the space of one year.  Then return penitent to thy native village, say thou art wearied of swine driving, and hast resolved to live an honest man until death calls thee away.  Get this idea well into the heads of the villagers, then come boldly out and declare thyself to have sinned beyond measure, and to have been so great a reprobate that the world had not another like thee.  Publish neither cards, nor pamphlets, nor books, in defence of thy character, and above all, do thou be careful not to purloin the coat and breeches of thy companion, nor go uninvited to balls, for, though it be the custom of unfortunate parsons who take to literature at this day, it will lower thee in the sight of heaven.  But say, that having qualified in sin, and resolved to seek forgiveness, thou art come to lay thy implorings at the church door.  Change, in the meantime, thy opinions of matrimony, and be careful to state, within hearing of certain unmarried damsels the corners of whose ages it will not do to multiply by ten, how it is become a firm belief with thee that matrimony will increase the measure of thy joys.  And when the moment it will do for thee to move in this thing has arrived, do thou show thyself a man of sympathy by joining fortunes with a damsel who has lived hoping, until she has turned the brown corner of forty.  Having thus paved the way by being converted to matrimony, and confessing crimes that would have crushed a dozen men of better metal than thyself, thou wilt be restored to thy church, and live like one comforted by the exalted opinions of the villagers.”

It was evident that the major spoke thus stiltedly with a design upon the swine driver’s intelligent pig, which still manifested its affection for the dog, beside whom it had gone to sleep.  The swine driver promised he would take the first opportunity of profiting by such excellent advice.  To confess the truth, he had looked forward to the day when he would return to his church as that which was to restore him to happiness.

The major called upon me to bear testimony to the friendship they swore to each other, and strengthened over a sup from the flask.  “Now, as I have made thee a happier man than I found thee, perhaps you would grant me a request?”

“You have but to make it,” replied the swine driver, his countenance lighting up for the first time.  “My wife, Polly Potter, is as fond of pigs as the women of Spain, and our aristocratic damsels who affect, to imitate them, are of poodles.  She is never without one, which she nurses with great care.  She is now in great tribulation, having lost her last by a croup, which baffled the skill of the most eminent physicians.  And so deep was her sympathy for it, that she had it buried in a corner of the garden, with a rose-bush planted to its memory.”  This so excited the swine driver’s pity, that I verily thought he was about to make the major a present of his whole herd, as a means of consoling his disconsolate wife.  As soon, however, as the