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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/30279-0.txt b/30279-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e101eb9 --- /dev/null +++ b/30279-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,922 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30279 *** + +[Illustration: Y^e Deacon] + + + + + The One Hoss Shay + + _With its Companion Poems_ + + How the Old Horse Won the Bet + & + The Broomstick Train + + By Oliver Wendell Holmes + + _With Illustrations by_ + Howard Pyle + + [Illustration] + + _Boston and New York_ + Houghton, Mifflin and Company + The Riverside Press, Cambridge + M DCCC XCII + + + + + Copyright, 1858, 1877, 1886, and 1890, + BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. + + Copyright, 1891, + BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. + + _All rights reserved._ + + + _The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A._ + Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. + + + + +Preface + + +My publishers suggested the bringing together of the three poems here +presented to the reader as being to some extent alike in their general +character. "The Wonderful One-Hoss Shay" is a perfectly intelligible +conception, whatever material difficulties it presents. It is +conceivable that a being of an order superior to humanity should so +understand the conditions of matter that he could construct a machine +which should go to pieces, if not into its constituent atoms, at a given +moment of the future. The mind may take a certain pleasure in this +picture of the impossible. The event follows as a logical consequence of +the presupposed condition of things. + +There is a practical lesson to be got out of the story. Observation +shows us in what point any particular mechanism is most likely to give +way. In a wagon, for instance, the weak point is where the axle enters +the hub or nave. When the wagon breaks down, three times out of four, I +think, it is at this point that the accident occurs. The workman should +see to it that this part should never give way; then find the next +vulnerable place, and so on, until he arrives logically at the perfect +result attained by the deacon. + + * * * * * + +Unquestionably there is something a little like extravagance in "How the +Old Horse won the Bet," which taxes the credulity of experienced +horsemen. Still there have been a good many surprises in the history of +the turf and the trotting course. + +The Godolphin Arabian was taken from ignoble drudgery to become the +patriarch of the English racing stock. + +Old Dutchman was transferred from between the shafts of a cart to +become a champion of the American trotters in his time. + +"Old Blue," a famous Boston horse of the early decades of this century, +was said to trot a mile in less than three minutes, but I do not find +any exact record of his achievements. + +Those who have followed the history of the American trotting horse are +aware of the wonderful development of speed attained in these last +years. The lowest time as yet recorded is by Maud S. in 2.08-3/4. + + * * * * * + +If there are any anachronisms or other inaccuracies in this story, the +reader will please to remember that the narrator's memory is liable to +be at fault, and if the event recorded interests him, will not worry +over any little slips or stumbles. + + * * * * * + +The terrible witchcraft drama of 1692 has been seriously treated, as it +well deserves to be. The story has been told in two large volumes by +the Rev. Charles Wentworth Upham, and in a small and more succinct +volume, based upon his work, by his daughter-in-law, Caroline E. Upham. + +The delusion commonly spoken of, as if it belonged to Salem, was more +widely diffused through the towns of Essex County. Looking upon it as a +pitiful and long dead and buried superstition, I trust my poem will no +more offend the good people of Essex County than Tam O'Shanter worries +the honest folk of Ayrshire. + +The localities referred to are those with which I am familiar in my +drives about Essex County. + + O. W. H. + + _July, 1891._ + +[Illustration] + + + + +List of Illustrations + + + THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE. PAGE + The Deacon _Frontispiece._ + Half Title 11 + The Masterpiece 12 + "A chaise breaks down" 14 + "The Deacon inquired of the village folk" 16 + "Naow she'll dew" 18 + "She was a wonder, and nothing less" 19 + "Deacon and deaconess dropped away" 20 + "Eighteen Hundred" 21 + "Fifty-Five" 21 + "Its hundredth year" 22 + "A general flavor of mild decay" 23 + "In another hour it will be worn out" 24 + "The parson takes a drive" 25 + "All at once the horse stood still" 26 + "Then something decidedly like a spill" 27 + "Just as bubbles do when they burst" 28 + "End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay" 29 + + HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET. + Half Title 30 + "The famous trotting ground" 31 + "Many a noted steed" 32 + "The Sunday swell" 33 + "The jointed tandem" 34 + "So shy with us, so free with these" 35 + "The lovely bonnets beamed their smiles" 36 + "I'll bet you two to one" 37 + "Harnessed in his one-hoss-shay" 38 + "The sexton ... led forth the horse" 40 + "A sight to see" 41 + "They lead him, limping, to the track" 42 + "To limber out each stiffened joint" 43 + "Something like a stride" 45 + "A mighty stride he swung" 47 + "Off went a shoe" 48 + "And now the stand he rushes by" 50 + "And off they spring" 51 + "They follow at his heels" 52 + "They're losing ground" 52 + "He's distanced all the lot" 53 + "Some took his time" 54 + "Back in the one-hoss shay he went" 56 + "A horse _can_ trot, for all he's old" 57 + + THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN. + Half Title 58 + "Clear the track" 59 + "An Essex Deacon dropped in to call" 60 + "The old dwellings" 61 + "The small square windows" 61 + "Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes" 63 + "Norman's Woe" 64 + "The Screeching Woman of Marblehead" 65 + "It isn't fair" 66 + "You're a good old--fellow--come, let us go" 68 + "See how tall they've grown" 69 + "They called the cats" 70 + "The Essex people had dreadful times" 71 + "The withered hags were free" 72 + "A strange sea-monster stole their bait" 74 + "They could hear him twenty miles" 75 + "They came ... at their master's call" 76 + "You can hear her black cat's purr" 78 + "Catch a gleam from her wicked eye" 79 + Tail Piece 80 + +[Illustration] + + + + + _The_ + Deacon's Masterpiece + _or the_ + _Wonderful_ + One-Hoss-Shay + + _A Logical Story_ + + +[Illustration] + + + +The Deacon's Masterpiece + + + 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, + +[Illustration: "A chaise breaks down but doesn't wear out"] + + 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,-- + +[Illustration] + + 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! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "She was a wonder, and nothing less"] + + 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! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: 1800] + + 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. + +[Illustration: 1855] + +[Illustration] + + 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.) + +[Illustration] + + 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_! + +[Illustration] + + 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. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + 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,-- + +[Illustration: Then something decidedly like a spill] + + 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. + +[Illustration] + + End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay. + Logic is logic. That's all I say. + +[Illustration] + + + + + _How the_ Old Horse + _Won the_ + BET + + _Dedicated by a Contributor + to the_ Collegian + 1830 + _To the Editor of the_ Advocate + 1876 + + + + +[Illustration] + +HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET + + + 'T was on the famous trotting-ground, + The betting men were gathered round + From far and near; the "cracks" were there + Whose deeds the sporting prints declare: + The swift g. m., Old Hiram's nag, + The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer's brag, + With these a third--and who is he + That stands beside his fast b. g.? + Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name + So fills the nasal trump of fame. + +[Illustration] + + There too stood many a noted steed + Of Messenger and Morgan breed; + Green horses also, not a few; + Unknown as yet what they could do; + And all the hacks that know so well + The scourgings of the Sunday swell. + +[Illustration: The Sunday Swell] + + Blue are the skies of opening day; + The bordering turf is green with May; + The sunshine's golden gleam is thrown + On sorrel, chestnut, bay, and roan; + The horses paw and prance and neigh, + Fillies and colts like kittens play, + And dance and toss their rippled manes + Shining and soft as silken skeins; + Wagons and gigs are ranged about, + And fashion flaunts her gay turn-out; + Here stands,--each youthful Jehu's dream,-- + The jointed tandem, ticklish team! + +[Illustration] + + And there in ampler breadth expand + The splendors of the four-in-hand; + On faultless ties and glossy tiles + The lovely bonnets beam their smiles; + (The style's the man, so books avow; + The style's the woman, anyhow;) + From flounces frothed with creamy lace + Peeps out the pug-dog's smutty face, + Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye, + Or stares the wiry pet of Skye;-- + O woman, in your hours of ease + So shy with us, so free with these! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: On faultless ties and glossy tiles + The lovely bonnets beam their smiles] + + "Come on! I'll bet you two to one + I'll make him do it!" "Will you? Done!" + + What was it who was bound to do? + I did not hear and can't tell you,-- + Pray listen till my story's through. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Scarce noticed, back behind the rest, + By cart and wagon rudely prest, + The parson's lean and bony bay + Stood harnessed in his one-horse shay-- + Lent to his sexton for the day; + (A funeral--so the sexton said; + His mother's uncle's wife was dead.) + + Like Lazarus bid to Dives' feast, + So looked the poor forlorn old beast; + His coat was rough, his tail was bare, + The gray was sprinkled in his hair; + Sportsmen and jockeys knew him not, + And yet they say he once could trot + Among the fleetest of the town, + Till something cracked and broke him down,-- + The steed's, the statesman's, common lot! + "And are we then so soon forgot?" + Ah me! I doubt if one of you + Has ever heard the name "Old Blue," + Whose fame through all this region rung + In those old days when I was young! + + "Bring forth the horse!" Alas! he showed + Not like the one Mazeppa rode; + Scant-maned, sharp-backed, and shaky-kneed, + The wreck of what was once a steed, + Lips thin, eyes hollow, stiff in joints; + Yet not without his knowing points. + The sexton laughing in his sleeve, + As if 't were all a make-believe, + Led forth the horse, and as he laughed + +[Illustration] + + Unhitched the breeching from a shaft, + Unclasped the rusty belt beneath, + Drew forth the snaffle from his teeth, + Slipped off his head-stall, set him free + From strap and rein,--a sight to see! + +[Illustration] + + So worn, so lean in every limb, + It can't be they are saddling him! + It is! his back the pig-skin strides + And flaps his lank, rheumatic sides; + With look of mingled scorn and mirth + They buckle round the saddle-girth; + With horsey wink and saucy toss + A youngster throws his leg across, + And so, his rider on his back, + They lead him, limping, to the track, + Far up behind the starting-point, + To limber out each stiffened joint. