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A DISSERTATION UPON 
 ROAST PIG 
 
/ 
 
 / 
 
 DIS 
 SERTA' 
 
 rio:Nb 
 
 UPOK 
 RQASl^ 
 PIG 
 
One oi til 
 
 ofELIA 
 
 Witk a Note on. 
 
 LAMB'S LITER B 
 ARYMOriVE 
 
 \>Y CyRU^ LauR_01sL 
 
 
 Hoo 
 
 PEP^ 
 

 m 
 
 m 
 
LAMB'S LITERARY MOTIVE 
 
LAMB^S LITERARY 
 
 MOTIVE 
 
 HE spirit the age 
 
 I has, to pry into the 
 
 consciousness of 
 
 men, tracing their 
 
 motives from fir^ 
 
 causes, through 
 
 various activities, 
 
 to ultimate efFedts, may vv^eU be pro^ 
 
 nounced hazardous i£ one hopes to 
 
 find absolute truth. The method mu^ 
 
 b 
 
be, originally, subjedlive; & finally oh^ 
 jedtive; tke two manners frequently 
 crossing and returning one upon tke 
 other, making possible many errors 
 in the labor of projedting one's ^ates 
 o£ consciousness into another. For, 
 obviously, the thinker may mii^ake 
 his own mental idiosyncrasy for a 
 general psychic lav/, and thus err in 
 his projedtion; or he may be v/hoUy 
 ignorant of vital facfts of his subjedt's 
 mind, may exaggerate some, mini^ 
 mize others, thus v/idely misconceive 
 ing the total consciousness under his 
 scalpel. Such dissedtion is naturally 
 harmless on the bodiless creations of 
 fidlion, detradting only from the Avri^ 
 ter's merit: but in the case of hi^orical 
 8 
 
or literary cKaradters, harm mayfoh 
 low; and the grain of salt mu^ there^ 
 fore be at the reader's hand. 
 
 A theory I heard of the underlying 
 cause of a certain man's vagaries is 
 to the point. This man, a preacher 
 known widely for a keen intelledl and 
 a fine oratorical manner, v/as in his 
 social relations as much a provoker o{ 
 laughter as in the pulpit a mover of 
 profound and serious thinking. Un^ 
 heard of practical jokes and unminis** 
 terial violations of the proprieties 
 were his daily pradtices. On one oc** 
 casion, at a hotel table, he slipped 
 some spoons into the pocket of a fel*' 
 low preacher, & afterward contrived 
 to discover them to the crowd in the 
 
lobby, seeming to enjoy tbe embar** 
 rassment caused. AltKougk such an** 
 tics "were accepted by his friends as 
 evidences o£ good fellov/ship and 
 buoyant spirit, he did not receive 
 ^vith equal good nature the practical 
 joke of ^svhich he v/as the vidtim: he 
 became angry, and seemed to lose en** 
 tirelyhis sense of humor. This ^vasre^ 
 called afterv/ard, ^vhen he died sud*' 
 denly of heart disease; and an effort 
 ^vas made to account for his incon** 
 sii^ency. Some one vv^ho kne^v him 
 ^vell explained that, knov/ing o{ his 
 disease, and not kno^ving ^vhat mo** 
 ment might be his end, he had as a 
 motive for his pranks the necessity 
 of a mental adlivity so simulating 
 
 lO 
 
and diverting as to drive away all 
 thoughts of death, but that v/hen the 
 tables ^ve^e turned upon him, the ac 
 tivity, not being his own, but anoth** 
 er's, afforded him no such relief. The 
 theory seemed ingenious, but it ^svas 
 only a theory, and in the making of it 
 there ^vere the chances of error al^ 
 ready set do^vn. 
 
 No^v in the case of those v/ho put 
 to paper immortal v/ords for our de** 
 light, we are not content to read and 
 enjoy; we mu^ needs know the why 
 and the vv^herefore of literary motive, 
 v/hether the purpose were moral, 
 philosophic, pure art, or v/hat not. 
 The fir^ & the second of these afford 
 no challenge to us, their very nature 
 
 II 
 
making them plain and open; but the 
 third, revealing of itself no utility, 
 calls loudly upon us to ask the cause 
 of its bringing forth. How did the au*" 
 thor happen to conceive his thought? 
 ^Vhat brought into his brain a con*^ 
 ception so unique? and hov/ did it 
 happen to be wrought in lines so fine 
 and enduring? 
 
