autumn season into many parts of the forest, but especially among the oaks and beeches of Boldre Wood, to fatten on mast. It is among the rights of the forest-borderers to feed their hogs in the forest, during the pawnage month, as it is called, which commences about the end of September, and lasts six weeks. For this privilege they pay a trifling acknowledgment at the steward's court at Lyndhurst. The word pawnage was the old term for the money thus collected.

The method of treating hogs at this season of migration, and of reducing a large herd of these unmanageable brutes to perfect obedience and good government, is curious.

The first step the swine-herd takes, is to investigate some close, sheltered part of the forest, where there is a conveniency of water, and plenty of oak or beech mast, the former of which he prefers when he can have it in abundance. He fixes next on some spreading tree, round the bole of which he wattles a slight circular fence of the dimensions he wants; and, covering it roughly with boughs and sods, he fills it plentifully with straw or fern.

Having made this preparation, he collects his colony among the farmers, with whom he commonly agrees for a shilling a head, and will get together perhaps a herd of five or six hundred hogs. Having driven them to their destined habitation, he gives them a plentiful supper of acorns or beech mast, which he had already provided, sounding his horn during the repast. He then turns them into the litter where, after a long journey and a hearty meal, they sleep deliciously.

The next morning he lets them look a little around them—shows them the pool or stream where they may occasionally drink-leaves them to pick up the offals of the last night's meal; and, as evening draws on, gives them another plentiful repast under the neighbouring trees, which rain acorns upon them for an hour together, at the sound of his horn. He then sends them again to sleep.

The following day he is perhaps at the pains of procuring them another meal, with music playing as usual. He then leaves them a little more to themselves, having an eye, however, on their evening hours. But, as their bellies are full, they seldom wander far from home, retiring commonly very orderly and early to bed.

After this he throws his sty open, and leaves them to cater for themselves; and from henceforward has little more trouble with them, during the whole time of their migration. Now and then, in calm

weather, when mast falls sparingly, he calls them perhaps together by the music of his horn to a gratuitous meal; but in general they need little attention, returning regularly home at night, though they often wander in the day two or three miles from their sty. There are experienced leaders in all herds, which have spent this roving life before, and can instruct their juniors in the method of it. By this manage, ment the herd is carried home to their respective owners in such condition, that a little dry meat will soon fatten them.

I would not, however, have it supposed, that all the swine-herds in the forest manage their colonies with this exactness. Bad governments and bad governors will every where exist; but I mention this as an example of sound policy-not as a mere Platonic or Utopian scheme, but such as hath been often realized, and hath as often been found productive of good order, and public utility. The hog is commonly supposed to be an obstinate, headstrong, unmanageable brute; and he may perhaps have a degree of positiveness in his temper. In general, however, if he be properly managed, he is an orderly, docile animal. The only difficulty is to make your meanings, when they are fair and friendly, intelligible to him. Effect this, and you may lead him with

a straw.

Nor is he without his social feelings, when he is at liberty to indulge them. In these forest migrations, it is commonly observed that, of whatever number the herd consists, they generally separate, in their daily excursions, into such little knots and societies as have formerly had habits of intimacy together; and in these friendly groups they range the forest; returning home at night, in different parties, some earlier and some later, as they have been more or less fortunate in the pursuits of the day.

It sounds oddly to affirm the life of a hog to be enviable; and yet there is something uncommonly pleasing in the lives of these emigrants-something at least more desirable than is to be found in the life of a hog, Epicuri de grege. They seem themselves also to enjoy their mode of life. You see them perfectly happy, going about at their ease, and conversing with each other in short, pithy, interrupted sentences, which are no doubt expressive of their own enjoyments and of their social feelings.

Besides the hogs thus led out in the mast season to fatten, there are others, the property of forest keepers, which spend the whole year in

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such societies. After the mast season is over, the indigenous forest hog depends chiefly for his livelihood on the roots of fern; and he would find this food very nourishing, if he could have it in abundance. But he is obliged to procure it by so laborious an operation, that his meals are rarely accompanied with satiety. He continues however, by great industry, to obtain a tolerable subsistence through the winter, except in frosty weather, when the ground resists his delving snout; then he must perish if he do not, in some degree, experience his master's care. As spring advances, fresh grasses, and salads of different kinds, add a variety to his bill of fare; and as summer comes on he finds juicy berries, and grateful seeds, on which he lives plentifully, till autumn returns and brings with it the extreme of abundance.

Besides these stationary hogs, there are others in some of the more desolate parts of the forest which are bred wild, and left to themselves without any settled habitation; and as their owners are at no expense, either in feeding or attending them, they are content with the precarious profit of such as they are able to retain.