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "To limber out each stiffened joint"] + + As through the jeering crowd he past, + One pitying look old Hiram cast; + "Go it, ye cripple, while ye can!" + Cried out unsentimental Dan; + "A Fast-Day dinner for the crows!" + Budd Doble's scoffing shout arose. + + Slowly, as when the walking-beam + First feels the gathering head of steam, + With warning cough and threatening wheeze + The stiff old charger crooks his knees; + At first with cautious step sedate, + As if he dragged a coach of state; + He's not a colt; he knows full well + That time is weight and sure to tell; + No horse so sturdy but he fears + The handicap of twenty years. + + As through the throng on either hand + The old horse nears the judges' stand, + Beneath his jockey's feather-weight + He warms a little to his gait, + And now and then a step is tried + That hints of something like a stride. + +[Illustration] + + "Go!"--Through his ear the summons stung + As if a battle-trump had rung; + The slumbering instincts long unstirred + Start at the old familiar word; + It thrills like flame through every limb-- + What mean his twenty years to him? + The savage blow his rider dealt + Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt; + The spur that pricked his staring hide + Unheeded tore his bleeding side; + Alike to him are spur and rein,-- + He steps a five-year-old again! + + Before the quarter pole was past, + Old Hiram said, "He's going fast." + Long ere the quarter was a half, + The chuckling crowd had ceased to laugh; + Tighter his frightened jockey clung + As in a mighty stride he swung, + The gravel flying in his track, + His neck stretched out, his ears laid back, + His tail extended all the while + Behind him like a rat-tail file! + +[Illustration] + + Off went a shoe,--away it spun, + Shot like a bullet from a gun; + The quaking jockey shapes a prayer + From scraps of oaths he used to swear; + He drops his whip, he drops his rein, + He clutches fiercely for a mane; + +[Illustration] + + He'll lose his hold--he sways and reels-- + He'll slide beneath those trampling heels! + The knees of many a horseman quake, + The flowers on many a bonnet shake, + And shouts arise from left and right, + "Stick on! Stick on!" "Hould tight! Hould tight!" + "Cling round his neck and don't let go--" + "That pace can't hold,--there! steady! whoa!" + But like the sable steed that bore + The spectral lover of Lenore, + His nostrils snorting foam and fire, + No stretch his bony limbs can tire; + And now the stand he rushes by, + And "Stop him!--stop him!" is the cry. + +[Illustration: "And now the stand he rushes by"] + + Stand back! he's only just begun,-- + He's having out three heats in one! + + "Don't rush in front! he'll smash your brains; + But follow up and grab the reins!" + Old Hiram spoke. Dan Pfeiffer heard, + And sprang impatient at the word; + Budd Doble started on his bay, + Old Hiram followed on his gray, + And off they spring, and round they go, + The fast ones doing "all they know." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Look! twice they follow at his heels, + As round the circling course he wheels, + And whirls with him that clinging boy + Like Hector round the walls of Troy; + Still on, and on, the third time round! + They're tailing off! they're losing ground! + +[Illustration] + + Budd Doble's nag begins to fail! + Dan Pfeiffer's sorrel whisks his tail! + And see! in spite of whip and shout, + Old Hiram's mare is giving out! + Now for the finish! at the turn, + The old horse--all the rest astern,-- + Comes swinging in, with easy trot; + By Jove! he's distanced all the lot! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + That trot no mortal could explain; + Some said, "Old Dutchman come again!" + Some took his time,--at least they tried, + But what it was could none decide; + One said he couldn't understand + What happened to his second hand; + One said 2.10; _that_ couldn't be-- + More like two twenty two or three; + Old Hiram settled it at last; + "The time was two--too dee-vel-ish fast!" + + The parson's horse had won the bet; + It cost him something of a sweat; + Back in the one-hoss shay he went; + The parson wondered what it meant, + And murmured, with a mild surprise + And pleasant twinkle of the eyes, + "That funeral must have been a trick, + Or corpses drive at double-quick; + I shouldn't wonder, I declare, + If brother--Jehu--made the prayer!" + + And this is all I have to say + About that tough old trotting bay. + Huddup! Huddup! G'lang!--Good-day! + +[Illustration: "Back in the one-horse-shay he went"] + + Moral for which this tale is told: + A horse _can_ trot, for all he's old. + +[Illustration] + + + + + The + + BROOMSTICK + TRAIN + + or + + The Return of the + WITCHES + + + + +[Illustration] + +THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN + + + Look out! Look out, boys! Clear the track! + The witches are here! They've all come back! + They hanged them high,--No use! No use! + What cares a witch for a hangman's noose? + They buried them deep, but they wouldn't lie still, + For cats and witches are hard to kill; + They swore they shouldn't and wouldn't die,-- + Books said they did, but they lie! they lie! + + --A couple of hundred years, or so, + They had knocked about in the world below, + When an Essex Deacon dropped in to call, + And a homesick feeling seized them all; + For he came from a place they knew full well, + And many a tale he had to tell. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + They long to visit the haunts of men, + To see the old dwellings they knew again, + And ride on their broomsticks all around + Their wide domain of unhallowed ground. + + In Essex county there's many a roof + Well known to him of the cloven hoof; + The small square windows are full in view + Which the midnight hags went sailing through, + +[Illustration] + + On their well-trained broomsticks mounted high, + Seen like shadows against the sky; + Crossing the track of owls and bats, + Hugging before them their coal-black cats. + + Well did they know, those gray old wives, + The sights we see in our daily drives: + Shimmer of lake and shine of sea, + Brown's bare hill with its lonely tree, + (It wasn't then as we see it now, + With one scant scalp-lock to shade its brow;) + Dusky nooks in the Essex woods, + Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes, + Where the tree-toad watches the sinuous snake + Glide through his forests of fern and brake; + +[Illustration: "Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes"] + + Ipswich River; its old stone bridge; + Far off Andover's Indian Ridge, + And many a scene where history tells + Some shadow of bygone terror dwells,-- + Of "Norman's Woe" with its tale of dread, + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Of the Screeching Woman of Marblehead, + (The fearful story that turns men pale: + Don't bid me tell it,--my speech would fail.) + + Who would not, will not, if he can, + Bathe in the breezes of fair Cape Ann,-- + Rest in the bowers her bays enfold, + Loved by the sachems and squaws of old? + Home where the white magnolias bloom, + Sweet with the bayberry's chaste perfume, + Hugged by the woods and kissed by the sea! + Where is the Eden like to thee? + + For that "couple of hundred years, or so," + There had been no peace in the world below; + The witches still grumbling, "It isn't fair; + Come, give us a taste of the upper air! + We've had enough of your sulphur springs, + And the evil odor that round them clings; + We long for a drink that is cool and nice,-- + Great buckets of water with Wenham ice; + +[Illustration] + + We've served you well up-stairs, you know; + You're a good old--fellow--come, let us go!" + + I don't feel sure of his being good, + But he happened to be in a pleasant mood,-- + As fiends with their skins full sometimes are,-- + (He'd been drinking with "roughs" at a Boston bar.) + So what does he do but up and shout + To a graybeard turnkey, "Let 'em out!" + + To mind his orders was all he knew; + The gates swung open, and out they flew + "Where are our broomsticks?" the beldams cried. + +[Illustration: "You're a good old-fellow-come, let us go"] + + "Here are your broomsticks," an imp replied. + "They've been in--the place you know--so long + They smell of brimstone uncommon strong; + But they've gained by being left alone,-- + Just look, and you'll see how tall they've grown." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + --"And where is my cat?" a vixen squalled. + "Yes, where are our cats?" the witches bawled, + And began to call them all by name: + As fast as they called the cats, they came: + There was bob-tailed Tommy and long-tailed Tim, + And wall-eyed Jacky and green-eyed Jim, + And splay-foot Benny and slim-legged Beau, + And Skinny and Squally, and Jerry and Joe, + And many another that came at call,-- + It would take too long to count them all. + All black,--one could hardly tell which was which, + But every cat knew his own old witch; + And she knew hers as hers knew her,-- + Ah, didn't they curl their tails and purr! + + No sooner the withered hags were free + Than out they swarmed for a midnight spree; + I couldn't tell all they did in rhymes, + But the Essex people had dreadful times. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "The withered hags were free"] + + The Swampscott fishermen still relate + How a strange sea-monster stole their bait; + How their nets were tangled in loops and knots, + And they found dead crabs in their lobster-pots. + Poor Danvers grieved for her blasted crops, + And Wilmington mourned over mildewed hops. + A blight played havoc with Beverly beans,-- + It was all the work of those hateful queans! + A dreadful panic began at "Pride's," + Where the witches stopped in their midnight rides, + And there rose strange rumors and vague alarms + 'Mid the peaceful dwellers at Beverly Farms. + +[Illustration: "A strange sea-monster stole their bait"] + + Now when the Boss of the Beldams found + That without his leave they were ramping round, + He called,--they could hear him twenty miles, + From Chelsea beach to the Misery Isles; + The deafest old granny knew his tone + Without the trick of the telephone. + +[Illustration] + + "Come here, you witches! Come here!" says he,-- + "At your games of old, without asking me! + I'll give you a little job to do + That will keep you stirring, you godless crew!" + + They came, of course, at their master's call, + The witches, the broomsticks, the cats, and all; + +[Illustration] + + He led the hags to a railway train + The horses were trying to drag in vain. + "Now, then," says he, "you've had your fun, + And here are the cars you've got to run. + The driver may just unhitch his team, + We don't want horses, we don't want steam + You may keep your old black cats to hug, + But the loaded train you've got to lug." + + Since then on many a car you'll see + A broomstick plain as plain can be; + On every stick there's a witch astride,-- + The string you see to her leg is tied. + She will do a mischief if she can, + But the string is held by a careful man, + And whenever the evil-minded witch + Would cut some caper, he gives a twitch. + +[Illustration] + + As for the hag, you can't see her, + But hark! you can hear her black cat's purr, + And now and then, as a car goes by, + You may catch a gleam from her wicked eye. + + Often you've looked on a rushing train, + But just what moved it was not so plain. + It couldn't be those wires above, + For they could neither pull nor shove; + Where was the motor that made it go + You couldn't guess, _but now you know_. + +[Illustration: "Catch a gleam from her wicked eye"] + + Remember my rhymes when you ride again + On the rattling rail by the broomstick train! + +[Illustration: The End] + + + + +Transcriber's Note + +The following typographical errors were corrected. + + Page Error + 9 one-hoss-shay changed to one-hoss shay + 49 let go-- changed to let go--" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The One Hoss Shay, by Oliver Wendell Holmes + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30279 *** diff --git a/30279-h.zip b/30279-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6eb5649 --- /dev/null +++ b/30279-h.zip diff --git a/30279-h/30279-h.htm b/30279-h/30279-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6f38b52 --- /dev/null +++ b/30279-h/30279-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1484 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The One Hoss Shay, by Oliver Wendell Holmes. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + text-indent: 1em; + } + p.noindent {text-indent: 0em;} + p.titlepage {text-indent: 0em; text-align: center; } + p.extraspace {margin-top: 1.5em; } + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + .chapterhead {margin-top: 4em; font-weight: normal;} + .sectionhead {margin-top: 2em; font-weight: normal;} + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + .chapbreak {width: 65%; } + .declong {width: 8em; border: solid black 1px; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;} + .decshort {width: 3em; border: solid black 1px; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + td {padding-left: 0.5em; padding-right: 0.5em; vertical-align: top;} + .tdc {text-align: center;} + .tdr {text-align: right;} + .illusname {padding-left: 2em;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + a:focus, a:active { outline:#ffee66 solid 2px; background-color:#ffee66;} + a:focus img, a:active img {outline: #ffee66 solid 2px; } + + img {border: 0;} + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0em; + } /* page numbers */ + + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .smrom {font-size: smaller;} + .hide {visibility: hidden;} + + .caption {font-size: smaller; } + + .figcenter {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; text-align: center;} + + .tn {background-color: #EEE; padding: 0.5em 1em 0.5em 1em;} + + .poem {padding-left: 20%; padding-right: 10%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0em;} + .i4 {margin-left: 4em;} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30279 ***</div> + +<div class="tn"> +<p class="titlepage"><b>Transcriber’s Note</b></p> + +<p class="noindent">Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A <a href="#trans_note">list</a> of corrections +is found at the end of the text.</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 219px;"> +<a name="illus-001" id="illus-001"></a><a href="images/illus-001-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-001.jpg" width="219" height="392" alt="Y^e Deacon" title="The Deacon" /></a> +</div> + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 335px;"> +<a name="illus-002-1" id="illus-002-1"></a><a href="images/illus-002-1-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-002-1.jpg" width="335" height="477" alt="Decorative title page" title="See below for text" /></a> +</div> + +<h1 class="chapterhead">The One Hoss Shay</h1> + +<p class="titlepage"><i>With its Companion Poems</i><br /> + +How the Old Horse Won the Bet<br /> +&<br /> +The Broomstick Train</p> + +<p class="titlepage">By Oliver Wendell Holmes</p> + +<p class="titlepage"><i>With Illustrations by</i><br /> + +Howard Pyle</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 106px;"> +<a name="illus-002-2" id="illus-002-2"></a><a href="images/illus-002-2-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-002-2.jpg" width="106" height="136" alt="Colophon" title="" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="titlepage"><i>Boston and New York</i><br /> + +Houghton, Mifflin and Company<br /> + +The Riverside Press, Cambridge><br /> + +M DCCC XCII</p> + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + + + +<p class="titlepage">Copyright, 1858, 1877, 1886, and 1890,<br /> + <span class="smcap">By OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.</span></p> + +<p class="titlepage">Copyright, 1891,<br /> + <span class="smcap">By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.</span></p> + +<p class="titlepage"><i>All rights reserved.</i></p> + + +<p class="titlepage extraspace"><i>The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A.</i><br /> + Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 305px;"> +<a name="illus-004" id="illus-004"></a><a href="images/illus-004-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-004.jpg" width="305" height="105" alt="Preface" title="Preface" /></a> +</div> + +<h2 class="hide">Preface</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">My</span> publishers suggested the bringing together of the three poems here +presented to the reader as being to some extent alike in their general +character. “The Wonderful One-Hoss Shay” is a perfectly intelligible +conception, whatever material difficulties it presents. It is +conceivable that a being of an order superior to humanity should so +understand the conditions of matter that he could construct a machine +which should go to pieces, if not into its constituent atoms, at a given +moment of the future. The mind may take a certain pleasure in this +picture of the impossible. The event follows as a logical consequence of +the presupposed condition of things.</p> + +<p>There is a practical lesson to be got out of the story. Observation +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>shows us in what point any particular mechanism is most likely to give +way. In a wagon, for instance, the weak point is where the axle enters +the hub or nave. When the wagon breaks down, three times out of four, I +think, it is at this point that the accident occurs. The workman should +see to it that this part should never give way; then find the next +vulnerable place, and so on, until he arrives logically at the perfect +result attained by the deacon.</p> + + +<p class="extraspace">Unquestionably there is something a little like extravagance in “How the +Old Horse won the Bet,” which taxes the credulity of experienced +horsemen. Still there have been a good many surprises in the history of +the turf and the trotting course.</p> + +<p>The Godolphin Arabian was taken from ignoble drudgery to become the +patriarch of the English racing stock.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>Old Dutchman was transferred from between the shafts of a cart to +become a champion of the American trotters in his time.</p> + +<p>“Old Blue,” a famous Boston horse of the early decades of this century, +was said to trot a mile in less than three minutes, but I do not find +any exact record of his achievements.</p> + +<p>Those who have followed the history of the American trotting horse are +aware of the wonderful development of speed attained in these last +years. The lowest time as yet recorded is by Maud S. in 2.08¾.</p> + + +<p class="extraspace">If there are any anachronisms or other inaccuracies in this story, the +reader will please to remember that the narrator’s memory is liable to +be at fault, and if the event recorded interests him, will not worry +over any little slips or stumbles.</p> + + +<p class="extraspace">The terrible witchcraft drama of 1692 has been seriously treated, as it +well deserves to be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> The story has been told in two large volumes by +the Rev. Charles Wentworth Upham, and in a small and more succinct +volume, based upon his work, by his daughter-in-law, Caroline E. Upham.</p> + +<p>The delusion commonly spoken of, as if it belonged to Salem, was more +widely diffused through the towns of Essex County. Looking upon it as a +pitiful and long dead and buried superstition, I trust my poem will no +more offend the good people of Essex County than Tam O’Shanter worries +the honest folk of Ayrshire.</p> + +<p>The localities referred to are those with which I am familiar in my +drives about Essex County.</p> + +<p class="right">O. W. H.</p> + +<p><i>July</i>, 1891.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 152px;"> +<a name="illus-007" id="illus-007"></a><a href="images/illus-007-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-007.jpg" width="152" height="47" alt="decorative" title="" /></a> +</div> + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 299px;"> +<a name="illus-008" id="illus-008"></a><a href="images/illus-008-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-008.jpg" width="299" height="150" alt="List of Illustrations" title="" /></a> +</div> + +<h2 class="hide">List of Illustrations</h2> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="table of contents"> +<tr> + <td><a href="#Page_12">THE DEACON’S MASTERPIECE.</a></td> + <td class="tdr smrom">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-001">The Deacon</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-001"><i>Frontispiece.</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-011">Half Title</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-011">11</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-012">The Masterpiece</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-012">12</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-014">“A chaise breaks down”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-014">14</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-016">“The Deacon inquired of the village folk”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-016">16</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-018">“Naow she’ll dew”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-018">18</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-019">“She was a wonder, and nothing less”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-019">19</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-020">“Deacon and deaconess dropped away”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-020">20</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-021-1">“Eighteen Hundred”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-021-1">21</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-021-2">“Fifty-Five”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-021-2">21</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-022">“Its hundredth year”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-022">22</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-023">“A general flavor of mild decay”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-023">23</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-024">“In another hour it will be worn out”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-024">24</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-025">“The parson takes a drive”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-025">25</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-026">“All at once the horse stood still”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-026">26</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-027">“Then something decidedly like a spill”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-027">27</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-028">“Just as bubbles do when they burst”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-028">28</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-029">“End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-029">29</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><a href="#Page_30">HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET.</a></td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-030">Half Title</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-030">30</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span><a href="#illus-031">“The famous trotting ground”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-031">31</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-032">“Many a noted steed”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-032">32</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-033">“The Sunday swell”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-033">33</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-034">“The jointed tandem”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-034">34</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-035">“So shy with us, so free with these”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-035">35</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-036">“The lovely bonnets beamed their smiles”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-036">36</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-037">“I’ll bet you two to one”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-037">37</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-038">“Harnessed in his one-hoss-shay”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-038">38</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-040">“The sexton ... led forth the horse”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-040">40</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-041">“A sight to see”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-041">41</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-042">“They lead him, limping, to the track”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-042">42</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-043">“To limber out each stiffened joint”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-043">43</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-045">“Something like a stride”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-045">45</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-047">“A mighty stride he swung”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-047">47</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-048">“Off went a shoe”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-048">48</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-050">“And now the stand he rushes by”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-050">50</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-051">“And off they spring”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-051">51</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-052-1">“They follow at his heels”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-052-1">52</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-052-2">“They’re losing ground”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-052-2">52</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-053">“He’s distanced all the lot”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-053">53</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-054">“Some took his time”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-054">54</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a name="corr01" id="corr01"></a><a href="#illus-056">“Back in the one-hoss shay he went”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-056">56</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-057">“A horse <i>can</i> trot, for all he’s old”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-057">57</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><a href="#Page_58">THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN.</a></td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-058">Half Title</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-058">58</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-059">“Clear the track”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-059">59</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-060">“An Essex Deacon dropped in to call”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-060">60</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-061-1">“The old dwellings”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-061-1">61</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-061-2">“The small square windows”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-061-2">61</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-063">“Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-063">63</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span><a href="#illus-064">“Norman’s Woe”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-064">64</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-065">“The Screeching Woman of Marblehead”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-065">65</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-066">“It isn’t fair”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-066">66</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-068">“You’re a good old—fellow—come, let us go”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-068">68</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-069">“See how tall they’ve grown”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-069">69</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-070">“They called the cats”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-070">70</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-071">“The Essex people had dreadful times”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-071">71</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-072">“The withered hags were free”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-072">72</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-074">“A strange sea-monster stole their bait”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-074">74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-075">“They could hear him twenty miles”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-075">75</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-076">“They came ... at their master’s call”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-076">76</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-078">“You can hear her black cat’s purr”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-078">78</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-079">“Catch a gleam from her wicked eye”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-079">79</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-080">Tail Piece</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-080">80</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 137px;"> +<a name="illus-010" id="illus-010"></a><a href="images/illus-010-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-010.jpg" width="137" height="50" alt="Decorative" title="" /></a> +</div> + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 272px;"> +<a name="illus-011" id="illus-011"></a><a href="images/illus-011-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-011.jpg" width="272" height="376" alt="Decorative" title="The Deacon’s Masterpiece or the Wonderful One-Hoss-Shay A Logical Story" /></a> +</div> + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 289px;"> +<a name="illus-012" id="illus-012"></a><a href="images/illus-012-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-012.jpg" width="289" height="151" alt="Drawing of two boys chasing after a one horse chaise" title="The Masterpiece" /></a> +</div> + + + +<h2 class="sectionhead">The Deacon’s Masterpiece</h2> + + +<p class="poem"><span class="smcap">Have</span> you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,<br /> +That was built in such a logical way<br /> +It ran a hundred years to a day,<br /> +And then, of a sudden, it—ah, but stay,<br /> +I’ll tell you what happened without delay,<br /> +Scaring the parson into fits,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>Frightening people out of their wits,—<br /> +Have you ever heard of that, I say?</p> + +<p class="poem">Seventeen hundred and fifty-five,<br /> +<i>Georgius Secundus</i> was then alive,—<br /> +Snuffy old drone from the German hive;<br /> +That was the year when Lisbon-town<br /> +Saw the earth open and gulp her down,<br /> +And Braddock’s army was done so brown,<br /> +Left without a scalp to its crown.<br /> +It was on the terrible earthquake-day<br /> +That the Deacon finished the one-hoss-shay.</p> + +<p class="poem">Now in building of chaises, I tell you what,<br /> +There is always <i>somewhere</i> a weakest spot,—<br /> +In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,<br /> +In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 304px;"> +<a name="illus-014" id="illus-014"></a><a href="images/illus-014-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-014.jpg" width="304" height="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”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,—lurking still,<br /> +Find it somewhere you must and will,—<br /> +Above or below, or within or without,—<br /> +And that’s the reason, beyond a doubt,<br /> +A chaise <i>breaks down</i>, but doesn’t <i>wear out</i>.</p> + +<p class="poem">But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do,<br /> +With an “I dew vum,” or an “I tell <i>yeou</i>,”)<br /> +He would build one shay to beat the taown<br /> +’n’ the keounty ’n’ all the kentry raoun’;<br /> +It should be so built that it <i>couldn’</i> break daown!<br /> +—“Fur,” said the Deacon, “’t’s mighty plain<br /> +Thut the weakes’ place mus’ stan’ the strain;<br /> +’n’ the way t’ fix it, uz I maintain,<br /> +<span class="i4">Is only jest<br /></span> +T’ make that place uz strong uz the rest.