XXV 
MY FRIEND THE PIG 
Is there a man among us who on running through 
a list of his friends is unable to say that there is 
one among them who is a perfect pig? I think 
not; and if any reader says that he has no such 
an one for the simple reason that he would not and 
could not make a friend of a perfect pig, I shall 
maintain that he is mistaken, that if he goes over 
the list a second time and a little more carefully, 
he will find in it not only a pig, but a sheep, a cow, 
a fox, a cat, a stoat, and even a perfect toad. 
But all this is a question I am not concerned 
with, seeing that the pig I wish to write about is 
a real one—a four-footed beast with parted hoofs. 
I have a friendly feeling towards pigs generally, 
and consider them the most intelligent of beasts, not 
excepting the elephant and the anthropoid ape— 
the dog is not to be mentioned in this connection. 
I also like his disposition and attitude towards 
all other creatures, especially man. He is not 
suspicious, or shrinkingly submissive, like horses, 
cattle, and sheep; nor an impudent devil-may-care 
like the goat; nor hostile like the goose; nor 
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