 ' 'A Dissertation upon RoaiA Pig'' is 
 one of those that offer the challenge, 
 and in its company are all the essays 
 of Elia — more particularly those of so 
 i^ridlly a personal nature as to ^artle 
 the reader, as ''Dream Children/' 
 This note of personality is indeed the 
 key to ^w^hat appears to the v/riter as 
 the secret of Lamb's literary motive. 
 
 12 
 
In the essay ju^t mentioned, kownat^ 
 urally does Elia dra^v the picture of 
 his teUing his children evening Tories 
 of their great'^grandmother Field! — 
 how she lived in a great house full of 
 delightful associations; how good she 
 was; how accomplished. And who 
 that does not know of Lamb's love of 
 a fair AKce & of his Ufelong bachelor^ 
 dom, can help being deceived by the 
 simple ^atement, ''Here Alice put 
 on one of her dear mother's looks'7 
 At the end the reader is ^artled at 
 seeing the two children gro\v fainter 
 to the viev/, leaving in their places 
 ''the effedts of speech," thus: "V/e 
 are not of Alice, nor of thee, nor are 
 we children at all. The children of 
 
 13 
 
AKce call Bartrum father. We are 
 nothing, less than nothing, & dreams. 
 We are only v/hat might have been, 
 & mu^ wait upon the tedious shores 
 of Lethe miUions of ages before we 
 have exiiAence and a name.'' 
 
 The personality of it! And of many 
 other of the Elia essays ! For although 
 Lamb is always trying to deceive his 
 reader by changing the names & rela^ 
 tionships of his charadlers, by warp^ 
 ing this or that fadl into an unrecog** 
 nizable form, and then, contrarily, 
 deceiving as Avell v/ith the truth un** 
 expedledly given, he is al^svays true to 
 his personal view of people & things, 
 and gives it ^svith an accuracy that 
 causes the reader to wonder how he 
 14 
 
could have gained his consent so to re* 
 veal himself and those deare^ to him. 
 The que^ion finds an answer, per^ 
 haps, in Lamb's compelled effort to 
 diredt his thoughts away from the 
 taint of madness that afflidted his 
 house, — the madness that had over* 
 taken him "when, conceiving his duty 
 to be to\vard his si^er, he had given 
 up the hope o( his Alice's love; the 
 madness that drove this silver to kill 
 her own mother. ''I am got some* 
 what rational now, & don't bite any 
 one. But mad I ^vas!''he ^vrote to 
 Coleridge, when recently come out 
 of what proved to be his only attack 
 of the family malady. Mary's mad- 
 ness was alw^ays present — a shadow 
 
 c 15 
 
tKat dimmed tKe sunligkt of their 
 lives. Charles gave himself the Kfe*^ 
 long duty of ^vatching over her, of 
 smoothing the rough places in her 
 path; but too often the path led across 
 the fields to the house w^here he took 
 her ^vhen the dreaded attack could be 
 warded off no longer, & thither they 
 went hand in hand, and in tears . Then 
 the lonely apartments for Charles, 
 after his v/ork at the office, and days 
 and ^veeks in the shado^sv. Doubtless 
 it is inevitable that in such circum^ 
 dances any human mind mu^ medi** 
 tate unresi^ingly upon the trial of the 
 moment, & thus itself sink into mad*' 
 ness, or by sheer force o{ will, or 
 drink, drive itself into v/holly foreign 
 i6 
 
regions of thought; or, finding as arc 
 sultant bet^veen the two contending 
 forces a line o£ thought betsveen the 
 other tv^o, escape both madness and 
 the necessity o£ forcing an unconge** 
 nial or artificial ^ate of mental adtiv^ 
 ity . Thus the ^ate attained becomes 
 the diagonal of the parallelogram. In 
 Lamb's case, it ^vas pleasurable rem** 
 iniscence lying betsveen thoughts of 
 the family taint on the one side and 
 the freedom from such thoughts he 
 sought in conviviality. 
 