Charles the First, I have heard, was at the expense of procuring the wild boar and his mate from the forests of Germany, which once certainly inhabited the forests of England. I have heard, too, that they propagated greatly in New Forest. Certain it is, there is found in it at this day a breed of hogs commonly called forest pigs, which are very different from the usual Hampshire breed, and have about them several of the characteristic marks of the wild boar. The forest hog has broad shoulders, a high crest, and thick bristly mane, which he erects on any alarm. His hinder parts are light and thin. His ears are short and erect; and his colour either black or darkly brindled. He is much fiercer than the common breed; and will turn against an ordinary dog. All these are marks of the wild boar, from whom probably in part he derives his pedigree, though his blood may be contaminated with vulgar mixtures. But, though he is much more picturesque than the common hog, he is in much less repute among farmers. The lightness of his hind quarters, and the thinness of his flanks appear to great disadvantage in the ham and the flitch.

162.-Sermon upon the Lobe of our Neighbour.

BISHOP BUTLER.

"And if there be any other Commandment, it is briefly comprehended in this saying, namely, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”—Romans xiii. 9.

[THIS is the Sermon to which the late lamented Dr. Chalmers refers in the extract which we gave in Volume I.]

It is commonly observed, that there is a disposition in men to complain of the viciousness and corruption of the age in which they live, as greater than that of former ones; which observation is usually followed with this further one, that mankind has been in that respect much the same in all times. Now, not to determine whether this last be not contradicted by the accounts of history, thus much can scarce be doubted, that vice and folly take different turns, and some particular kinds of it are more open and avowed in some ages than in others and, I suppose, it may be spoken of as very much the distinction of the present, to profess a contracted spirit, and greater regards to self-interest than appears to have been done formerly. Upon this account it seems worth while to inquire, whether private interest is likely to be promoted in proportion to the degree in which self-love engrosses us, and prevails over all other principles; or whether the contracted affection may not possibly be so prevalent as to disappoint itself, and even contradict its own end, private good.

And since, further, there is generally thought to be some peculiar kind of contrariety between self-love and the love of our neighbour; between the pursuit of public and of private good; insomuch that, when you are recommending one of these, you are supposed to be speaking against the other; and from hence ariseth a secret prejudice against, and frequently open scorn of, all talk of public spirit, and real goodwill to our fellow creatures; it will be necessary to inquire what respect benevolence hath to self-love, and the pursuit of private interest to the pursuit of public; or whether there be any thing of that peculiar inconsistence and contrariety between them over and above what there is between self-love and other passions and particular affections, and their respective pursuits.

These inquiries, it is hoped, may be favourably attended to; for

there shall be all possible concessions made to the favourite passion, which hath so much allowed to it, and whose cause is so universally pleaded; it shall be treated with the utmost tenderness and concern for its interests.

In order to this, as well as to determine the forementioned questions, it will be necessary to consider the nature, the object, and end of that self-love, as distinguished from other principles or affections in the mind, and their respective objects. Every man hath a general desire of his own happiness; and likewise a variety of particular affections, passions, and appetites to particular external objects. The former proceeds from, or is, self-love; and seems inseparable from all sensible creatures, who can reflect upon themselves. What is to be said of the latter is, that they proceed from, or together make up, that particular nature, according to which man is made. The object the former pursues is somewhat external, our own happiness, enjoyment, satisfaction; whether we have or have not a distinct particular perception what it is, or wherein it consists. The objects of the latter are this or that particular external thing, which the affections tend towards, and of which it hath always a particular idea or perception. The principle we call self-love never seeks any thing external for the sake of the thing, but only as a means of happiness or good; particular affections rest in the external things themselves. One belongs to man as a reasonable creature; the other, though quite distinct from reason, is as much a part of human nature. That all particular appetites and passions are towards external things themselves, distinct from the pleasure arising from them, is manifest from hence, that there could not be this pleasure, were it not for that prior suitableness between the object and the passion; there could be no enjoyment or delight from one thing more than another, from eating food more than from swallowing a stone, if there were not an affection or appetite to one thing more than another. Every particular affection, even the love of our neighbour, is as really our own affection as self-love; and the pleasure arising from its gratification is as much my own pleasure, as the pleasure self-love would have, from knowing I myself should be happy some time hence, would be my own pleasure. And if, because every particular affection is a man's own, and the pleasure arising from its gratification his own pleasure, or pleasure to himself, such particular affection must be called self-love; according to this way of speaking, no creature whatever can