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One-Hoss Shay, The

<h2>The Deacon’s Masterpiece</h2> 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. 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, <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-014.jpg" width-obs="304" height-obs="475" alt="The Deacon standing on one foot in front of the broken-down chaise" title="“A chaise breaks down but doesn’t wear out”" /></div> 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 kentry raoun’; 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 T’ 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,— <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-016.jpg" width-obs="300" height-obs="371" alt="Drawing of a group of people standing around talking" title="“The Deacon inquired of the village folk”" /></div> 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 whitewood, 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, Never an axe had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lip 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.” “There!” said the Deacon, “naow she’ll dew.” Do! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less! <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-018.jpg" width-obs="279" height-obs="261" alt="The Deacon standing by the new chaise" title="“Naow she’ll dew”" /></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-019.jpg" width-obs="296" height-obs="467" alt="Drawing of the Deacon in his new chaise, with people inspecting it" title="“She was a wonder, and nothing less”" /></div> Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, Deacon and deaconess dropped away, Children and grandchildren—where were they? But there stood the stout old one-hoss-shay As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day! <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-020.jpg" width-obs="285" height-obs="294" alt="Drawing of gravestones" title="“Deacon and deaconess dropped away”" /></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-021-1.jpg" width-obs="267" height-obs="161" alt="Drawing of a couple looking at the chaise in the distance" title="1800" /></div> Eighteen Hundred;—it came and found The Deacon’s Masterpiece strong and sound. Eighteen hundred increased by ten;— “Hahnsum kerridge” they called it then. Eighteen hundred and twenty came;— Running as usual; much the same. Thirty and forty at last arrive, And then come fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-021-2.jpg" width-obs="239" height-obs="130" alt="Drawing of a couple's head and shoulders as they are looking at the chaise in the distance" title="1855" /></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-022.jpg" width-obs="296" height-obs="247" alt="Drawing of an elderly man in an armchair looking out the window" title="“Its hundredth year”" /></div> Little of all we value here Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer. In fact, there’s nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know, but a tree and truth. (This is a moral that runs at large; Take it.—You’re welcome.—No extra charge.) <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-023.jpg" width-obs="271" height-obs="317" alt="Drawing of the chaise parked in the yard" title="“A general flavor of mild decay”" /></div> First of November,—the Earthquake-day.— There are traces of age in the one-hoss-shay, A general flavor of mild decay, But nothing local, as one may say. There couldn’t be,—for the Deacon’s art Had made it so like in every part That there wasn’t a chance for one to start. For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, And the floor was just as strong as the sills, And the panels just as strong as the floor, And the whippletree neither less nor more, And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore, And spring and axle and hub encore, And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt In another hour it will be worn out! <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-024.jpg" width-obs="261" height-obs="125" alt="Drawing of the chaise stopped on the road" title="“In another hour it will be worn out”" /></div> First of November, ’Fifty-five! This morning the parson takes a drive. Now, small boys, get out of the way! Here comes the wonderful one-hoss-shay, Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. “Huddup!” said the parson.—Off went they. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-025.jpg" width-obs="290" height-obs="272" alt="Drawing of the Deacon driving the chaise" title="“The parson takes a drive”" /></div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-026.jpg" width-obs="262" height-obs="293" alt="Drawing of the damaged chaise with the horse hitched to it in front of a church" title="“All at once the horse stood still”" /></div> The parson was working his Sunday’s text,— Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed At what the—Moses—was coming next. All at once the horse stood still, Close by the meet’n’-house on the hill. —First a shiver, and then a thrill, Then something decidedly like a spill,— <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-027.jpg" width-obs="295" height-obs="484" alt="Drawing of the Deacon sitting in the splintered chaise behind the horse, with the church in the background" title="Then something decidedly like a spill" /></div> And the parson was sitting upon a rock, At half-past nine by the meet’n’-house clock,— Just the hour of the Earthquake shock! —What do you think the parson found, When he got up and stared around? The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, As if it had been to the mill and ground! You see, of course, if you’re not a dunce, How it went to pieces all at once,— All at once, and nothing first,— Just as bubbles do when they burst. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-028.jpg" width-obs="282" height-obs="147" alt="Drawing of an angel blowing bubbles" title="“Just as bubbles do when they burst”" /></div> End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay. Logic is logic. That’s all I say. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-029.jpg" width-obs="282" height-obs="213" alt="Drawing of the Deacon leading the horse, still wearing the harness" title="“End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay”" /></div> <hr class="chapbreak" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-030.jpg" width-obs="267" height-obs="354" alt="Decorative title" title="How the Old Horse Won the BET Dedicated by a Contributor to the Collegian 1830 To the Editor of the Advocate 1876" /></div> <hr class="chapbreak" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-031.jpg" width-obs="278" height-obs="191" alt="Drawing of a race track with two trotting horses racing" title="“The famous trotting ground”" /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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