 Such pleasurable reminiscence is 
 everywhere in the Essays of Elia, and 
 it is foreshadov/ed in the poem of 
 which the following is, I think, the 
 mo^ significant ^anza : — 
 
''GIio^4ike I paced round tKe haunts 
 of my cKildKood. 
 
 EartK seemed a desert I was 
 
 bound to traverse, (faces/' 
 
 Seeking to find tke old familiar 
 TKe necessity o{ seeking relief from 
 sorrow^ in suchof kis pai^ as was pleas^ 
 urable, appears in Kis letters as well 
 as in tKe essays. He ^svrote to Cole* 
 ridge, ''Mary, in consequence of fa* 
 tigue and anxiety, is fallen ill again, 
 and I vv^as obliged to remove Ker yes* 
 terday . I am left alone in a Kouse witK 
 notKing but Hetty's dead body to 
 keep me company/' (Hetty Avas an 
 old servant wKo Kad ju:^ died.) ''To* 
 morro^v I bury Ker, tKen I sKall be 
 quite alone v/itK notKing but a cat to 
 i6 
 
remind me that the house has been 
 full o£ living beings like myself. My 
 heart is quite sunk, and I don t know 
 w^here to look for relief Mary will 
 get better again, but her con^antly 
 being liable to these attacks is dread** 
 ful; nor is it the lea^ of our evils that 
 her case and all our i^ory is so well 
 known around us. \Ve are in a man* 
 ner marked. Excuse my troubling 
 you, but I have nobody by me to speak 
 to me. I slept out la^ night, not being 
 able to endure the change & the ^ill*' 
 ness; but I did not sleep well, and I 
 mu^ come back to my own bed. I am 
 going to try and get a friend to come 
 and be with me to'^morrow. I am com" 
 pletely shipwrecked. My head is 
 
 ^9 
 
quite bad. I almoiA wish that Mary 
 ^ve^c dead/' And a little later, ^vrit'^ 
 ing to Kis friend Manning, the friend 
 mentioned as ''M/' in ''A Disserta'^ 
 tion upon Roai^ Pig'\ he says that he 
 is about to change his lodging. ''I have 
 partly fixed upon most delectable 
 lodgings,'' he says, ''which look out 
 (when you ^and a tip'^toe) over the 
 Thames & Surrey Hills, at the upper 
 end o{ King's Bench Walks in the 
 Temple. There I shall have all the 
 privacy o£ a house ^vithout the en^ 
 cumbrance, and shall be able to lock 
 my friends out as ofi:en as I desire to 
 hold free converse ^th my immortal 
 mind — for my present lodgings re** 
 semble a miniiAer's levee, I have so 
 20 
 
increased my acquaintance (as they 
 call 'em) since I have resided in town. 
 .... By my new plan I sKall be as 
 airy, up four pair of ^airs, as in the 
 country, & in a garden in the midi^ o£ 
 enchanting (more than Mohammed** 
 an paradise) London, ^vhose dirtied 
 drab-'frequented alley, and her lo^v^ 
 e^'^bo^ving tradesman, I \vould not 
 exchange for Skiddaw, Helvellyn, 
 James, Walter, and the parson into 
 the bargain. O! her lamps of a night! 
 her rich goldsmiths, print^'shops, toy* 
 shops, mercers, hard^vare men, pas^ 
 try *'cooks, St. Paul's Churchyard, the 
 Strand, Exeter Change, Charing 
 Cross, w^ith the man upon a black 
 horse! These are thy gods, O London! 
 
 21 
 
Ain t you migktily moped on the 
 banks of the Cam? Had you not bet** 
 ter come and set up bere ? You can't 
 tbink ^vbat a difference. All tbe 
 Greets and pavements are pure gold, 
 I v/arrant you. At lea^, I know an 
 alcbemy tbat turns ber mud into tbat 
 metal — a mind tbat loves to be at 
 bome in crov^ds.'' 
 
