That any thing of which so much is heard,
And read, and spoken, we should never see:
At least I'm sure I never yet saw one;

Though candour fair requires me to confess
I do believe that Sickville's famous son
Reports one, doubtless an authentic case;
But he, in his own folly, met his fate,
Striving to lift too ponderous a weight!

And yet I frankly own, there was a time,-
Albeit ashamed my folly to acknowledge;
However, that was long before my prime,

In fact 'twas in my boyish days at college;—

I then but verged upon discretion's brink,

And hence, perhaps, was not so much to blame;——

Time was though, I was fool enough to think
That love was not a fiction, a mere name:
That vows there were, might constancy betoken,
And that some fond hearts might perhaps be broken!

Since then, however, I've had leisure given—
Long years of thought, deep, sad, and melancholy,
In which to reconcile myself with Heaven,
By a repentance of my youthful folly

In dreaming of the possibility—

In such an all-perfidious world as this,

BACHELOR PHILOSOPHY.

Of honest love, or perfect constancy,

Or truth in fickle woman's treacherous kiss! (On this last score I haven't much to grieve, In fact, it's what I never did believe!)

I am not a misanthropist, I am sure;

I can admire fair nature, and I do;
I love the bright, the beautiful, the pure,
And childhood innocent, and manhood true;
And I admire a pretty woman's facé,

(I might, indeed, declare I think 'tis all
To be admired about her-let it pass—
"Over her frailties let the curtain fall:")
Yet was I never one of those weak things
Who think her all "an angel-save the wings!”

But yet a something there might be, I thought,
In man's deep love, and woman's fond caress,
Her truth and constancy, and-God knows what,
I've long since found mere words of emptiness:
I even dreamed I might be broken hearted,

Should she, my boyhood's idol prove untrue;
Well, she did so-as easily we parted,

As one would throw aside a worn-out shoe: A little touched my heart might be, but then It very soon grew sound and whole again.

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And now I've learned to think with DR. HOLMES—

Who, by the way's a very clever fellow,
He's but a fool, who at the falsehood foams
Of any she that ever trod prunella!

Reader! the wisest thing that you can do—
I've tried the plan, and know that it will answer,-
Whene'er one lovely charmer proves untrue,

Is, just to get another, soon as you can, sir:
Though for myself, when one fair proved untrue,
For her, I've made at least a dozen do!

For now I take things easy, rove about,
And love each pretty woman that I meet
Devotedly, until I find her out

To be—as are they all-but fair deceit :
Yet when I find her so, I do not grieve—
I look not now to find her
any other;
So I but make my bow, and take my leave,

And cruise around, until I meet another
To strike my fancy;-she's not hard to find,
In my contended, present state of mind.

True, once it no such easy matter seemed;
But that was at an early time of life,
The when, a silly, crack-brained youth, I dreamed
Of love and moonshine, marriage and a wife!

BACHELOR PHILOSOPHY

Thank Heaven that snare's escaped, and now it is

A most indifferent, trifling sort of matter,

To find a dozen pretty girls, to kiss

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And flirt withal-to dance, and smile, and chatter; Although my eyes I have to keep wide open, That none to matrimony me may rope in!

But, ah! a most delightful thing I find

This sipping sweets from each enchanting flower,Still free to wander on, and leave behind

Untasted, all its bitter and its sour:

And when some flowret fades, whose lovely form,

If all mine own, 'twould kill me to resign,

I turn to others, yet with beauty warm,

And bless kind Heaven the treasure was not mine !

Let Benedicts then boast of child and wife,

Be mine the Bachelor's free and merry life!

12

SONG OF THE CIGAR SMOKER.

"Yes! social friend, I love thee well!

In learned doctors' spite,

I love thy fragrant, misty spell,

I love thy calm delight!"

SPRAGUE.

Or glory and fame, or of love's soft flame, Of the rich and generous vine,

Of

sage or of king, let others sing,

But this be lay of mine:

Though women and wine are both divine,

And though love is the poet's star, Such themes to others I now resign, To sing of my loved Cigar!

Then bring the flame!—we'll light the same,

And let the toast proceed;

Though love and wine are both divine,

Huzza! for the fragrant weed!