ODE TO AUGUST.

In the Burlesque.

AUGUST! the month of calorific breath,
When sultry Phoebus with his parched horn
Fierce beams on city lanes, evaporating keen
In dire effluvia, the noxious gas

In gutter pent, or nauseous common sewer,
To charge the baneful fome of sickly Typhus.
Month of the year prolific to the bill
Of sage Physician, or Apothecary,
In colics dolorous; full oft produced

From esculents that vegetate thy waving fields.
The lot of those how hard, whose wayward taste,
Allows them not the board where Cabbage boiled,
Hodge-podge, or Cauliflower invite; without
The penance of a Colic dire, or

Nauseating qualms of sickness or of Bile.
Ye luckless guests, quick seek the friendly juice
Of dram Highlandian,-glowing Ferintosh;
Whose tift corrective, can the gripe allay
Of pinching Colic; or the afflatus strong
From cabbage blade, or turnip disengage.

Forth from the City now migrate the Cits,
To woo hoar Neptune, on Gourocian shore.
Thrice joyous now is he, who whilome pent
In City smoke, in Trongate's dusty booths,
Or confines of the Bridge, or Gallow-gate→→→
King Street, or Candlerigs, or Gibson's Wynd,
Suspired free, the unctuous steam of boiling tripe,
Old cheese, or fetid ling-when with a fervent
Gorge of inspiration keen, he snuffs the gale,
That salutiferous whizzes by the Kempock shore.
Full many a Grocer, Baker, Butcher spruce,

Whose bibatory zest for forenoon Gills,
Has thick bestrewed the cheek and nose

With fervid pimples-here with Neptune's brine,
Defeats the vile eruptions. Apace,

The greasy cheek, and nose of livid hue,

The element marine subdues; and Glasgow Dames
With joy behold their consorts' phiz, by

Bore well stream, and caller "douks," as if
With pristine youth and vigour fresh renew'd.

Avoid, ye sober cits, the thirsty pose
Of Writers glib, in combination strong,
Who at James Main's entrap the unwary voyager
From steam boat landed, with potation deep,
Of sap of barley corn, from far Kintyre.

And you, ye Nymphs, who haunt the shelving rocks,
And sport among the waves, in hale ablution ;-
Beware the insidious spy, who oft among

The Rocks, Acteon like, indelicate would pry.
On such await a lapidation smart ;
Or petrifàctive charm, more fell,

Than seized the Gorgon from Medusa's head,
When Perseus rescued his Andromeda.

Lament, O Muse! the melancholy fate
Of Hares, and Partridges, and Moor-fowl fleet,
By moor, and heath, and thicket doomed to fall.

Iris! Goddess of the watery bow,

With gentle rains assuage our thirsty plains,
And may the cheerful moon of August beam
On healthier towns, and corn-wav'd fields;
And may profusive Farinaceous store,
Hibernian root, and Herrings from Loch Fine,
Drive every hint of Habeas from our land.

PUFFENDORF.

THE MONKS OF LA TRAPPE.

You was mentioning, Clermont, that your nephew had met me in Tuscany, under some little circumstances of distress. He was at that time hastening up to join some friends at the fair, at Mantua, and I returning to Florence, from an expedition to Bologna, when we chanced to pass each other on the road, just as I had found myself clear and unhurt from an overturn of my chaise. Though he had not seen me for many years, yet my unaltered meagre countenance, immediately recalled me to his memory. As he was pressed in time, and my vehicle was now set up again, while they were adjusting all the odds and ends which had tumbled about, I walked a quarter of a mile forward on the road with him, to make a few. enquiries after you before we parted.

Returning to my chaise, I found the overthrow had been less favourable, than I supposed;-a wheel was damaged; and what was still worse one of the shafts was almost split asunder. It was a scene of confusion-the postilion swearing by half the Calendar, and my servant, in spite of all his good, humour, quite in a fume, first diabling the postilion, then the rope, (which a poor peasant who was going by with his Áss had lent them,) because it was too short to bind the broken shaft, then the horses, then the chaise, then his Bidet who was frisking with the ass ; and

:

lastly, his own jack-boots, which to be more active, he threw off, and had now tumbled over.

Seeing that every thing was going to the deuce at a great rate, I took first a deliberate pinch of snuff, and then a deliberate survey of all my shattered affairs. The afternoon was far gone ;to remain in the Grand Duke's highway was impossible, and to proceed with safety, without having matters set to right, was impracticable.

In this conjuncture it seemed to me that I could not be very far from La Trappe and enquiring of the peasant who was lending us his assistance, he told me "that it was but two miles within the Woods that lay before us,-that he lived near the Convent himself, had been to carry a load of faggots down to the village at the bottom of the hill,-and if I pleased, that he would conduct me thither the nearest way."

A fig, says I, for the little nothings that lie accross our road.—A man hath not learnt his A, B, C in philosophy, if he cannot extract some consolatory circumstance from any untoward event! A second pinch of snuff settled the preliminaries ; which were, that all hostilities of the tongue should immediately cease, that the chaise should proceed with what ability its situation would admit of, to the next post, which was four miles distant, and La Pierre was appointed Charge d'Affaires, to see all its dependencies made good,

and to escort it up to the monastery the next afternoon.

The terms acceded to, I left the parties to the due performances of them; and accompanied by the Peasant and his Ass, we cheerfully turned into the path which led to the wood.

To be continued.

NOTICE TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Should this meet the eye of a correspondent in Glasgow, who some time ago called our attention to the poems of Mrs Jane Adams, of Crawfordsdyke, we inform him, that having since procured a copy of the Work, we propose giving,' in the course of the present Volume, some account of this singular, but unfortunate woman, as also of the productions of her Muse. The volume was printed in Glasgow, not Greenock, as he supposed.

"Megmeshech" has been received; and though disposed for humour as much as he could wish us, we do not feel so much pleasure in laughing at other people's expence.

Communications addressed to the Publisher, No. 8. William Street, will be gratefully received.

Greenock printed by R. Donaldson.