“Truly, wife,” rejoined the major, assuming an air of great self-complacency, “we military politicians had needs keep our wits whetted, and be careful how much honey we mix with the brimstone.  But I must go look up my chickens; and if the devil, as some say, regulates the future affairs of politicians, we may safely leave our enemies to him.”  The good woman now brought food for the pig, when, having devoured it with a keen appetite, the major, in order to test his various talents, put him to a severe examination.  It was found that he could perform with wonderful agility numerous gymnastic feats, such as jumping backward and forward, walking and vaulting upon his hinder legs, and keeping time to certain tunes.  He could also distinguish between certain figures and letters of the alphabet, to the latter of which he would, when directed, point with his nose.  Like some of our New York politicians, the pig was a wondrous animal in various ways.  In fine, so extraordinary was his talent, that, as I have before said, the major resolved at once to proceed with him to one of our great cities, where first rate talent, whether of pigs or tragedians, was sure to find appreciation.  But before this could be carried out, it was necessary that the services of Monsieur Pensin‚, who gave lessons in politeness to youths just entering society, be engaged to cultivate and so polish his manners as to render him an acceptable member of the Union Club, under the patronage of which institution, (generally supposed to have been established for the cultivation of effeminacy and other vices, common to the Dutch of New York,) he was sure to become a lion.  Monsieur Pensin‚ had figured in New York; was an exile of unquestionable nobility; and if we can trust the Tribune, a journal in high favor with foreign counts, a hero of enlarged celebrity.

And now the sagacious animal, fatigued with the labors of his examination, evinced an inclination to sleep, and to that end sought a distant corner of the room.  “We must treat him tenderly, dear Polly, for he has wonderful instincts,” said the major, casting a look of endearing sympathy at the animal.  The good woman pledged her word not to be found wanting.  Indeed so well did she appreciate the instincts, and even the tastes of the animal, that, having at hand a stray copy of the New York Express, and another of a very rare but no less wonderful journal, called the Mirror, (whose editor was famous for the immense amount of light and shade he threw into his financial operations,) she spread them upon the floor for his bed.  And with an evident fellow feeling for those worthy journals, the animal coiled himself down, casting an approving look at the good woman as she covered him with an aged copy of the Herald.  Seeing the animal thus reconciled, the major declared, that so pure a native American as Duncan could not have selected bed more appropriate, though he was not quite sure how the Express editors would regard the matter.  Indeed, he was not quite sure that they would not, feeling sorely grieved, dig up Duncan’s ancestors, and thereby find a means of damaging his character.