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.