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Or, The Deacon’s Masterpiece
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, | 5 |
| Scaring the parson into fits, | |
| Frightening people out of their wits,— | |
| Have you ever heard of that, I say? | |
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| Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. | |
| Georgius Secundus was then alive,— | 10 |
| 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. | 15 |
| It was on the terrible Earthquake-day | |
| That the deacon finished the one-hoss shay. | |
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| Now in the building of chaises, I tell you what, | |
| There is always somewhere a weakest spot,— | |
| In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| A chaise breaks down, but doesn’t wear out. | |
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| 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’; | 30 |
| It should be so built that it couldn’t 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 | 35 |
| T’ make that place uz strong uz the rest.” | |
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| 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; | 40 |
| 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,”— | 45 |
| Last of its timber,—they couldn’t sell ’em, | |
| 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, | 50 |
| 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. | 55 |
| That was the way he “put her through.” | |
| “There!” said the Deacon, “naow she ’ll dew!” | |
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| Do! I tell you, I rather guess | |
| She was a wonder, and nothing less! | |
| Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, | 60 |
| 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! | |
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| EIGHTEEN HUNDRED;—it came and found | 65 |
| 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. | 70 |
| Thirty and forty at last arrive, | |
| And then came fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE. | |
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| Little of all we value here | |
| Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year | |
| Without both feeling and looking queer. | 75 |
| 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.) | |
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| FIRST OF NOVEMBER,—the Earthquake-day.— | 80 |
| 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 | 85 |
| 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, | 90 |
| 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! | |
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| First of November, ’Fifty-five! | 95 |
| 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. | 100 |
| 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 meetin’-house on the hill. | 105 |
| —First a shiver and then a thrill, | |
| Then something decidedly like a spill,— | |
| And the parson was sitting upon a rock, | |
| At half past nine by the meetin’-house clock,— | |
| Just the hour of the Earthquake shock! | 110 |
| —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, | 115 |
| How it went to pieces all at once,— | |
| All at once, and nothing first,— | |
| Just as bubbles do when they burst. | |
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| End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. | |
| Logic is logic. That ’s all I say. | 120 |
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