“Measter,” said the man who had seen them fed, “them there Hirish pigs ha’ not feasted nout for a moonth yet:  they feade like nout I seed o’ my laife!!”

“Ay! ay!” replied the master, “I’se warrant they’ll soon fatten—­I’se warrant they shall, Hodge—­they be praime feeders—­I’se warrant they shall; and then, Hodge, we’ve bit the soft Hirishmun.”

Hodge gave a knowing look at his master, and grinned at this observation.

The next morning Hodge repaired to the sties to see how they were thriving; when, to his great consternation, he found the feeding-troughs clean as if they had been washed, and, not a single Irish pig to be seen or heard about the premises; but to what retreat the animals could have betaken themselves, was completely beyond his comprehension.  He scratched his head, and looked about him in much perplexity.

“Dang un!” he exclaimed, “I never seed nout like this.”

He would have proceeded in a strain of cogitation equally enlightened, had not a noise of shouting, alarm, and confusion in the neighborhood, excited his attention.  He looked about him, and to his utter astonishment saw that some extraordinary commotion prevailed, that the country was up, and the hills alive with people, who ran, and shouted, and wheeled at full flight in all possible directions.  His first object was to join the crowd, which he did as soon as possible, and found that the pigs he had shut up the preceding night in sties whose enclosures were at least four feet high, had cleared them like so many chamois, and were now closely pursued by the neighbors, who rose en masse to hunt down and secure such dreadful depredators.

The waste and mischief they had committed in one night were absolutely astonishing.  Bean and turnip fields, and vegetable enclosures of all descriptions, kitchen-gardens, corn-fields, and even flower-gardens, were rooted up and destroyed with an appearance of system which would have done credit to Terry Alt himself.

Their speed was the theme of every tongue.  Hedges were taken in their flight, and cleared in a style that occasioned the country people to turn up their eyes, and scratch their heads in wonder.  Dogs of all degrees bit the dust, and were caught up dead in stupid amazement by their owners, who began to doubt whether or not these extraordinary animals were swine at all.  The depredators in the meantime had adopted the Horatian style of battle.  Whenever there was an ungenerous advantage taken in the pursuit, by slipping dogs across or before their path, they shot off, at a tangent through the next crowd; many of whom they prostrated in their flight; by this means they escaped the dogs until the latter were somewhat exhausted, when, on finding one in advance of the rest, they turned, and, with standing bristles and burning tusks, fatally checked their pursuer in his full career.  To wheel and fly until another got in advance, was then the plan of fight; but, in fact