 For it v/as in tbese cro^vds tbat 
 Lamb v/as born; & bis keeneiA pleas^ 
 ure^vas tbe recording of bis contem^* 
 plations of tbem. His preference was 
 for tbe city, but tbe loving toucbes 
 are found too in v/bat be wrote o£ 
 country life as be bad seen it. But 
 wbetber city or country v/as bis 
 tbeme, be ^vrote of it in tbe ligbt o£ 
 
 22 
 
his o^vn personal experience; i that 
 he could do this was the essence o£ 
 his genius as v/ell as his line of safety 
 between madness and the waging of 
 his Hfe in conviviality. This literary 
 habit of pleasurable reminiscence ap** 
 pears in all its lightness in the lAory 
 of Ho^ti and Bo^'bo and the delightful 
 cuhnary dissertation that follows. 
 Here are the happy memories of 
 many fea^s — the spiritual expression 
 of materiali^ic joys. The taskofAvrit** 
 ing it — if the writing of an essay of 
 such seeming spontaneity could have 
 been a task — could have been done 
 only by one long accustomed to think 
 lovingly over pa^ experiences and to 
 write them more for his own pleasure 
 d 23 
 
tKan for that of others. It ^vas in seek** 
 ing his escape from his tragic pa^ that 
 he endeared himself to the English 
 race. 
 
 24 
 
A DISSERTATION UPON 
 ROAST PIG 
 
ADIS 
 
 
A DISSERTATION UPON 
 ROAST PIG 
 
 ANKIND, says 
 a Chinese manu" 
 script, wKicK my 
 friend M. \vas O'* 
 bliging enough to 
 read and explain to me, for the 
 fir^ seventy thousand ages ate 
 their meat raw, clav/ing or bit** 
 ing it from the Hving animal, 
 ju^ as they do in Abyssinia to 
 this day. This period is not ob** 
 scurely hinted at by their great 
 
Confucius in the second chapter of 
 his Mundane Mutations, ^vkere he 
 designates a kind of golden age by the 
 term Cho'^fang, literally the Cooks' 
 Holiday. The manuscript goes on to 
 say that the art of roaiAing, or rather 
 broiling (^svhich I take to be the elder 
 brother), was accidentally discover^ 
 ed in the manner following: The 
 s\vineherd, Ho'^ti, having gone out 
 into the v^oods one morning, as his 
 manner v/as, to coUedl ma^ for his 
 hogs, left his cottage in the care of his 
 elde^ son, Bo^'bo, a great lubberly 
 boy,\vho, being fond of playing \vith 
 fire, asyounkers of his age commonly 
 are, let some sparks escape into a bun** 
 die of Ara^v, which kindling quickly 
 28 
 
spread the conflagration over every 
 part of their poor mansion, till it was 
 reduced to ashes. Together v/ith the 
 cottage (a sorry antediluvian make*' 
 shift of a building you may think it), 
 v^hat was of much more importance, 
 a fine Ktter of new^farro\ved pigs, no 
 less than nine in number, perished. 
 China pigs have been ei^eemed a lux^ 
 ury all over the Ea^, fi:om the remote 
 e^ periods that v/e read of Bo^'bo^vas 
 in the utmo^ con^ernation, as you 
 may think, not so much for the sake 
 of the tenement, ^vhich his father and 
 he could easily build up again with a 
 fe^v dry branches, and the labor of an 
 hour or two, at any time, as for the 
 loss of the pigs . While he w^as thinking 
 
 29 
 
what he should say to his father, and 
 wringing his hands over the smoking 
 remnants of one of those untimely 
 sufferers, an odor assailed his no^rils, 
 unlike any scent ^svhich he had before 
 experienced. What could it proceed 
 from? not from the burnt cottage, he 
 had smelt that smell before ; indeed, 
 this was by no means the fir^ acci^ 
 dent of the kind which had occurred 
 through the negligence o£ this un** 
 lucky young firebrand. Much less did 
 it resemble that of any known herb, 
 Aveed, or flov/er. A premonitory 
 moi^ening at the same time over^ 
 flowed his nether lip. He knew not 
 what to think. He next looped dow^n 
 to feel the pig, if there ^vere any signs 
 30 
 
