Story Hour Readings: Seventh Year Part 39

THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE, OR THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY"

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894) was born at Cambridge, Ma.s.s. Although he practiced his profession of medicine, was Professor of Anatomy and Physiology at the Harvard Medical School, and wrote some scientific works, he is best known as the author of poems and essays, mostly humorous, light, and fanciful. He was very popular in his time as a witty conversationalist and a brilliant speech maker.

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?

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.

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, thorough-brace,--lurking still, 5 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, 10 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't_ break daown.

"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t's mighty plain 15 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 20 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 25 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 ax 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, 5 Steel of the finest, bright and blue; Thorough-brace, 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." 10 "There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!"

Do! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less!

Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, Deacon and deaconess dropped away, 15 Children and grandchildren--where were they?

But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay, As fresh as on Lisbon-Earthquake day!

_Eighteen hundred_--it came and found The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. 20 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, 25 And then come Fifty--and _Fifty-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 a tree and truth.

(This is a moral that runs at large; Take it.--You're welcome.--No extra charge.)

_First of November_--the Earthquake day-- 5 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 10 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, 15 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_!

First of November, Fifty-five! 20 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. 25

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 s.h.i.+ver, and then a thrill, Then something decidedly like a spill-- And the parson was sitting upon a rock, 5 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, 10 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. 15

End of the wonderful one-hoss shay.

Logic is logic. That's all I say.

1. What kind of vehicle did the Deacon build? What was his theory as to building a "shay"?

2. How did he carry out his theory? Read the pa.s.sages that answer this question. Make a list of the special parts of the chaise named.

3. On what day did the Deacon complete his task? Is Holmes correct as to the dates of Braddock's defeat and the Lisbon earthquake?

4. Explain lines 10-11, page 286; 8, 17, 27, page 289; 17, page 290.

5. What happened finally to the "masterpiece"? Was the Deacon still living? How did the chaise happen to go to pieces? Was the Deacon's theory of building correct?

6. Suggested readings: Holmes's "How the Old Horse Won the Bet"; Lowell's "The Courtin'."

THE SCHOOLMASTER'S RIDE

BY WAs.h.i.+NGTON IRVING

The time of this story is post-Revolutionary.

Ichabod Crane, a lean, awkward schoolmaster, has been courting the village belle, Katrina Van Ta.s.sel, his rival being Brom Bones, a powerful fellow, noted for his pugnacity. He has frequently threatened Ichabod for aspiring to the charming Katrina. Here, Ichabod, at a late hour, is leaving the Van Ta.s.sel home after a "quilting frolic" where he took occasion to propose to Katrina. Judge of the young lady's answer!

Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crestfallen, pursued his travel homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarrytown. The hour was as dismal as himself. Far below him the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the 5 tall mast of a sloop riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead hush of midnight he could even hear the barking of the watchdog from the opposite sh.o.r.e of the Hudson; but it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his great distance from this faithful companion of 10 man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a c.o.c.k, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off, from some farmhouse away among the hills. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural tw.a.n.g of a bullfrog 15 from a neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably and turning suddenly in his bed.

The night grew darker and darker, the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and 20 dismal. In the center of the road stood an enormous tulip tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighborhood and formed a kind of landmark. It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate Andre, who had been taken prisoner hard by, and was 5 universally known by the name of Major Andre's Tree.

The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superst.i.tion.

As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle. He thought his whistle was answered. It was 10 but a blast sweeping through the dry branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something white hanging in the midst of the tree. He paused and ceased whistling; but on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by 15 lightning and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a groan. His teeth chattered, and his knees smote against the saddle. It was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another as they were swayed about by the breeze. He pa.s.sed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him. 20

About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook crossed the road and ran into a marshy and thickly wooded glen, known by the name of Wiley's Swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream.

To pa.s.s this bridge was the severest trial. It was at this 25 identical spot that the unfortunate Andre was captured, and this has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pa.s.s it alone after dark.

As he approached the stream his heart began to thump. 30 He summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge. But instead of starting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the reins on the other side and kicked l.u.s.tily with the contrary foot. It was all in 5 vain. His steed started, it is true, but it was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles and alder bushes.

The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed 10 forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge with a suddenness which had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. Just at this moment a plashy tramp on the bank of the stream, by the side of the bridge, caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the 15 dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the murmuring brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, black, and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathering up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveler. 20