A BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY.

I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er knew the Benedict's yoke; I worship a fairy-like, fanciful form, That goes up the chimney in smoke. I sit in my dressing-gowned slipperful ease, Without wife or bairns to provoke, And puff at my pipe, while my hopes and my fears All go up the chimney in smoke. I sit with my pipe, and my heart's lonesome care I try, but all vainly, to choke. Ah, me! but I find that the flame that Love lights Won't go up the chimney in smoke.