o{ life in it. He burnt Kis fingers, and 
 to cool tKcm he applied them in his 
 booby fashion to his mouth. Some o£ 
 the crumbs of the scorched skin had 
 come away with his fingers, and for 
 the fir^ time in his life (in the world's 
 life, indeed, for before him no man 
 had known it) he ta^ed— CRACK*' 
 LING ! Again he felt and fumbled at 
 the pig. It did not burn him so much 
 noNv, j^ill he Kcked his fingers from 
 a sort of habit. The truth at length 
 broke into his slow under^anding, 
 that it was the pig that smelt so, and 
 the pig that ta^ed so delicious; and 
 surrendering himself up to the new"^ 
 born pleasure, he fell to tearing up 
 whole handfuls of the scorched skin 
 e 31 
 
with the flesh next it, and was cram** 
 ming it down his throat in his beai^ly 
 fashion, when his sire entered amid 
 the smoking rafters, armed v/ith re** 
 tributory cudgel, and finding how af^ 
 fairs ^ood, began to rain blo^vs upon 
 the young rogue's shoulders, as thick 
 as haili^ones, which Bo^'bo heeded 
 not any more than i{ they had been 
 flies. The tickling pleasure, v/hich he 
 experienced in his lov/er regions, had 
 rendered him quite callous to any in^ 
 conveniences he might feel in those 
 remote quarters. His father might 
 lay on, but he could not beat him fi:om 
 his pig, till he had fairly made an end 
 of it, when, becoming a little more 
 sensible of his situation, something 
 
 3^ 
 
like the following dialogue ensued: 
 
 ''You graceless whelp, v^Kat Kave 
 you got there devouring? Is it not 
 enough that you have burnt me dov/n 
 three houses v/ith your dog's tricks, 
 and be hanged to you ! but you mu^ 
 be eating fire, and I know not what — 
 v/hat have you got there, I say?" 
 
 '"O father, the pig, the pig ! do come 
 and ta^e hownice the burnt pig eats/' 
 
 The ears o{ Ho^ti tingled w^ith hor^ 
 ror. He cursed his son, and he cursed 
 himself that ever he should beget a 
 son that should eat burnt pig. 
 
 Bo^bo, whose scent ^svas wonder^ 
 fijlly sharpened since morning, soon 
 raked out another pig, & fairly rend^ 
 ing it asunder, thru^ the lesser half 
 
 33 
 
by main force into the d^s o{ Ho^^ti, 
 lAill shouting out, ''Eat, eat, eat the 
 burnt pig father, only tai^e—O Lord! '' 
 — with such^'like barbarous ejacula** 
 tions, cramming all the while as if he 
 v/ould choke. 
 
 Ho^ti trembled every joint ^w^hile 
 he grasped the abominable thing, wa^ 
 vering Avhether he should not put his 
 son to death for an unnatural young 
 monger, ^svhen the crackling scorch^ 
 ing his fingers, as it had done his son's 
 and applying the same remedy to 
 them, he in his turn tailed some of 
 its flavor, v/hich, make v/hat sour 
 mouths he would for apretense,prov*' 
 ed not altogether displeasing to him. 
 In conclusion (for the manuscript 
 
 34 
 
here is a little tedious) both father and 
 son fairly sat dov^n to the mess, and 
 never left off till they had despatched 
 all that remained of the litter. 
 
 Bo^bo w^as ^ridtly enjoined not to 
 let the secret escape, for the neighbors 
 would certainly have ^oned them 
 for a couple of abominable \vretches, 
 who could think o£ improving upon 
 the good meat which God had sent 
 them. Nevertheless, Grange Tories 
 got about. It was observed that Ho** 
 ti's cottage was burnt down no^v 
 more frequently than ever. Nothing 
 but fires from this time forv/ard. 
 Some would break out in broad day, 
 others in the night^'time. As often as 
 the so^v farrowed, so sure was the 
 
 35 
 
House of Ho^'ti to he in a blaze; & Ho^ 
 ti himself, wKich w^as the more re^ 
 markable, in^ead of cha^ising Kis 
 son, seemed to grow more indulgent 
 to him than ever. At length they 
 v^ere ^vatched, the terrible myi^ery 
 discovered, and father and son sum^* 
 moned to take their trial at Pekin, 
 then an inconsiderable assize to^vn. 
 Evidence v/as given, the obnoxious 
 food itself produced in court, and ver^ 
 didl about to be pronounced, w^hen 
 the foreman of the jury begged that 
 some of the burnt pig, of w^hich the 
 culprits lAood accused, might be hand** 
 ed into the box. He handled it, and 
 they all handled it; and burning their 
 fingers, as Bo^bo and his father had 
 
