A pretty budding girl had, unhappily, listened to the silvery tongue of a rival manager. “Take her from the villain!” exclaimed Tinfoil to the sorrowing parent; “bring her here, and then—then I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” “Dear, kind Mr Tinfoil, what will you do!” “I’ll bring her out, Sir—bring her out in—” and here the manager named a play in which the horrors of seduction are painted in bold colours for the indignant virtuous. “I’ll bring her out in that, Sir, as a particular favour to you, and sympathising as I must with the affliction you suffer, I—I myself will play the injured father, Sir.” These, however, are but faint lines in the strongly-marked character of Tinfoil, and merely displaying them to awaken the attention of the reader to what we consider a most triumphant piece of casuistry on the part of our hero—to an incident which admits of so many hundred worldly illustrations—we shall proceed to the pig. The subject, we own, may appear unpromising from its extreme homeliness; yet, as the precious bezoar is sought for in deer and goats, so may a pearl of price be found even in a pig. It is our fervent wish to be most exact in every point of this little history; yet cannot we remember the exact year in which Tinfoil, revolving in his managerial mind the very many experiments made under his government on the curiosity and sensibilities of the public, determined in a golden moment, upon the introduction of a pig, in a drama to be expressly written for the animal’s capacities. In the slang of the craft, the pig was to be measured for his part. We cannot take it upon ourselves to avow, that an accident of late occurrence to a brother actor, did not, at least remotely, influence the choice of Tinfoil. The mishap was this. A few miles from London—for the sake of unborn generations we conceal the name of the town—the dullard denizens had manifested an extraordinary apathy to the delights of the drama. In the despairing words of one of the sufferers, “nothing could move ’em.” However, another of more sanguine temperament resolved to make a last bold effort on their stubborn souls, and to such high end, set a pig at them. Mingling the blandishments of the lottery with the witcheries of the drama, he caused it to be printed in boldest type to the townspeople of ——, that a shower of little bits of paper would take place between the play and farce, and amidst this shower a prize would descend, conveying to the lucky possessor the entire property of a real China-bred porker! Inconceivable as to us it is the scheme failed—the pig remained live stock upon the hands of the projector, who, the next morning, walked to town; and recounting his adverse fortune to the calculating Tinfoil, supplicated any employment. “And you still possess the pig? Humph!” mused Tinfoil; “perhaps we may come to some arrangement.” In few words the applicant was admitted among Tinfoil’s troop; the pig, at a nominal price, passing into the hands of the manager.