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">So the Deacon inquired of the village folk<br /> +Where he could find the strongest oak,<br /> +That couldn’t be split nor bent nor broke,—</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<a name="illus-016" id="illus-016"></a><a href="images/illus-016-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-016.jpg" width="300" height="371" alt="Drawing of a group of people standing around talking" title="“The Deacon inquired of the village folk”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">That was for spokes and floor and sills;<br /> +He sent for lancewood to make the thills;<br /> +The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees,<br /> +The panels of whitewood, that cuts like cheese,<br /> +But lasts like iron for things like these;<br /> +The hubs of logs from the “Settler’s ellum,”—<br /> +Last of its timber,—they couldn’t sell ’em,<br /> +Never an axe had seen their chips,<br /> +And the wedges flew from between their lip<br /> +Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;<br /> +Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,<br /> +Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too,<br /> +Steel of the finest, bright and blue;<br /> +Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span><br /> +Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide<br /> +Found in the pit when the tanner died.<br /> +That was the way he “put her through.”<br /> +“There!” said the Deacon, “naow she’ll dew.”</p> + +<p class="poem">Do! I tell you, I rather guess<br /> +She was a wonder, and nothing less!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 279px;"> +<a name="illus-018" id="illus-018"></a><a href="images/illus-018-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-018.jpg" width="279" height="261" alt="The Deacon standing by the new chaise" title="“Naow she’ll dew”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 296px;"> +<a name="illus-019" id="illus-019"></a><a href="images/illus-019-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-019.jpg" width="296" height="467" alt="Drawing of the Deacon in his new chaise, with people inspecting it" title="“She was a wonder, and nothing less”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,<br /> +Deacon and deaconess dropped away,<br /> +Children and grandchildren—where were they?<br /> +But there stood the stout old one-hoss-shay<br /> +As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 285px;"> +<a name="illus-020" id="illus-020"></a><a href="images/illus-020-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-020.jpg" width="285" height="294" alt="Drawing of gravestones" title="“Deacon and deaconess dropped away”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 267px;"> +<a name="illus-021-1" id="illus-021-1"></a><a href="images/illus-021-1-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-021-1.jpg" width="267" height="161" alt="Drawing of a couple looking at the chaise in the distance" title="1800" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem"><span class="smcap">Eighteen Hundred;</span>—it came and found<br /> +The Deacon’s Masterpiece strong and sound.<br /> +Eighteen hundred increased by ten;—<br /> +“Hahnsum kerridge” they called it then.<br /> +Eighteen hundred and twenty came;—<br /> +Running as usual; much the same.<br /> +Thirty and forty at last arrive,<br /> +And then come fifty, and <span class="smrom">FIFTY-FIVE</span>.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 239px;"> +<a name="illus-021-2" id="illus-021-2"></a><a href="images/illus-021-2-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-021-2.jpg" width="239" height="130" alt="Drawing of a couple's head and shoulders as they are looking at the chaise in the distance" title="1855" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 296px;"> +<a name="illus-022" id="illus-022"></a><a href="images/illus-022-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-022.jpg" width="296" height="247" alt="Drawing of an elderly man in an armchair looking out the window" title="“Its hundredth year”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">Little of all we value here<br /> +Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year<br /> +Without both feeling and looking queer.<br /> +In fact, there’s nothing that keeps its youth,<br /> +So far as I know, but a tree and truth.<br /> +(This is a moral that runs at large;<br /> +Take it.—You’re welcome.—No extra charge.)</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 271px;"> +<a name="illus-023" id="illus-023"></a><a href="images/illus-023-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-023.jpg" width="271" height="317" alt="Drawing of the chaise parked in the yard" title="“A general flavor of mild decay”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem"><span class="smcap">First of November</span>,—the Earthquake-day.—<br /> +There are traces of age in the one-hoss-shay,<br /> +A general flavor of mild decay,<br /> +But nothing local, as one may say.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>There couldn’t be,—for the Deacon’s art<br /> +Had made it so like in every part<br /> +That there wasn’t a chance for one to start.<br /> +For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,<br /> +And the floor was just as strong as the sills,<br /> +And the panels just as strong as the floor,<br /> +And the whippletree neither less nor more,<br /> +And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore,<br /> +And spring and axle and hub <i>encore</i>,<br /> +And yet, <i>as a whole</i>, it is past a doubt<br /> +In another hour it will be <i>worn out</i>!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 261px;"> +<a name="illus-024" id="illus-024"></a><a href="images/illus-024-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-024.jpg" width="261" height="125" alt="Drawing of the chaise stopped on the road" title="“In another hour it will be worn out”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">First of November, ’Fifty-five!<br /> +This morning the parson takes a drive.<br /> +Now, small boys, get out of the way!<br /> +Here comes the wonderful one-hoss-shay,<br /> +Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.<br /> +“Huddup!” said the parson.—Off went they.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 290px;"> +<a name="illus-025" id="illus-025"></a><a href="images/illus-025-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-025.jpg" width="290" height="272" alt="Drawing of the Deacon driving the chaise" title="“The parson takes a drive”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 262px;"> +<a name="illus-026" id="illus-026"></a><a href="images/illus-026-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-026.jpg" width="262" height="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”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">The parson was working his Sunday’s text,—<br /> +Had got to <i>fifthly</i>, and stopped perplexed<br /> +At what the—Moses—was coming next.<br /> +All at once the horse stood still,<br /> +Close by the meet’n’-house on the hill.<br /> +—First a shiver, and then a thrill,<br /> +Then something decidedly like a spill,—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 295px;"> +<a name="illus-027" id="illus-027"></a><a href="images/illus-027-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-027.jpg" width="295" height="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" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">And the parson was sitting upon a rock,<br /> +At half-past nine by the meet’n’-house clock,—<br /> +Just the hour of the Earthquake shock!<br /> +—What do you think the parson found,<br /> +When he got up and stared around?<br /> +The poor old chaise in a heap or mound,<br /> +As if it had been to the mill and ground!<br /> +You see, of course, if you’re not a dunce,<br /> +How it went to pieces all at once,—<br /> +All at once, and nothing first,—<br /> +Just as bubbles do when they burst.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 282px;"> +<a name="illus-028" id="illus-028"></a><a href="images/illus-028-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-028.jpg" width="282" height="147" alt="Drawing of an angel blowing bubbles" title="“Just as bubbles do when they burst”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay.<br /> +Logic is logic. That’s all I say.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 282px;"> +<a name="illus-029" id="illus-029"></a><a href="images/illus-029-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-029.jpg" width="282" height="213" alt="Drawing of the Deacon leading the horse, still wearing the harness" title="“End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay”" /></a> +</div> + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 267px;"> +<a name="illus-030" id="illus-030"></a><a href="images/illus-030-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-030.jpg" width="267" height="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" /></a> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 278px;"> +<a name="illus-031" id="illus-031"></a><a href="images/illus-031-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-031.jpg" width="278" height="191" alt="Drawing of a race track with two trotting horses racing" title="“The famous trotting ground”" /></a> +</div> + +<h2 class="sectionhead">HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET</h2> + + +<p class="poem"><span class="smcap">’T was</span> on the famous trotting-ground,<br /> +The betting men were gathered round<br /> +From far and near; the “cracks” were there<br /> +Whose deeds the sporting prints declare:<br /> +The swift g. m., Old Hiram’s nag,<br /> +The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer’s brag,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>With these a third—and who is he<br /> +That stands beside his fast b. g.?<br /> +Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name<br /> +So fills the nasal trump of fame.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 281px;"> +<a name="illus-032" id="illus-032"></a><a href="images/illus-032-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-032.jpg" width="281" height="159" alt="Drawing of a blanketed horse surrounded by people in paddock" title="“Many a noted steed”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">There too stood many a noted steed<br /> +Of Messenger and Morgan breed;<br /> +Green horses also, not a few;<br /> +Unknown as yet what they could do;<br /> +And all the hacks that know so well<br /> +The scourgings of the Sunday swell.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 295px;"> +<a name="illus-033" id="illus-033"></a><a href="images/illus-033-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-033.jpg" width="295" height="451" alt="Drawing of a trotting horse pulling a light vehicle" title="The Sunday Swell" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Blue are the skies of opening day;<br /> +The bordering turf is green with May;<br /> +The sunshine’s golden gleam is thrown<br /> +On sorrel, chestnut, bay, and roan;<br /> +The horses paw and prance and neigh,<br /> +Fillies and colts like kittens play,<br /> +And dance and toss their rippled manes<br /> +Shining and soft as silken skeins;<br /> +Wagons and gigs are ranged about,<br /> +And fashion flaunts her gay turn-out;<br /> +Here stands,—each youthful Jehu’s dream,—<br /> +The jointed tandem, ticklish team!