 36 
 
done before them, & nature prompt** 
 ing to each of them the same remedy, 
 again^ the face of all the fadts, & the 
 cleared charge ^vhich judge had ever 
 given, — to the surprise of the v/hole 
 court, townsfolk, Grangers, report** 
 ers, and all present — ^vithout leaving 
 the box, or any manner o£ consulta** 
 tion ^vhateve^, they brought in a sim*' 
 ultaneous verdid: of Not Guilty. 
 
 The judge, who v/as a shre^vd feh 
 low, v/inked at the manife^ iniquity 
 of the decision; and ^vhen the court 
 was dismissed, went privily & bought 
 up all the pigs that could be had for 
 love or money. In a fe^v days his Lord" 
 ship's tovv^n^'house \vas observed to be 
 on fire. The thing took wing, & now 
 
 37 
 
there was notKing to he seen but fires 
 in every diredtion. Fuel and pigs grew 
 enormously dear all over the di^ridt. 
 TKe insurance'^offices one and all skut 
 up skop. People built sligkter & sligkt** 
 er everyday, until it^vas feared tkat 
 tke very science of arckitecture 
 v/ould in no long time be lo^ to tke 
 Avorld. Tkus tkis cu^ona of firing 
 kouses continued, till in process o£ 
 time, says my manuscript, a sage a^ 
 rose, like our Locke, \vko made a dis:^ 
 covery tkat tke flesk of sv/ine, or in** 
 deed of any otker animal, naigkt be 
 cooked (burnt, as tkey called it) w^itk^ 
 out tke necessity o£ consuming a 
 wkole kouse to dress it. Tken firiA 
 began tke rude form of a gridiron. 
 
 38 
 
Roaming by the ^ring or spit came in a 
 centuryor two later,! forget in whose 
 dynasty. By such slov/ degrees, con^* 
 eludes the manuscript, do the mo^ 
 useful, & seemingly the mo^ obvious, 
 arts make their v/ay among mankind. 
 
 Without placing too implicit faith 
 in the account above given, it mu^ be 
 agreed that if a ^vorthy pretext for so 
 dangerous an experiment as setting 
 houses on fire (especially in these 
 days) could be assigned in favor of any 
 culinary objedl, that pretext and ex^ 
 cuse might be found in ROAST PIG. 
 
 Of all the delicacies in the \vhole 
 mundus edibilis, I w^ill maintain it to 
 be the mo^ delicate — princeps obso-" 
 niorum. 
 
 f 39 
 
I speak not of your grown porkers 
 — things between pig & pork — those 
 hobbledehoys — but a young and ten** 
 der suckhng — under a moon old — 
 guiltless as yet of the i^y , with no orig** 
 inal speck of the amor immunditias, 
 the hereditary failing of the firi^ par** 
 ent, yet manifei^ — his voice as yet 
 not broken, but something between 
 a childish treble and a grumble — the 
 mild forerunner or praeludium of a 
 grunt. 
 
 HE MUST BE ROASTED. lam 
 not ignorant that our ance^ors ate 
 them seethed, or boiled — but what a 
 sacrifice of the exterior tegument! 
 
 There is no flavor comparable, I 
 ^vill contend, to that of the crisp, 
 40 
 
tawny,^vell''Avatched,notover^roa^*' 
 ed, CRACKLING, as it is well call- 
 ed, the very teeth are invited to their 
 share of the pleasure at this banquet 
 in overcoming the coy, brittle resi^** 
 ance, v/ith the adhesive oleaginous — 
 O call it not fat! but an indefinable 
 s^veetness grooving up to it — the ten- 
 der blossoming of fat — fat cropped in 
 the bud — taken in the shoot — in the 
 fir:^ innocence, the cream and quin- 
 tessence o£ the child^'pig's yet pure 
 food, the lean, no lean, but a kind of 
 animal manna, or, rather fat and lean 
 (if it mu^ be so) so blended and run- 
 ning into each other, that both togeth- 
 er make but one ambrosian result or 
 common sub^ance. 
 
