'For many hundred years before that time, there had been handed

down, from age to age, an old legend, that the illustrious prince being

afflicted with leprosy, on his return from reaping a rich harvest of

knowledge in Athens, shunned the court of his royal father, and

consorted moodily with husbandman and pigs. Among the herd (so

said the legend) was a pig of grave and solemn countenance, with

whom the prince had a fellow-feeling - for he too was wise - a pig of

thoughtful and reserved demeanour; an animal superior to his fellows,

whose grunt was terrible, and whose bite was sharp. The young prince

sighed deeply as he looked upon the countenance of the majestic

swine; he thought of his royal father, and his eyes were bedewed with

tears.

This sagacious pig was fond of bathing in rich, moist mud. Not in

summer, as common pigs do now, to cool themselves, and did even in

those distant ages (which is a proof that the light of civilisation had

already begun to dawn, though feebly), but in the cold, sharp days of

winter. His coat was ever so sleek, and his complexion so clear, that

the prince resolved to essay the purifying qualities of the same water

that his friend resorted to. He made the trial. Beneath that black mud,

bubbled the hot springs of Bath. He washed, and was cured.

Hastening to his father's court, he paid his best respects, and

returning quickly hither, founded this city and its famous baths.

He sought the pig with all the ardour of their early friendship - but,

alas! the waters had been his death. He had imprudently taken a bath

at too high a temperature, and the natural philosopher was no more!

He was succeeded by Pliny, who also fell a victim to his thirst for

knowledge.

This was the legend. Listen to the true one.

A great many centuries since, there flourished, in great state, the

famous and renowned Lud Hudibras, king of Britain. He was a mighty

monarch. The earth shook when he walked - he was so very stout. His

people basked in the light of his countenance - it was so red and

glowing. He was, indeed, every inch a king. And there were a good

many inches of him, too, for although he was not very tall, he was a

remarkable size round, and the inches that he wanted in height, he

made up in circumference. If any degenerate monarch of modern

times could be in any way compared with him, I should say the

venerable King Cole would be that illustrious potentate.

'This good king had a queen, who eighteen years before, had had a

son, who was called Bladud. He was sent to a preparatory seminary in

his father's dominions until he was ten years old, and was then

despatched, in charge of a trusty messenger, to a finishing school at

Athens; and as there was no extra charge for remaining during the

The Pickwick Papers