The Fremont weekly journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1867-1877, 1872-02-02
THE JOURNAL.
THE DHAcoN's MASTERPIECE
Or. the wonderful "One-Hoss Shay"
! LOGICAL STORY.

\ LOGICAL STORY.
Have you heard of the wonderful one-hOss
shay,
That was built in such logical way
It ran 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 out of their Wits
Have YOU ever heard Of that, say7
Seventeen hundred and ffty-hve,
GeoyQius Sec,nd,s was then alive
Snufy 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 go 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, tell you what,
Thore is always 8ome'ohere weakest spot
In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,
In panel, or cross-bar, or floor or sill,
In screw, bolt, horoughbrace-lurking still
Find it somewhere you must and will
Above or below, or within or without
And that's the reason, beyond doubt,
A chaise breaks do,on, but doesn't iceGr out.
But the Deacon swore las Deacons do
With an 81 dew vum," or an al tell yeOu,0
He would build one shay to beat the taown,
IA the keounty n all the kentry raoun';
It should be SO built that it couldn't break
down:
-"Fur," said the Deacon, ats mighty plain
That the weakes' place mus stan the strain;
'n' the way t fix it, uz I maintain,
Is only jest
| T. make that place w strong w the rest"
SSshe Deacon inquired of the village folk
Wbele 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 Settlers ellum"-
Last of its timber;-they couldn't sell 'em,
Never an axe had seen their chips,
And the wedges few from between their lips
Their blunt ends frizzed like celery-tips;
Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,
Spring, tire, axle, and liuchpIn toe,
Steel of the finest, bright and blue;
Tborouphbrace 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
nThere!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dewP
Dol tell you, rather guess
She was wonder and nothing lessl
Colts grew horses, boards turned gray,
Deacon and Deaconess dropped away,
Children and erand-children-where wer,
they9
But there stood the stout one-hoss-shay
As fresh as on nLisbon-earthquke-dayl
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 came fifty and Fitty-FiVe.
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 tree and truth.
This is moral that runs at large;
Take it.-You're welcome.-No extra charge
First Of Novem5eT,-the Earthquake day.
There ore traces Of age in the one-hoss-shay
A general favor OF mild decay,
But nothing local, as one may say.
There couldn't be, for the Deacon's art
Have 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 thills
And the floor was just as strong as the sills,
And the pannels just as strong as the floor,
And the whippletree neither less nor more,
And the back cross-bar as strong as the fore,
And spring and axle and hub encore.
And yet, as a i0hole,, it is past no doubt,
In another hour it will be ,Oorn out.
First of November, Fifty-five!
This morning the parson takes a drive.
Now, small boys, get out of the wayl
Here comes the wonderful one-hoss-shay.
Drawn by rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.
''Huddupl" said the parson.-Of went they.
The parson was working his Sundays text
Had got to filthy, and stopped perplexed
And what the-Moses-was coming next
All at once the horse stood still,
Close by the meet'n' house on the bill.
First shiver, and then then a thrill,
Then something decidedly like SPILL
And the parson was sitting upon rock,
At half-past nine by the meet'n'-house clock
Just the hour of the Earthquake shockl
What do you think the parson found,
When he got up and stared around?
The poor old chaise in heap or mound,
As if it had been to the mill and groundl
You see, of course, if your not 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-hoss shay.