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 279px;"> +<a name="illus-034" id="illus-034"></a><a href="images/illus-034-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-034.jpg" width="279" height="130" alt="Drawing of a tandem team pulling light vehicle" title="“The jointed tandem”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">And there in ampler breadth expand<br /> +The splendors of the four-in-hand;<br /> +On faultless ties and glossy tiles<br /> +The lovely bonnets beam their smiles;<br /> +(The style’s the man, so books avow;<br /> +The style’s the woman, anyhow;)<br /> +From flounces frothed with creamy lace<br /> +Peeps out the pug-dog’s smutty face,<br /> +Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye,<br /> +Or stares the wiry pet of Skye;—<br /> +O woman, in your hours of ease<br /> +So shy with us, so free with these!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 283px;"> +<a name="illus-035" id="illus-035"></a><a href="images/illus-035-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-035.jpg" width="283" height="141" alt="Drawing of a woman walking a small dog on a leash, several other dogs in the bac" title="“So shy with us, so free with these”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 288px;"> +<a name="illus-036" id="illus-036"></a><a href="images/illus-036-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-036.jpg" width="288" height="452" alt="Drawing of the crowd at the race track" title="On faultless ties and glossy tiles +The lovely bonnets beam their smiles" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">“Come on! I’ll bet you two to one<br /> +I’ll make him do it!” “Will you? Done!”</p> + +<p class="poem">What was it who was bound to do?<br /> +I did not hear and can’t tell you,—<br /> +Pray listen till my story’s through.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 231px;"> +<a name="illus-037" id="illus-037"></a><a href="images/illus-037-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-037.jpg" width="231" height="265" alt="Drawing of two men talking at the race track" title="“I’ll bet you two to one”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 283px;"> +<a name="illus-038" id="illus-038"></a><a href="images/illus-038-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-038.jpg" width="283" height="217" alt="Drawing of hitched horses, tied to rails at the race track" title="“Harnessed in his one-hoss-shay”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">Scarce noticed, back behind the rest,<br /> +By cart and wagon rudely prest,<br /> +The parson’s lean and bony bay<br /> +Stood harnessed in his one-horse shay—<br /> +Lent to his sexton for the day;<br /> +(A funeral—so the sexton said;<br /> +His mother’s uncle’s wife was dead.)</p> + +<p class="poem">Like Lazarus bid to Dives’ feast,<br /> +So looked the poor forlorn old beast;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>His coat was rough, his tail was bare,<br /> +The gray was sprinkled in his hair;<br /> +Sportsmen and jockeys knew him not,<br /> +And yet they say he once could trot<br /> +Among the fleetest of the town,<br /> +Till something cracked and broke him down,—<br /> +The steed’s, the statesman’s, common lot!<br /> +“And are we then so soon forgot?”<br /> +Ah me! I doubt if one of you<br /> +Has ever heard the name “Old Blue,”<br /> +Whose fame through all this region rung<br /> +In those old days when I was young!</p> + +<p class="poem">“Bring forth the horse!” Alas! he showed<br /> +Not like the one Mazeppa rode;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>Scant-maned, sharp-backed, and shaky-kneed,<br /> +The wreck of what was once a steed,<br /> +Lips thin, eyes hollow, stiff in joints;<br /> +Yet not without his knowing points.<br /> +The sexton laughing in his sleeve,<br /> +As if ’t were all a make-believe,<br /> +Led forth the horse, and as he laughed</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 254px;"> +<a name="illus-040" id="illus-040"></a><a href="images/illus-040-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-040.jpg" width="254" height="243" alt="Drawing of a man leading a horse hitched to a light carriage" title="“The sexton ... led forth the horse”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Unhitched the breeching from a shaft,<br /> +Unclasped the rusty belt beneath,<br /> +Drew forth the snaffle from his teeth,<br /> +Slipped off his head-stall, set him free<br /> +From strap and rein,—a sight to see!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 281px;"> +<a name="illus-041" id="illus-041"></a><a href="images/illus-041-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-041.jpg" width="281" height="260" alt="Drawing of a crowd with a man laughing at the horse being unharnessed" title="“A sight to see”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">So worn, so lean in every limb,<br /> +It can’t be they are saddling him!<br /> +It is! his back the pig-skin strides<br /> +And flaps his lank, rheumatic sides;<br /> +With look of mingled scorn and mirth<br /> +They buckle round the saddle-girth;<br /> +With horsey wink and saucy toss<br /> +A youngster throws his leg across,<br /> +And so, his rider on his back,<br /> +They lead him, limping, to the track,<br /> +Far up behind the starting-point,<br /> +To limber out each stiffened joint.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 279px;"> +<a name="illus-042" id="illus-042"></a><a href="images/illus-042-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-042.jpg" width="279" height="107" alt="Drawing of the horse with jockey being led away from the crowd" title="“They lead him, limping, to the track”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 290px;"> +<a name="illus-043" id="illus-043"></a><a href="images/illus-043-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-043.jpg" width="290" height="413" alt="Drawing of the horse cantering along the race track rail" title="“To limber out each stiffened joint”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">As through the jeering crowd he past,<br /> +One pitying look old Hiram cast;<br /> +“Go it, ye cripple, while ye can!”<br /> +Cried out unsentimental Dan;<br /> +“A Fast-Day dinner for the crows!”<br /> +Budd Doble’s scoffing shout arose.</p> + +<p class="poem">Slowly, as when the walking-beam<br /> +First feels the gathering head of steam,<br /> +With warning cough and threatening wheeze<br /> +The stiff old charger crooks his knees;<br /> +At first with cautious step sedate,<br /> +As if he dragged a coach of state;<br /> +He’s not a colt; he knows full well<br /> +That time is weight and sure to tell;<br /> +No horse so sturdy but he fears<br /> +The handicap of twenty years.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>As through the throng on either hand<br /> +The old horse nears the judges’ stand,<br /> +Beneath his jockey’s feather-weight<br /> +He warms a little to his gait,<br /> +And now and then a step is tried<br /> +That hints of something like a stride.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 276px;"> +<a name="illus-045" id="illus-045"></a><a href="images/illus-045-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-045.jpg" width="276" height="267" alt="Drawing of the horse trotting past the grandstands" title="“Something like a stride”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">“Go!”—Through his ear the summons stung<br /> +As if a battle-trump had rung;<br /> +The slumbering instincts long unstirred<br /> +Start at the old familiar word;<br /> +It thrills like flame through every limb—<br /> +What mean his twenty years to him?<br /> +The savage blow his rider dealt<br /> +Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt;<br /> +The spur that pricked his staring hide<br /> +Unheeded tore his bleeding side;<br /> +Alike to him are spur and rein,—<br /> +He steps a five-year-old again!</p> + +<p class="poem">Before the quarter pole was past,<br /> +Old Hiram said, “He’s going fast.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>Long ere the quarter was a half,<br /> +The chuckling crowd had ceased to laugh;<br /> +Tighter his frightened jockey clung<br /> +As in a mighty stride he swung,<br /> +The gravel flying in his track,<br /> +His neck stretched out, his ears laid back,<br /> +His tail extended all the while<br /> +Behind him like a rat-tail file!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 270px;"> +<a name="illus-047" id="illus-047"></a><a href="images/illus-047-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-047.jpg" width="270" height="229" alt="Drawing from the rear of the horse heading down the race track, with people scattering in front" title="“A mighty stride he swung”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Off went a shoe,—away it spun,<br /> +Shot like a bullet from a gun;<br /> +The quaking jockey shapes a prayer<br /> +From scraps of oaths he used to swear;<br /> +He drops his whip, he drops his rein,<br /> +He clutches fiercely for a mane;</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 288px;"> +<a name="illus-048" id="illus-048"></a><a href="images/illus-048-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-048.jpg" width="288" height="241" alt="Drawing of the horse running down the track with the jockey holding on to the saddle, with the reins flying" title="“Off went a shoe”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">He’ll lose his hold—he sways and reels—<br /> +He’ll slide beneath those trampling heels!<br /> +The knees of many a horseman quake,<br /> +The flowers on many a bonnet shake,<br /> +And shouts arise from left and right,<br /> +“Stick on! Stick on!” “Hould tight! Hould tight!”<br /> +“Cling round his neck and don’t let <a name="corr02" id="corr02"></a>go—”<br /> +“That pace can’t hold,—there! steady! whoa!”<br /> +But like the sable steed that bore<br /> +The spectral lover of Lenore,<br /> +His nostrils snorting foam and fire,<br /> +No stretch his bony limbs can tire;<br /> +And now the stand he rushes by,<br /> +And “Stop him!—stop him!” is the cry.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 298px;"> +<a name="illus-050" id="illus-050"></a><a href="images/illus-050-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-050.jpg" width="298" height="471" alt="Head-on drawing of the horse running past the grandstands, the jockey has his arms wrapped around the horse's neck" title="“And now the stand he rushes by”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Stand back! he’s only just begun,—<br /> +He’s having out three heats in one!</p> + +<p class="poem">“Don’t rush in front! he’ll smash your brains;<br /> +But follow up and grab the reins!”<br /> +Old Hiram spoke. Dan Pfeiffer heard,<br /> +And sprang impatient at the word;<br /> +Budd Doble started on his bay,<br /> +Old Hiram followed on his gray,<br /> +And off they spring, and round they go,<br /> +The fast ones doing “all they know.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 275px;"> +<a name="illus-051" id="illus-051"></a><a href="images/illus-051-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-051.jpg" width="275" height="114" alt="Drawing of horses running down the track" title="“And off they spring”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<a name="illus-052-1" id="illus-052-1"></a><a href="images/illus-052-1-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-052-1.jpg" width="277" height="101" alt="Drawing of the pack of horses chasing after the leader" title="“They follow at his heels”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">Look! twice they follow at his heels,<br /> +As round the circling course he wheels,<br /> +And whirls with him that clinging boy<br /> +Like Hector round the walls of Troy;<br /> +Still on, and on, the third time round!