"I have myself had something to do with politics," moodily muttered
the swine driver, relieving his shoulder of the steelyards.

And while this colloquy was proceeding, the herd nestled down upon
the ground to rest. One, more sagacious than his fellows, made a
companion of the dog, at whose side he stretched himself, and laid
his head upon his shoulder with an air of kindness and affection
quite uncommon to his species. "That pig," spoke the swine driver,
"seems a more cunning brute than our New York politicians, for he
makes friends with his enemy, and by that means secures his peace,
if not his services. He has conciliated the good that is in the dog,
and now the dog is his firm friend. He will let that pig have the
better half of his meal, while he would not permit another to come
within barking distance of his trough." Here the swine driver
entered upon a history of this sagacious animal, which it will be
necessary to preserve for a future chapter in this history. It may,
however, be well here to say, as well for the benefit of the reader
as for the instruction of mankind in general, that Felix Shulbert
(for such was the swine driver's name) bought him of Father Fenshew,
a poor priest of great learning, who had so cultivated the pig's
understanding, that he could give his approval or dissent to the
canons of the church quite as well as some popular members of the
ecclesiastical councils of which the reverend and very learned
Father was an ornament. As to politics, he knew a great deal more of
them, notwithstanding he mixed less with those who made them a
profession.

"Now, tell us, honest man, what through life has befallen thee to
produce this sadness?" inquired the facetious major, adding, that he
saw the tale of his trouble written in his face.