 41 
 
BcKold Kim vv^Kile he is doing — it 
 seemetK ratker a refresking ^va^^lth, 
 tKan a scorching Keat, tKat he is so 
 passive to. How equably he twirh 
 etk round tke ^ring ! — Now he is ju^ 
 done. To see the extreme sensibi^ 
 ity of that tender age! he hath wept 
 out his pretty eyes — radiant jellies — 
 shooting lAars. 
 
 See him in the dish, his second cra^ 
 dle,ho^svmeekhelieth! wouldi^thou 
 have had this innocent grow up to 
 the grossness and indocility ^vhich 
 too often accompany maturer s^ne** 
 hood? Ten to one he would have prov** 
 ed a glutton, a sloven, an ob^inate, 
 disagreeable animal, v/allowing in all 
 manner of filthy conversation, from 
 42 
 
these sins he is happily snatched a^ 
 way — 
 
 Ere sin could blight or sorro^w fade. 
 Death came with timely care — 
 
 his memory is odoriferous — no clown 
 cu^seth,^vhilehis ^omachhalfrejed:«» 
 eth, the rank bacon — no coal-heaver 
 bolteth him in reeking sausages — he 
 hath a fair sepulchre in the grateful 
 ^omach of the judicious epicure, & for 
 such a tomb might be content to die. 
 He is the be^ of Sapors. Pineapple 
 is great. She is indeed almo:^ tran** 
 scendent — a delight, if not sinful, yet 
 so like to sinning, that really a tender^ 
 conscienced person would do well to 
 pause ; too ravishing for mortal ta^e, 
 
 43 
 
she woundetK and excoriateth the 
 hps that approach her; Kke lovers' 
 kisses, she biteth; she is a pleasure 
 bordering on pain from the fierceness 
 and insanity o£ her relish — but she 
 i^oppeth at the palate; she meddleth 
 not v/ith the appetite, and the coars** 
 e^ hunger might barter her consi^^ 
 ently for a mutton^^chop. 
 
 Pig, let me speak his praise, is no 
 less provocative of the appetite than 
 he is satisfactory to the criticalness 
 of the sensorious palate. The i^rong 
 man may batten on him, and the 
 weakhng refuseth not his mild juices. 
 
 Unlike to mankind's mixed char** 
 adters, a bundle of virtues and vices, 
 inexplicably intertwined, and not to 
 
 44 
 
he unravelled without hazard, he is 
 good throughout. No part of him is 
 better or worse than another. He 
 helpeth, as far as his Kttle means ex** 
 tend, all around. He is the lea^ en** 
 vious of banquets. He is all neighbors' 
 fare. 
 
 I am one of those ^vho freely and 
 ungrudgingly impart a share o£ the 
 good things of this life v/hich fall to 
 their lot (few as mine are in this kind) 
 to a friend. I prote^ I take as great an 
 intere^ in my friend's pleasures, his 
 relishes, and proper satisfadtions, as 
 in mine own. ''Presents,' I often say, 
 ''endear Absents." Hares, pheasants, 
 partridges,snipes,barn^doorchickens 
 (those " tame villatic fowl"), capons, 
 
 45 
 
plovers, bravv^n, barrels of oy^ers, I 
 dispense as freely as I receive tbem. 
 I love to ta^e tkem, as it were, upon 
 the tongue of my friend. But a ^op 
 mu^ be put somewhere. One vv^ould 
 not, like Lear, ''give everything.'' I 
 make my lAand upon pig. Methinks 
 it is an ingratitude to the Giver of all 
 good flavors to extra^'domiciliate, or 
 send out of the bouse slightingly (un** 
 der pretext of friendship, or I know- 
 not ^svhat) a blessing so particularly 
 adapted, predei^ined, I may say, to 
 my individual palate. — It argues an 
 insensibility. 
 
