Up here Wes Banks is jist a wag,
With striped candy in a bag.

Old Wes is poor as money goes,
But rich in love and charity;
His heart goes out in sympathy
To barefoot boy with bleeding toes,
And girls in torn and tattered clothes;
And with his heart goes Wes's coin,
To heal the wound and gird the loin.

And this is why tonight I rise
To speak how Wesly Bank's life
Through forty years of schoolroom strife
By living truth has conquered lies,
And made his students good and wise:
You can't size Wes by looks or speech,
No more than some by what they preach.

PHILOSOPHY AT A BANQUET

Old Socrates who thought he knew
A philosophic thing or two,
Believed that man was made to walk
Or lounge about the streets and talk
Of life and death and virtues true,
And what a fellow ought to do;
While poor Xantippe, so I'm told,
Remained at home to drudge and scold.

But Epicurus seemed to think
That man was made to eat and drink,
A doctrine quite as orthodox,
I sometimes think, as old man Soc's;
For what philosophy's complete
That can not take an hour to eat?
I like old Socry, to be sure,
But here I'm just an Epicure.

ANENT HALLEY'S COMET

Oh, how sick of Halley's comet!
Almost makes me want to vomit.
Can't pick up a magazine,
Halley's comet isn't seen.
When the weary day is done,
Still no peace unless you shun
Every living soul you meet
Talking comet on the street.
Should you occupy the pews,
See the Hipp or read the news,
Fall asleep and chance to dream,
Halley's comet still the theme.
Dust to-day got in my eye,--
Halley's comet passing by.
Both the sense of sound and sight,
Suffering from this comet's blight.
When the days were hot and dry,
Halley's comet in the sky.
All through April frost and rain,
Halley's comet raising Cain.
Whoso seeks for faith or knowledge
Goes to church or enters college,
Hears naught else but this discussed.--
Shooting stars and comet dust.
Taft and Teddy's well be dead,
Like Old England's monarch _Ed_,--
Just as well as be forgot
Midst this meteoric rot.
Automobile passes by,
Like a comet in the sky.
Leaving in its awful trail,
Wreaths of smoke just like a tail;
See a fellow sniff the a