom, many ſtrange and ſingular things, faithfully now on record, pretending alſo to cure certain mental diſeaſes by the medicinal qualities of his tongue; but its extreme roughneſs the ſenſibility of his patients could not bear. Enough has been ſaid; the reſt ſhall be left to Bozzy. Yet we will add, that with all his peculiarities, he had virtues and merits enough to make us heartily wiſh he were ſtill in being:—But, alas, it is paſt, and he is now cutting up into junks, to be ſold _pro bono publico_ at nine different ſhops in retail. [15] Moſt of what can be told concerning his petty peculiarities was communicated by a female domeſtic of the Earl of Oxford, who knew him, perhaps, after the middle of life.—Johnſon’s Lives of the Poets, 8vo. vol. 4, p. 141. [16] And yet certain it is that no pains was ſpared for this purpoſe; for “my mother (ſaid he) was always telling me that I did not behave myſelf; that I ſhould endeavour to learn behaviour, and ſuch cant.” Indeed his defect in this particular could not be overlooked by his moſt partial admirer; for “I ſuppoſe none (ſays ſhe) who ſaw his odd manner of geſticulation, much blamed or wondered at the good lady’s ſolicitude concerning her ſon’s behaviour.”—Piozzi’s Memoirs of Johnſon, p. 24 and 25. [17] Cant words are uſually begot in a cellar by _fun_ upon _folly_: but the word _bore_ and _boar_ has another origin; it was begot on a ſofa by _Madamoiſelle Ennui_ upon herſelf, and brought forth into the world in the midſt of the ton. The roar and fury of the river Severn the people of the country call the _boar_. A female ſaint was reported miraculouſly to have ſhed tears: the fact was denied by a Madrid carpenter who had made the ſaint, “becauſe (ſays he) ſhe is not only compoſed of heart of oak, but if ſhe had been at all diſpoſed to weep, ſhe muſt have wept when I _bored_ an aperture with my largeſt augre in her rump.” And thus teazing and vexation of every kind may be called a _bore_. A dun is a _bore_, and a ſermon is a _bore_, and ſo forth; but the greateſt of all poſſible _bores_, in whatever ſpelling, is a huſband, a _bore_ at night, a _bore_ in the morning, and, in ſhort, one general univerſal _bore_. Our author has uſed this faſhionable word with the moſt perfect propriety, in a ſenſe ſatisfying the very letter, as well as ſpirit of the word. [18] When we went into Wales together, and ſpent ſome time at Sir Robert Cotton’s at Llewenney, one day at dinner I meant to pleaſe Mr. Johnſon particularly with a diſh of very young peas.—“Are not they charming?” ſaid I to him, while he was eating them.—“Perhaps (ſaid he) they would be ſo—to a Pig.”—Piozzi, p. 63. [19] This paſſage ſeems inexplicable. We have had reſort to Bozz, but in vain: the ſtaff, indeed, he readily acknowledged; but as to the other aſſociate, or who, or what was meant, neither he nor we were able to diſcover. * * * * * * Transcriber's note: Footnotes have been renumbered 1–19 and moved from within paragraphs natural breaks in paragraphs. We would ordinarily have moved the footnotes to the end of the book, we but did not wish to entirely deprive you of the ambience that readers of the original printed book enjoyed. Original printed spelling and grammar are retained, with one exception: Page 3. “refeences” changed to “references”. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51017 ***