A place whose native dialect, somehow, Has always by an adage been affronted, And that it is all _gutturals_, 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! 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. [Illustration: “’TIS PLEASANT SURE TO SEE ONE’S SELF IN PRINT.”] 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.