"LOVE LAYS AND LYRICS

BY

APIG."

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 cram,-
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?”

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THE SUB-MARINE.

T was a brave and jolly wight,

His cheek was baked and brown,
For he had been in many climes
With captains of renown,
And fought with those who fought so well
At Nile and Camperdown.

His coat it was a soldier coat,

Of red with yellow faced,

But (merman-like) he look'd marine
All downward from the waist;
His trowsers were so wide and blue,
And quite in sailor taste!

He put the rummer to his lips,
And drank a jolly draught;

He raised the rummer many times

And ever as he quaff'd,

The more he drank the more the ship
Seem'd pitching fore and aft!

The ship seem'd pitching fore and aft,
As in a heavy squall;

It gave a lurch and down he went,
Head-foremost in his fall!

Three times he did not rise, alas!
He never rose at all!

But down he went, right down at once

Like any stone he dived,

He could not see, or hear, or feel

Of senses all deprived!

At last he gave a look around
To see where he arrived!

And all that he could see was green,

Sea-green on every hand!

And then he tried to sound beneath,
And all he felt was sand!

There he was fain to lie, for he

Could neither sit nor stand!

And lo! above his head there bent
A strange and staring lass;
One hand was in her yellow hair,

The other held a glass;

A mermaid she must surely be
If ever mermaid was!

Ier fish-like mouth was open'd wide,
Her eyes were blue and pale,
Her dress was of the ocean green,
When ruffled by a gale;
Thought he "beneath that petticoat
She hides a salmon-tail!"

She look'd as siren ought to look,

A sharp and bitter shrew,

To sing deceiving lullabies

For mariners to rue,―

But when he saw her lips apart,

It chill'd him through and through!

With either hand he stopp'd his ears
Against her evil cry;

Alas, alas, for all his care,

His doom it seem'd to die,

Her voice went ringing through his head

It was so sharp and high!

He thrust his fingers farther in

At each unwilling ear,

But still in very spite of all,

The words were plain and clear ; "I can't stand here the whole day long, To hold your glass of beer!"

With open'd mouth and open'd eyes,
Up rose the Sub-marine,

And gave a stare to find the sands

And deeps where he had been :
There was no siren with her glass
No waters ocean-green!

The wet deception from his eyes
Kept fading more and more,

He only saw the bar-maid stand
With pouting lip before-
The small green parlour of the Ship,
And little sanded floor.

THE LAMENT OF TOBY,

THE LEARNED PIG.

"A little learning is a dangerous thing."-PorE

HEAVY day! O day of woe!
To misery a poster,

Why was I ever farrow'd-why
Not spitted for a roaster?

In this world, pigs, as well as men,
Must dance to fortune's fiddlings,

But must I give the classics up,
For barley-meal and middlings?

Of what avail that I could spell
And read, just like my betters,
If I must come to this at last,
To litters, not to letters?

O, why are pigs made scholars of?
It baffles my discerning,
What griskens, fry, and chitterlings
Can have to do with learning.

Alas! my learning once drew cash,
But public fame's unstable,

So I must turn a pig again,
And fatten for the table.

To leave my literary line

My eyes get red and leaky;
But Giblett doesn't want me blue,
But red and white, and streaky.

Old Mullins used to cultivate

My learning like a gard'ner;