<br /> +They’re tailing off! they’re losing ground!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 233px;"> +<a name="illus-052-2" id="illus-052-2"></a><a href="images/illus-052-2-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-052-2.jpg" width="233" height="116" alt="Drawing of the lead horse pulling away from the pack" title="“They’re losing ground”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Budd Doble’s nag begins to fail!<br /> +Dan Pfeiffer’s sorrel whisks his tail!<br /> +And see! in spite of whip and shout,<br /> +Old Hiram’s mare is giving out!<br /> +Now for the finish! at the turn,<br /> +The old horse—all the rest astern,—<br /> +Comes swinging in, with easy trot;<br /> +By Jove! he’s distanced all the lot!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 282px;"> +<a name="illus-053" id="illus-053"></a><a href="images/illus-053-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-053.jpg" width="282" height="228" alt="Drawing of the horse coming to the grandstands with the pack far behind" title="“He’s distanced all the lot”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 279px;"> +<a name="illus-054" id="illus-054"></a><a href="images/illus-054-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-054.jpg" width="279" height="219" alt="Drawing of a group of men comparing watches" title="“Some took his time”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">That trot no mortal could explain;<br /> +Some said, “Old Dutchman come again!”<br /> +Some took his time,—at least they tried,<br /> +But what it was could none decide;<br /> +One said he couldn’t understand<br /> +What happened to his second hand;<br /> +One said 2.10; <i>that</i> couldn’t be—<br /> +More like two twenty two or three;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>Old Hiram settled it at last;<br /> +“The time was two—too dee-vel-ish fast!”</p> + +<p class="poem">The parson’s horse had won the bet;<br /> +It cost him something of a sweat;<br /> +Back in the one-hoss shay he went;<br /> +The parson wondered what it meant,<br /> +And murmured, with a mild surprise<br /> +And pleasant twinkle of the eyes,<br /> +“That funeral must have been a trick,<br /> +Or corpses drive at double-quick;<br /> +I shouldn’t wonder, I declare,<br /> +If brother—Jehu—made the prayer!”</p> + +<p class="poem">And this is all I have to say<br /> +About that tough old trotting bay.<br /> +Huddup! Huddup! G’lang!—Good-day!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 292px;"> +<a name="illus-056" id="illus-056"></a><a href="images/illus-056-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-056.jpg" width="292" height="457" alt="Drawing of the horse being hitched to the chaise, surrounded by the race track crowd" title="“Back in the one-horse-shay he went”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Moral for which this tale is told:<br /> +A horse <i>can</i> trot, for all he’s old.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 118px;"> +<a name="illus-057" id="illus-057"></a><a href="images/illus-057-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-057.jpg" width="118" height="181" alt="Drawing of the man standing by his horse" title="“A horse can trot, for all he’s old”" /></a> +</div> + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 262px;"> +<a name="illus-058" id="illus-058"></a><a href="images/illus-058-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-058.jpg" width="262" height="328" alt="Decorative" title="The BROOMSTICK TRAIN or The Return of the WITCHES" /></a> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 293px;"> +<a name="illus-059" id="illus-059"></a><a href="images/illus-059-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-059.jpg" width="293" height="163" alt="Drawing of a streetcar with witches on broomsticks flying in the sky above it" title="“Clear the track”" /></a> +</div> + +<h2 class="sectionhead">THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN</h2> + + +<p class="poem"><span class="smcap">Look</span> out! Look out, boys! Clear the track!<br /> +The witches are here! They’ve all come back!<br /> +They hanged them high,—No use! No use!<br /> +What cares a witch for a hangman’s noose?<br /> +They buried them deep, but they wouldn’t lie still,<br /> +For cats and witches are hard to kill;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>They swore they shouldn’t and wouldn’t die,—<br /> +Books said they did, but they lie! they lie!</p> + +<p class="poem">—A couple of hundred years, or so,<br /> +They had knocked about in the world below,<br /> +When an Essex Deacon dropped in to call,<br /> +And a homesick feeling seized them all;<br /> +For he came from a place they knew full well,<br /> +And many a tale he had to tell.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 303px;"> +<a name="illus-060" id="illus-060"></a><a href="images/illus-060-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-060.jpg" width="303" height="202" alt="Drawing of a man facing a group of witch ghosts" title="“An Essex Deacon dropped in to call”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 290px;"> +<a name="illus-061-1" id="illus-061-1"></a><a href="images/illus-061-1-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-061-1.jpg" width="290" height="101" alt="Drawing of a long barn" title="“The old dwellings”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">They long to visit the haunts of men,<br /> +To see the old dwellings they knew again,<br /> +And ride on their broomsticks all around<br /> +Their wide domain of unhallowed ground.</p> + +<p class="poem">In Essex county there’s many a roof<br /> +Well known to him of the cloven hoof;<br /> +The small square windows are full in view<br /> +Which the midnight hags went sailing through,</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 268px;"> +<a name="illus-061-2" id="illus-061-2"></a><a href="images/illus-061-2-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-061-2.jpg" width="268" height="141" alt="Drawing of a witch witch, with a black cat on top of her hat, holding a broom, climbing out a window" title="“The small square windows”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">On their well-trained broomsticks mounted high,<br /> +Seen like shadows against the sky;<br /> +Crossing the track of owls and bats,<br /> +Hugging before them their coal-black cats.</p> + +<p class="poem">Well did they know, those gray old wives,<br /> +The sights we see in our daily drives:<br /> +Shimmer of lake and shine of sea,<br /> +Brown’s bare hill with its lonely tree,<br /> +(It wasn’t then as we see it now,<br /> +With one scant scalp-lock to shade its brow;)<br /> +Dusky nooks in the Essex woods,<br /> +Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes,<br /> +Where the tree-toad watches the sinuous snake<br /> +Glide through his forests of fern and brake;</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 293px;"> +<a name="illus-063" id="illus-063"></a><a href="images/illus-063-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-063.jpg" width="293" height="478" alt="Drawing of a hag walking down a dark forest path" title="“Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Ipswich River; its old stone bridge;<br /> +Far off Andover’s Indian Ridge,<br /> +And many a scene where history tells<br /> +Some shadow of bygone terror dwells,—<br /> +Of “Norman’s Woe” with its tale of dread,</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 272px;"> +<a name="illus-064" id="illus-064"></a><a href="images/illus-064-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-064.jpg" width="272" height="345" alt="Drawing of a ship being swamped at by waves" title="“Norman’s Woe”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 271px;"> +<a name="illus-065" id="illus-065"></a><a href="images/illus-065-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-065.jpg" width="271" height="208" alt="Drawing of a ghostly woman standing on a rock in water near the edge of the sea" title="“The Screeching Woman of Marblehead”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">Of the Screeching Woman of Marblehead,<br /> +(The fearful story that turns men pale:<br /> +Don’t bid me tell it,—my speech would fail.)</p> + +<p class="poem">Who would not, will not, if he can,<br /> +Bathe in the breezes of fair Cape Ann,—<br /> +Rest in the bowers her bays enfold,<br /> +Loved by the sachems and squaws of old?<br /> +Home where the white magnolias bloom,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>Sweet with the bayberry’s chaste perfume,<br /> +Hugged by the woods and kissed by the sea!<br /> +Where is the Eden like to thee?</p> + +<p class="poem">For that “couple of hundred years, or so,”<br /> +There had been no peace in the world below;<br /> +The witches still grumbling, “It isn’t fair;<br /> +Come, give us a taste of the upper air!<br /> +We’ve had enough of your sulphur springs,<br /> +And the evil odor that round them clings;<br /> +We long for a drink that is cool and nice,—<br /> +Great buckets of water with Wenham ice;</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 259px;"> +<a name="illus-066" id="illus-066"></a><a href="images/illus-066-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-066.jpg" width="259" height="103" alt="Drawing of the arms and heads of a group of witches reaching out their arms" title="“It isn’t fair”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">We’ve served you well up-stairs, you know;<br /> +You’re a good old—fellow—come, let us go!”</p> + +<p class="poem">I don’t feel sure of his being good,<br /> +But he happened to be in a pleasant mood,—<br /> +As fiends with their skins full sometimes are,—<br /> +(He’d been drinking with “roughs” at a Boston bar.)<br /> +So what does he do but up and shout<br /> +To a graybeard turnkey, “Let ’em out!”</p> + +<p class="poem">To mind his orders was all he knew;<br /> +The gates swung open, and out they flew<br /> +“Where are our broomsticks?” the beldams cried.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 301px;"> +<a name="illus-068" id="illus-068"></a><a href="images/illus-068-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-068.jpg" width="301" height="507" alt="Drawing of a group of witches surrounding the Devil" title="“You’re a good old-fellow-come, let us go”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">“Here are your broomsticks,” an imp replied.<br /> +“They’ve been in—the place you know—so long<br /> +They smell of brimstone uncommon strong;<br /> +But they’ve gained by being left alone,—<br /> +Just look, and you’ll see how tall they’ve grown.