The School of Skinny 99 One-Armed Joe 101 Wes Perkins 103 The First Mess of Greens 105 Wes Banks 107 Philosophy at a Banquet 109 Anent Halley's Comet 110 PROEM _Warp and woof from the loom of Life--_ _A fabric wrought in endless strife:--_ _Lights and shadows, night and day,_ _A thousand tints of gold and gray--_ _Ten thousand shades in leaf and bloom,_ _WARP and WOOF from Life's great Loom._ A SKEIN OF SILVER THE OLD-FASHIONED LOOM The old log house where Margaret lived, whose roof had mossy grown, Reposed amid its clump of trees, a queen upon her throne. The landscape round smiled proudly and the flowers shed sweet perfume, When Margaret plied the shuttle of the rude old-fashioned loom. The world has grown fastidious--demands things ever new-- But we could once see beauties in the rainbow's every hue; The bee could then find nectar in a common clover bloom, And simple hearts hear music in the shuttle of the loom. The picture that my memory paints is never seen to-day-- The April sun of by-gone years has lost its brightest ray: A fancy-wrought piano in a quaint, antique old room, But Margaret sang her sweetest to the music of the loom. She wore a simple home-spun dress, for Margaret's taste was plain, Yet life was like a song to her, with work a sweet refrain. The sunshine filled her days with joy, night's shadows brought no gloom. When Margaret plied the shuttle of the old old-fashioned loom. Her warp of life was toiling hard, but love its beauteous woof. The web she wove, a character beyond the world's reproof. O girls of wealth and beauty vain, who dress in rich costume, How sweet the shuttle's music of this rare old-fashioned loom. The world may grow fastidious in art and nature too, And say there is no beauty in the rainbow's every hue; And yet the bee finds nectar in a common clover bloom, And I still love the music of the old old-fashioned loom. THE OLD OLD CLOCK Dear old Old Clock, thy grave tick tock I heard in my childhood days, In the solemn night, when the fire burned bright, And the lamp cast feeble rays; When grandmother close by the mantelpiece, Sat dozing or knitting, or carding fleece, Or watching the dying blaze; When mother was young and her beautiful hair Had never a silver thread; When her life was fair as her love was rare, In the years that have swiftly sped.