-indeed this was by no
means the first accident of the kind which had occurred through the
negligence of this unlucky young fire-brand. Much less did it resemble
that of any known herb, weed, or flower. A premonitory moistening at
the same time overflowed his nether lip. He knew not what to think. He
next stooped down to feel the pig, if there were any signs of life in
it. He burnt his fingers, and to cool them he applied them in his
booby fashion to his mouth. Some of the crumbs of the scorched skin
had come away with his fingers, and for the first time in his life (in
the world's life indeed, for before him no man had known it) he
tasted--_crackling_! Again he felt and fumbled at the pig. It did not
burn him so much now, still he licked his fingers from a sort of
habit. The truth at length broke into his slow understanding, that it
was the pig that smelt so, and the pig that tasted so delicious; and,
surrendering himself up to the newborn pleasure, he fell to tearing up
whole handfuls of the scorched skin with the flesh next it, and was
cramming it down his throat in his beastly fashion, when his sire
entered amid the smoking rafters, armed with retributory cudgel, and
finding how affairs stood, began to rain blows upon the young rogue's
shoulders, as thick as hailstones, which Bo-bo heeded not any more
than if they had been flies. The tickling pleasure, which he
experienced in his lower regions, had rendered him quite callous to
any inconveniences he might feel in those remote quarters. His father
might lay on, but he could not beat him from his pig, till he had
fairly made an end of it, when, becoming a little more sensible of his
situation, something like the following dialogue ensued.

"You graceless whelp, what have you got there devouring? Is it not
enough that you have burnt me down three houses with your dog's
tricks, and be hanged to you, but you must be eating fire, and I know
not what--what have you got there, I say?"

"O, father, the pig, the pig, do come and taste how nice the burnt pig
eats."

The ears of Ho-ti tingled with horror. He cursed his son, and he
cursed himself that ever he should beget a son that should eat burnt
pig.

Bo-bo, whose scent was wonderfully sharpened since morning, soon raked
out another pig, and fairly rending it asunder, thrust the lesser half
by main force into the fists of Ho-ti, still shouting out "Eat, eat,
eat the burnt pig, father, only taste--O Lord,"--with such-lik