After squaring all the shoulder lines round the timber with the knife and try square, the mortise gauge should be set so as to strike the two gauge lines marked G, , at one operation. If the worker does not possess a mortise gauge the lines may ... Read more of Gauging at Wood Workings.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...



SMOKE AND CHESS.








We were sitting at chess as the sun went down;
And he, from his meerschaum's glossy brown,
With a ring of smoke made his king a crown.

The cherry stem, with its amber tip,
Thoughtfully rested on his lip,
As the goblet's rim from which heroes sip.

And, looking out through the early green,
He called on his patron saint, I ween,--
That misty maiden, Saint Nicotine,--

While ever rested that crown so fair,
Poised in the warm and pulseless air,
On the carven chessman's ivory hair.

Dreamily wandered the game along,
Quietly moving at even-song,
While the striving kings stood firm and strong,

Until that one which of late was crowned
Flinched from a knight's determined bound,
And in sullen majesty left the ground,

Reeling back; and it came to pass
That, waiting to mutter no funeral mass,
A bishop had dealt him the _coup de grace_.

And so, as we sat, we reasoned still
Of fate and of fortune, of human will,
And what are the purposes men fulfil.

For we see at last, when the truth arrives,
The moves on the chess-board of our lives,--
That fields may be lost, though the king survives.

Not always he whom the world reveres
Merits its honor or wins its cheers,
Standing the best at the end of the years.

Not always he who has lost the fight
Rises again with the coming light,
Battles anew for his ancient right.

SAMUEL W. DUFFIELD.




Next: INSCRIPTION FOR A TOBACCO JAR.

Previous: SONG OF THE SMOKE-WREATHS.



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