T he halved joint is frequently known as half-lapping, and sometimes as checking and half-checking. In the majority of cases it is made by halving the two pieces, i.e., by cutting half the depth of the wood away. There are, however, exceptions ... Read more of The Halved Joint at Wood Workings.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...



THE OLD CLAY PIPE.








There's a lot of solid comfort
In an old clay pipe, I find,
If you're kind of out of humor
Or in trouble in your mind.
When you're feeling awful lonesome
And don't know just what to do,
There's a heap of satisfaction
If you smoke a pipe or two.

The ten thousand pleasant memories
That are buried in your soul
Are playing hide and seek with you
Around that smoking bowl.
These are mighty restful moments:
You're at peace with all the world,
And the panorama changes
As the thin blue smoke is curled.

Now you cross the bridge of sorrows,
Now you enter pleasant lands,
And before an open doorway,
You will linger to shake hands
With a lithe and girlish figure
That is coming through the door;
Ah! you recognize the features:
You have seen that face before.

You are at the dear old homestead
Where you spent those happy years;
You are romping with the children;
You are smiling through your tears;
You have fought and whipped the bully
You are eight and he is ten.
Oh! how rapidly we travel,--
You are now a boy again.

You approach the open doorway,
And before the old armchair
You will stop and kiss the grandma,
You will smooth the thin white hair;
You will read the open Bible,
For the lamp is lit, you see.
It is now your hour for bed-time
And you kneel at mother's knee.

Still you linger at the hearthstone;
You are loath to leave the place.
When an apple cut's in progress:
You must wait and dance with Grace.

What's the matter with the music?
Only this: The pipe is broke,
And a thousand pleasant fancies
Vanish promptly with the smoke.

A.B. VAN FLEET.





Next: PERNICIOUS WEED!

Previous: THE BALLAD OF THE PIPE.



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