Produced by David Widger from page images generously provided by Google Books THE WONDERFUL “ONE-HOSS-SHAY” And Other Poems By Oliver Wendell Holmes (Reprinted from the Atlantic Monthly of September, 1858) With numerous original illustrations by Thomas McIlvaine Frederick A. Stokes Company 1897 [Illustration: 008] [Illustration: 013] [Illustration: 014] THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE: OR THE WONDERFUL “ONE-HOSS-SHAY.” A LOGICAL STORY. |Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss-shay, That was built in such a logical way? It ran a hundred years to a day, And then, of a sudden, it--ah, but stay, I'll tell you what happened without delay.= Scaring the parson into fits, Frightening people out of their wits,-- Have you ever heard of that, I say?= Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. _Georgius Secundus_ was then alive,-- Snuffy old drone from the German hive! That was the year when Lisbon-town Saw the earth open and gulp her down, And Braddock's army was done so brown, Left without a scalp to its crown.= [Illustration: 026] (“BRADDOCK'S ARMY WAS DONE SO BROWN.”) It was on the terrible Earthquake-day That the Deacon finished the one-hoss-shay. Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, There is always _somewhere_ a weakest spot,-- In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,--lurking still Find it somewhere you must and will,-- Above or below, or within or without,-- And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, A chaise _breaks down_, but doesn't _wear out_.= But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do) With an “I dew vum,” or an “I tell _yeou_,” He would build one shay to beat the taown 'n' the keounty 'n' all the keuntry raoun'; [Illustration: 032] (“I DEW VUM”) It should be so built that it _couldn'_ break daown: --“Fur,” said the Deacon, “'t's mighty plain Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain; 'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, is only jest To make that place uz strong uz the rest.” So the Deacon inquired of the village folk Where he could find the strongest oak, That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke,-- That was for spokes and floor and sills; He sent for lancewood to make the thills; The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees; The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these; The hubs of logs from the “Settler's ellum,” Last of its timber,--they couldn't sell 'em,-- [Illustration: 038] (“SO THE DEACON INQUIRED OF THE VILLAGE FOLK.”) Never an axe had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lips, Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips; Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, Steel of the finest, bright and blue; Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide Found in the pit when the tanner died. That was the way he “put her through.”--