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I wonder what it is, now,

but

-I never felt so

queer!

BOATMAN. Bill, mind your luff - why Bill, I say, she's

yawing - keep her near!

MRS. F.

Keep near! we're going further off ; the land's

behind our backs.

BOATMAN.

Be easy,

Ma'am, it 's all correct, that 's only 'cause we tacks : We shall have to beat about a bit,— Bill, keep her

out to sea.

MRS. F.

Beat who about? keep who at sea ? - how black

they look at me!

BOATMAN

It's veering round — I knew it would ! off with

her head ! stand by !

Mrs. F.

Off with her head! whose? where? what with ?

- an axe I seem to spy!

BOATMAN.

She can't not keep her own, you see; we shall

have to pull her in !

MRS. F.

They'll drown me, and take all I have ! my life's

not worth a pin!

BOATMAN.

Look out you know, be ready, Bill — just when

she takes the sand !

MRS. F.

The sand — O Lord ! to stop my mouth! how

every thing is planned !

BOATMAN.

The handspike, Bill — quick, bear a hand ! now

Ma'am, just step ashore !

MRS. F.

What! ain't I going to be killed — and weltered in my gore

? Well, Heaven be praised ! but I'll not go a sailing

any more!

LITERARY AND LITERAL.

The March of Mind upon its mighty stilts,
(A spirit by no means to fasten mocks on,)
In travelling through Berks, Beds, Notts, and

Wilts,
Hants Bucks, Herts, Oxon,
Got

up a thing our ancestors ne'er thought on,
A thing that, only in our proper youth,
We should have chuckled at in sober truth,
A Conversazione at Hog's Norton !

A place whose native dialect, somehow,
Has always by an adage been affronted,
And that it is all gutterals, is now

Taken for grunted.

Conceive the snoring of a greedy swine,
The slobbering of a hungry Ursine Sloth -
If
you

have ever heard such creature dine And — for Hog's Norton, make a mix of both !.

O shades of Shakspeare! Chaucer! Spenser !

Milton! Pope! Gray! Warton ! O Colman! Kenny! Planche! Poole! Peake! Pocock! Reynolds ! Morton!

14

VOL. III.

O Grey ! Peel! Sadler ! Wilberforce! Burdett!

Hume! Wilmot Horton !
Think of your prose and verse, and worse

delivered in

Hog's Norton !

The founder of Hog's Norton Athenæum

Framed her society

With some variety
From Mr. Roscoe's Liverpool museum ;
Not a mere pic-nic, for the mind's repast,
But, tempting to the solid knife-and-forker,
It held its sessions in the house that last

Had killed a porker.

It chanced one Friday, One Farmer Grayley stuck a very big hog, A perfect Gog or Magog of a pig-hog, Which made of course a literary high day, Not that our Farmer was a man to go With literary tastes so far from suiting 'em, When he heard mention of Professor Crowe, Or Lalla-Rookh, he always was for shooting 'em ! In fact in letters he was quite a log,

With him great Bacon

Was literally taken, And Hogg - the Poet - nothing but a Hog! As to all others on the list of Fame, Although they were discussed and mentioned

daily,

He only recognized one classic name, [Baillie ! And thought that she had hung herself — Miss

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-color 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 enraptured see

“ LOVE LAYS AND LYRICS

BY

A. P. I. G.”

Accordingly, with very great propriety,
She joined the H. N. B. and double S.,

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