hina
that had been in the farm-house for many generations. The other took
little interest in his talk, and could not be aroused to enthusiasm
over the china; but when the farmer took out of his cupboard some old
books, one of which was a black-letter commentary, he became excited.
He turned the pages over lovingly, and pointed to the quaint initials,
and became eloquent over their beauties. The farmer thought both men
silly. Neither the china nor the books seemed precious to him. 'What
a heap o' nonsense ye be talking surely,' he said. 'Now if ye want to
see something worth seeing, come along o' me, and I'll show you the
finest litter o' pigs in the country.'

I know, of course, that, beaten at every other point, my critics will
take their stand on dietetic grounds. 'How can you have a pig for your
heroine?' they will ask, with their noses turned up in disgust. 'See
what a pig _eats_!' Now I confess that this objection did appear to me
to be serious until I went into the matter a little more carefully.
Before abandoning poor Lily, and consigning her to everlasting
obscurity, it seemed to me that I owed it to her, as a matter of common
gallantry, to investigate this charge. An author has no more right
than any other man to toy with feminine affections; and having pledged
myself to Lily as my heroine, I dared not commit a breach of promise,
save on most serious grounds. Into this matter of Lily's diet I
therefore plunged, with results that have surprised myself. I find
that Lily is the most fastidious of eaters. Experiments made in Sweden
show that, out of 575 plants, the goat eats 449, and refuses 126; the
sheep, out of 528 plants, eats 387, and refuses 141; the cow, out of
494 plants, eats 276, and refuses 218; the horse, out of 474 plants,
eats 262, and refuses 212; whilst the pig, out of 243 plants, eats 72,
and refuses 171. From all these fiery ordeals my heroine, therefore,
emerges triumphant, and her critics cut a sorry figure. Theirs is the
melancholy fate of all those who will insist on judging from
appearances. It is the oldest mistake in the world, and it is
certainly the saddest. Many, like Lily, have been judged hastily and
falsely, and, as in Lily's case, the evil thought has clung to them as
though it were a charge established, and under that dark cloud they
have lived shadowed and embittered lives. Half the pathos of the
universe lies just there.

One thing affords me unbounded pleasure.