Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1858-09-03
r 0 Il 7 r Y :.
THE pEACoN's MAsTERPIHCE


OR tllG wUNDERIUI. UNE.HORSE-sHAY."
A Logical Story.
tfrom the Autocrat in the Atlantic Monthly)
Have you heard of the wonderful onc-hoss-shay
ihat was built in such logical way
1t rama hundred years to day,
And then of a sudden, it ---ah, but stay,
I'll tell you what happened without delay,
soaring the parson into fits,
frightening people cut Of their wits
Have you over heard Of that, | say!
Seventeen hundred aud fifty five.
G5ryius Sccanduy was then alive
>nuHy old drone from the German hive
This was the year when Lisbon-town
saw the earth opcl and gulp her down.
md Braddock's army was done so brown
Left without scalp to it, crown.
It was on the terrible earthquako-day
rhnt the Deacon flushed the Ouc-huss-shay.
Now in building Of chaises, tell you what,
There is always S0m'icberc weakest spot
la hub, tire, fclloc, in spring or thill,
Ia plnnel, or crossbar, or floor or sill,
IN screw, bolt, thorough ghbrace-lurking still
Find it somewhere you must and will
Above or below or within or without
and that's the reason, beyond a doubt,
4 chaise freaks dorm, but doesn't wcor ont.
But the Deacon swore (as Dcacons do,
With an 81 dew yum," or an " | tell yeou,
lie would build one shay to beat the taown
'u' the kcounty N all the kcntry raoun,;
II should be so built that it c0uidH break daown
-"Fur,' said the Deacon, "ts mighty PLAIN
Tho the wcakcs pla C mus stan the stoain;
m the way fix it uz ! maintain
l. only jest
Tnmakc the place ,tron- w the rest.
80 the Deacon inquired of the village folk
/ al ,;,,t ,.. - tnl
That couldn't be split, nor bent nor broke
That was for spokcs, and floor and sills;
lie sent for lancewuod to make the thills;
The cro,,bars were ash from the aightcst trees
The panel, Of white wood, that cuts like cheese
Gut In .ts like iron for things like these;
The hubs of logs from the settlers ellum -
Last of its timbcr-they couldn't sell EN-
Never an ax had seen their chips,
And the wedges flew from between their hips,
Their blunt ends frilzlcd like celery tips;
Step and prop-ron, bolt and screw,
Spring, tire, axle and linchpin too,
steel Of the finest bri ght and blue;
Thorough brace bi>"n-skin, thick and wide
Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
Found in the pit when the tanner dled.
That was the way he 'put her through
"There :" said the Deacon. ''naow she'll dew :!
D. ! tell you, | rather guess
Sle was a wonder, and nothing less
G It's crew horses, boards turned gray,
Dylcon and deaconcss dropped away,
Children and and-children-where we're 'hey
But there stood the stout old one-hoss-shay
As fresh as on Lisbon -earthquake-day
EfGurGEN HuNDRrp--it came and found
fue Deacon's masterpieces strong and sound
Eighteen hundred increased by ten
" llahnsum kerridse' they called it then.
Eighteen hundred and twenty came
Running as usual, much the same.
Thirty and forty at last arrived,
And then came fifty, and flfTf-flVE'
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 know, but tree and truth,
(Ihis is moral that runs at large;
Take it.-Y ou re welcome.-No extra charge.)
FlRs1 OF NovEMBER-the Earthquake day,
There are traces Of age in the one-hoss-shay,
4 general flavor of mild decay,
But nothing local, as one may say.
There couldn't be-for the Deacons art
Had made it so like in every part
That there wasn't chance for one to start
For the wheels were just as strong as the thllls,
And the floor was just strong as the sills,
And the panels just as strong as the hoor,
And the whipplc-tree neither less nor more
And rhe back cross-bar as strong as the tore
And spring and axle and hub encore.
And yet as a wb9ie, it is past "A doubt
In another hour it will be tr0rn ont
First Of November, fifty y-fve
This morning the parson takes drive.
Now small boys, get out of the way
Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay,
Drawn by a rat-tailcd, ewe-nccked bay.
"Huddup' said the parson.-Oh went they
The parson was working his Sundays text
Had got to GGhg 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 shivor, and then thrill,
Then something decidedly like spill
And the parson was sitting upon rock,
At half-past nine by the mectn-house clock
Just at the hour of the Earthquake-shock
What do you think the parson found,
When he got up and stared around?
The poor old aise in heap or mound,
As if it had been to the mill and ground
You see, of COURSE if you're not a Ounce,
How it went to pieces all at once
All at once and nothing first
Just as bubbles do when they burst
End Of the wonderful one-hossshay.
Logic is logic. That's all say,