 I remember a touch of conscience 
 in this kind at school. My good old 
 aunt, \vho never parted from me at 
 46 
 
the end of a holiday without buffing 
 a sv/eetmeat, or some nice thing, into 
 my pocket, had dismissed me one 
 evening v/ith a smoking pluna^'cake, 
 fresh from the oven. In my way to 
 school (it was over London Bridge) a 
 gray^headed old beggar saluted me (I 
 have no doubt, at this time of day, 
 that he was a counterfeit). I had no 
 pence to console him w^ith, and in the 
 vanity of self denial, & the very cox^ 
 combry of charity, schoolboy like, I 
 made him a present of— the whole 
 cake ! I walked on a little, buoyed up, 
 as one is on such occasions, v/ith a 
 sweet soothing of self satisfaction; 
 but, before I had got to the end of the 
 bridge, my better feelings returned, 
 
 g 47 
 
and I bur^ into tears, thinking how 
 ungrateful I had been to my good 
 aunt, to go & give her good gift away 
 to a Granger that I had never seen 
 before, and who might be a bad man 
 for aught I knev/; and then I thought 
 of the pleasure my aunt v/ould be 
 taking in thinking that I — I myself, 
 and not another — v/ould eat her nice 
 cake, and w^hat should I say to her the 
 next time I sav/ her; how naughty I 
 v/as to part \vith her pretty present! 
 and the odor of that spicy cake came 
 back upon my recolledlion, and the 
 pleasure and the curiosity I had taken 
 in seeing her make it, and her joy 
 v/hen she sent it to the oven, and how 
 disappointed she^vould feel that I had 
 48 
 
never had a bit of it in my mouth at 
 la^ — and I blamed my impertinent 
 spirit of alms^'giving, and out'^of'place 
 hypocrisy of goodness; and above all 
 I wished never to see the face again 
 of that insidious, good^'for^^nothing, 
 old gray impo^or. 
 
 Our ance^ors Avere nice in their 
 method of sacrificing these tender 
 vicAims. We read of pigs v/hipt to 
 death with something of a shock, as 
 we hear of any other obsolete cus" 
 tom. The age of discipline is gone by, 
 or it would be curious to inquire (in 
 a philosophical light merely) what ef^ 
 fedt this process might have towards 
 intenerating & dulcifying a sub^ance 
 naturally so mild and dulcet as the 
 
 49 
 
flesh of young pigs. It looks like re** 
 fining a violet. Yet we should be cau** 
 tious, while we condemn the inhu** 
 manity, how we censure the ^vis^ 
 dona of the pradtice . It might impart 
 a gui^o. 
 
 I remember an hypothesis, argued 
 upon by the young ^udents, \vhen 
 I w^as at St. Omer's, and naaintained 
 with much learning and pleasantry 
 on both sides, ''Whether, supposing 
 that the flavor of a pig Avho obtained 
 his death by whipping (per flagellar* 
 tionem extremam) superadded a 
 pleasure upon the palate of a man 
 more intense than any possible suf 
 fering we can conceive in the animal, 
 is man ju^ified in using that method 
 50 
 
of putting the animal to deatk?'' I for** 
 get the decision. 
 
 His sauce should be considered. 
 Decidedly, a fe\v bread'^crumbs, done 
 up with his Kver and brains, and a 
 dash of mild sage. But banish, dear 
 Mrs. Cook, I beseech you, the whole 
 onion tribe. Barbecue your ^vhole 
 hogs to your palate, lAeep them in 
 shalots, lAuff them out with planta^ 
 tions of the rank & guilty garlic; you 
 cannot poison them, or make them 
 Wronger than they are— but consider, 
 he is a weakling — a flower. 
 
 ^1 
 
Here ends ''A Dissertation upon 
 Roai^ Pig' by CKarles Lamb, one o£ 
 the essays v/KicK fir^ appeared in tke 
 London Magazine under the name of 
 Elia and Kere reprinted from the firi^ 
 edition (i823)\vitK an introduction on 
 ''Lamb's Literary Motive' by Cyrus 
 Lauron Hooper. Printed in tbe Vil** 
 lage type at Tbe Village Press, Park 
 Ridge, Illinois, by Fred W. & Bertka 
 M. Goudy, and finished February 29, 
 1904 — tbe third book issued from the 
 Press. 
 
 5^ 
 
215 copies printed, 200 for sale. 
 
m^ 
 
BENDER 
 COUL