And Hogg-the Poet-nothing but a Hog!
As to all others on the list of Fame,

Although they were discuss'd and mention'd daily,
He only recognised one classic name,

And thought that she had hung herself-Miss Baillie!

To balance this, our Farmer's only daughter
Had a great taste for the Castalian water-
A Wordsworth worshipper-a Southey wooer,-
(Though men that deal in water-colour cakes
May disbelieve the fact-yet nothing's truer)
She got the bluer

The more she dipped and dabbled in the Lakes.
The secret truth is, Hope, the old deceiver,
At future Authorship was apt to hint,

Producing what some call the Type-us Fever,
Which means a burning to be seen in print.

Of learning's laurels-Miss Joanna Baillie-
Of Mrs. Hemans-Mrs. Wilson-daily
Dreamt Anne Priscilla Isabella Grayley;
And Fancy hinting that she had the better
Of L.E.L. by one initial letter,

She thought the world would quite enraptur'd see

"LOVE LAYS AND LYRICS

BY

A. P. I. G."

Accordingly, with very great propriety,
She joined the H. N. B. and double S.,
That is,-Hog's Norton Blue Stocking Society;
And saving when her Pa. his pigs prohibited,
Contributed

Her pork and poetry towards the mess.

This feast, we said, one Friday was the case,
When farmer Grayley-from Macbeth to quote-
Screwing his courage to the "sticking place,"
Stuck a large knife into a grunter's throat :-
A kind of murder that the law's rebuke
Seldom condemns by shake of its peruke,
Showing the little sympathy of big-wigs
With pig-wigs!

The swine-poor wretch !-with nobody to speak for it,
And beg its life, resolved to have a squeak for it;

So-like the fabled swan-died singing out,

And, thus, there issued from the farmer's yard
A note that notified without a card,

An invitation to the evening rout.

And when the time came duly,-" At the close of
The day," as Beattie has it, "when the ham-"
Bacon, and pork were ready to dispose of,
And pettitoes and chit'lings too, to crain,-
Walked in the H. N. B. and double S.'s,
All in appropriate and swinish dresses,
For lo! it is a fact, and not a joke,
Although the Muse might fairly jest upon it,
They came-each "Pig-faced Lady," in that bonnet
We call a poke.

The Members all assembled thus, a rare woman
At pork and poetry was chosen chairwoman ;-
In fact, the bluest of the Blues, Miss Ikey,
Whose whole pronunciation was so piggy,
She always named the authoress of "Psyche"-
As Mrs. Tiggey!

And now arose a question of some moment,-
What author for a lecture was the richer,
Bacon or Hogg? there were no votes for Beaumont,
But some for Flitcher;

While others, with a more sagacious reasoning,
Proposed another work,

And thought their pork

Would prove more relishing from Thomson's Season-ing!

But, practised in Shakspearian readings daily,

O! Miss Macaulay! Shakspeare at Hog's Norton!-
Miss Anne Priscilla Isabella Grayley

Selected him that evening to snort on.
In short, to make our story not a big tale,
Just fancy her exerting

Her talents, and converting

The Winter's Tale to something like a pig-tale!
Her sister auditory,

All sitting round, with grave and learned faces,
Were very plauditory,

Of course, and clapped her at the proper places;
Till fanned at once by fortune and the Muse,
She thought herself the blessedest of Blues.
But Happiness, alas! has blights of ill,
And Pleasure's bubbles in the air explode ;-
There is no travelling through life but still
The heart will meet with breakers on the road!

With that peculiar voice

Heard only from Hog's Norton throats and noses,
Miss G., with Perdita, was making choice
Of buds and blossoms for her summer posies,
When coming to that line, where Proserpine
Lets fall her flowers from the wain of Dis;
Imagine this

Uprose on his hind legs old Farmer Grayley,
Grunting this question for the club's digestion,
"Do Dis's Waggon go from the Ould Bäaley?'

THE ACCIDENT.

"We thought she never would ride it out, and expected her every moment to go to pieces."-NAVAL SKETCH BOOK.

"THERE you go, you villain—that's the way to run over people! There's a little boy in the road-you'd better run over him, for you won't call out to him, no, not you, for a brute as you are! You think poor people an't common Christians,-you grind the faces of the poor, you do. Ay, cut away, do-you'll be Wilful Murdered by the Crowner some day! I'll keep up with you and tell the gentlemen on the top! Women wasn't created for you to gallop over like dirt, and scrunch their bones into compound fractions.-Don't get into his coach, ma'am ! he's no respect for the sects-he'll lay you up in the hospital for months and months, he will, the inhumane hard-hearted varmin !”

The speaker, a little active old woman, had run parallel with the coach some fifty yards, when it stopped to take up a lady who was as prompt as ladies generally are, in giving dinner instructions to the cook, and setting domestic lessons to the housemaid, besides having to pack a parcel, to hunt for her clogs, to exchange the cook's umbrella for her own, and to kiss all her seven children. Mat, thus reduced to a door-mat, was unable to escape the volley which the Virago still poured in upon him; but he kept a most imperturbable face and silence till he was fairly seated again on the box.

"There, gentlemen," said he, pointing at the assailant with his whip; "that's what I call gratitude. Look at her figure now, and look at what it was six months ago. She never had a waist till I run over her."

"I hope, friend, thee art not very apt to make these experiments on the human figure," said an elderly quaker on the roof. "Not by no means," answered Mat; "I have done very little in the accidental line-nothing worth mentioning. All the years I've been on the road, I've never come to a kill on the spot; them sort o'things belongs to Burrowes, as drives over one with the Friend in Need, and he's got quite a name for it. He's called 'Fatal Jack.' To be sure, now I think of it, I was the innocent cause of death to one person, and she was rather out of the common." "You fractured her limbs, p'r'aps?" inquired one of the outsides. "No such thing," said Mat, "there was nothing fractious in the case; as to running over her limbs, it was the impossible thing with a woman born without legs and arms.” "You must allude to Miss Biffin," said the outsider" the Norfolk phenomenon."

Begging your pardon," said Mat, "it was before the Phenomenon was started. It was one of the regular old long-bodied double-coaches, and I drove it myself. Very uneasy they were; for springs at that

time hadn't much spring in 'em; and nobody on earth had thought of Macadaming Piccadilly. You could always tell whether you were on the stones, or off, and no mistake. I was a full hour behind time -for coaches in them

days wasn't called by such names as Chronometers and Regulators, and good reason why. So I'd been plying a full hour after time, without a soul inside, except a barrel of natives for a customer down the road : at last, a hackneycoach pulls up, and Jarvey and the waterman lifts Miss Biffin into my drag. Well, off I sets with a light load enough, and to fetch up time astonished my team into a bit of a gallop-and it wasn't the easiest thing in the world to keep one's seat on the box, the coach jumped so over the stones. Well, away I goes, springing my rattle till I come to the gate at Hyde Park Corner, where one of my insides was waiting for me and not very sorry to pull up, for the breath was almost shook out of my bellows. Well, I opens the door, and what do I see lying together at the bottom of the coach, but Miss Biffin bruised unsensible, and the head out of the barrel of oysters!"

"I do hope, friend," said the elderly Quaker, "that thou didst replace them on their seats."

"To be sure I did," answered Mat, "and the oysters took it quietly enough, without opening their mouths; but it didn't go quite so smooth with Miss B. She talked of an action for damages, and consulted counsel; but, Lord bless you, when it came to taking steps agin us, she hadn't a leg to stand upon!"