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 303px;"> +<a name="illus-069" id="illus-069"></a><a href="images/illus-069-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-069.jpg" width="303" height="300" alt="Drawing of a group of witches with their broomsticks flying over a streetcar" title="“See how tall they’ve grown”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 289px;"> +<a name="illus-070" id="illus-070"></a><a href="images/illus-070-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-070.jpg" width="289" height="163" alt="Drawing of a group of black witch's cats running to the witches" title="“They called the cats”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">—“And where is my cat?” a vixen squalled.<br /> +“Yes, where are our cats?” the witches bawled,<br /> +And began to call them all by name:<br /> +As fast as they called the cats, they came:<br /> +There was bob-tailed Tommy and long-tailed Tim,<br /> +And wall-eyed Jacky and green-eyed Jim,<br /> +And splay-foot Benny and slim-legged Beau,<br /> +And Skinny and Squally, and Jerry and Joe,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>And many another that came at call,—<br /> +It would take too long to count them all.<br /> +All black,—one could hardly tell which was which,<br /> +But every cat knew his own old witch;<br /> +And she knew hers as hers knew her,—<br /> +Ah, didn’t they curl their tails and purr!</p> + +<p class="poem">No sooner the withered hags were free<br /> +Than out they swarmed for a midnight spree;<br /> +I couldn’t tell all they did in rhymes,<br /> +But the Essex people had dreadful times.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 282px;"> +<a name="illus-071" id="illus-071"></a><a href="images/illus-071-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-071.jpg" width="282" height="138" alt="Drawing of four men running away from a witch" title="“The Essex people had dreadful times”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 296px;"> +<a name="illus-072" id="illus-072"></a><a href="images/illus-072-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-072.jpg" width="296" height="473" alt="Drawing of a man and woman looking up into the sky at the witches flying above them" title="“The withered hags were free”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">The Swampscott fishermen still relate<br /> +How a strange sea-monster stole their bait;<br /> +How their nets were tangled in loops and knots,<br /> +And they found dead crabs in their lobster-pots.<br /> +Poor Danvers grieved for her blasted crops,<br /> +And Wilmington mourned over mildewed hops.<br /> +A blight played havoc with Beverly beans,—<br /> +It was all the work of those hateful queans!<br /> +A dreadful panic began at “Pride’s,”<br /> +Where the witches stopped in their midnight rides,<br /> +And there rose strange rumors and vague alarms<br /> +’Mid the peaceful dwellers at Beverly Farms.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 298px;"> +<a name="illus-074" id="illus-074"></a><a href="images/illus-074-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-074.jpg" width="298" height="477" alt="Drawing of two men in a small boat with a strange creature on their line in the water" title="“A strange sea-monster stole their bait”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Now when the Boss of the Beldams found<br /> +That without his leave they were ramping round,<br /> +He called,—they could hear him twenty miles,<br /> +From Chelsea beach to the Misery Isles;<br /> +The deafest old granny knew his tone<br /> +Without the trick of the telephone.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 271px;"> +<a name="illus-075" id="illus-075"></a><a href="images/illus-075-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-075.jpg" width="271" height="259" alt="Drawing of the Devil dancing in the darkness" title="“They could hear him twenty miles”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">“Come here, you witches! Come here!” says he,—<br /> +“At your games of old, without asking me!<br /> +I’ll give you a little job to do<br /> +That will keep you stirring, you godless crew!”</p> + +<p class="poem">They came, of course, at their master’s call,<br /> +The witches, the broomsticks, the cats, and all;</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 293px;"> +<a name="illus-076" id="illus-076"></a><a href="images/illus-076-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-076.jpg" width="293" height="180" alt="Drawing of the witches and cats returning" title="“They came ... at their master’s call”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">He led the hags to a railway train<br /> +The horses were trying to drag in vain.<br /> +“Now, then,” says he, “you’ve had your fun,<br /> +And here are the cars you’ve got to run.<br /> +The driver may just unhitch his team,<br /> +We don’t want horses, we don’t want steam<br /> +You may keep your old black cats to hug,<br /> +But the loaded train you’ve got to lug.”</p> + +<p class="poem">Since then on many a car you’ll see<br /> +A broomstick plain as plain can be;<br /> +On every stick there’s a witch astride,—<br /> +The string you see to her leg is tied.<br /> +She will do a mischief if she can,<br /> +But the string is held by a careful man,<br /> +And whenever the evil-minded witch<br /> +Would cut some caper, he gives a twitch.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<a name="illus-078" id="illus-078"></a><a href="images/illus-078-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-078.jpg" width="300" height="199" alt="Drawing of a streetcar" title="“You can hear her black cat’s purr”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">As for the hag, you can’t see her,<br /> +But hark! you can hear her black cat’s purr,<br /> +And now and then, as a car goes by,<br /> +You may catch a gleam from her wicked eye.</p> + +<p class="poem">Often you’ve looked on a rushing train,<br /> +But just what moved it was not so plain.<br /> +It couldn’t be those wires above,<br /> +For they could neither pull nor shove;<br /> +Where was the motor that made it go<br /> +You couldn’t guess, <i>but now you know</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 302px;"> +<a name="illus-079" id="illus-079"></a><a href="images/illus-079-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-079.jpg" width="302" height="483" alt="Drawing of a witch, with her cat on her hat, flying on her broomstick in front of the moon" title="“Catch a gleam from her wicked eye”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Remember my rhymes when you ride again<br /> +On the rattling rail by the broomstick train!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 174px;"> +<a name="illus-080" id="illus-080"></a><a href="images/illus-080-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-080.jpg" width="174" height="245" alt="Decorative" title="The End" /></a> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> + +<div class="tn"> +<p class="titlepage"><a name="trans_note" id="trans_note"></a><b>Transcriber’s Note</b></p> + +<p class="noindent">The following typographical errors were corrected.</p> + +<table style="margin-left: 0;" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="typos"> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">Page</td> + <td>Error</td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#corr01">9</a></td> + <td>one-hoss-shay</td> + <td>one-hoss shay</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#corr02">49</a></td> + <td>let go—</td> + <td>let go—”</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30279 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/30279-h/images/illus-001-full.jpg b/30279-h/images/illus-001-full.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5305c78 --- /dev/null +++ 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The One Hoss Shay + With its Companion Poems How the Old Horse Won the Bet & + The Broomstick Train + +Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes + +Illustrator: Howard Pyle + +Release Date: October 18, 2009 [EBook #30279] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ONE HOSS SHAY *** + + + + +Produced by Julia Miller and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Y^e Deacon] + + + + + The One Hoss Shay + + _With its Companion Poems_ + + How the Old Horse Won the Bet + & + The Broomstick Train + + By Oliver Wendell Holmes + + _With Illustrations by_ + Howard Pyle + + [Illustration] + + _Boston and New York_ + Houghton, Mifflin and Company + The Riverside Press, Cambridge + M DCCC XCII + + + + + Copyright, 1858, 1877, 1886, and 1890, + BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. + + Copyright, 1891, + BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. + + _All rights reserved._ + + + _The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A._ + Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. + + + + +Preface + + +My publishers suggested the bringing together of the three poems here +presented to the reader as being to some extent alike in their general +character. "The Wonderful One-Hoss Shay" is a perfectly intelligible +conception, whatever material difficulties it presents. It is +conceivable that a being of an order superior to humanity should so +understand the conditions of matter that he could construct a machine +which should go to pieces, if not into its constituent atoms, at a given +moment of the future. The mind may take a certain pleasure in this +picture of the impossible. The event follows as a logical consequence of +the presupposed condition of things. + +There is a practical lesson to be got out of the story. Observation +shows us in what point any particular mechanism is most likely to give +way. In a wagon, for instance, the weak point is where the axle enters +the hub or nave. When the wagon breaks down, three times out of four, I +think, it is at this point that the accident occurs. The workman should +see to it that this part should never give way; then find the next +vulnerable place, and so on, until he arrives logically at the perfect +result attained by the deacon. + + * * * * * + +Unquestionably there is something a little like extravagance in "How the +Old Horse won the Bet," which taxes the credulity of experienced +horsemen. Still there have been a good many surprises in the history of +the turf and the trotting course. + +The Godolphin Arabian was taken from ignoble drudgery to become the +patriarch of the English racing stock. + +Old Dutchman was transferred from between the shafts of a cart to +become a champion of the American trotters in his time. + +"Old Blue," a famous Boston horse of the early decades of this century, +was said to trot a mile in less than three minutes, but I do not find +any exact record of his achievements. + +Those who have followed the history of the American trotting horse are +aware of the wonderful development of speed attained in these last +years. The lowest time as yet recorded is by Maud S. in 2.08-3/4. + + * * * * * + +If there are any anachronisms or other inaccuracies in this story, the +reader will please to remember that the narrator's memory is liable to +be at fault, and if the event recorded interests him, will not worry +over any little slips or stumbles. + + * * * * * + +The terrible witchcraft drama of 1692 has been seriously treated, as it +well deserves to be. The story has been told in two large volumes by +the Rev. Charles Wentworth Upham, and in a small and more succinct +volume, based upon his work, by his daughter-in-law, Caroline E. Upham. + +The delusion commonly spoken of, as if it belonged to Salem, was more +widely diffused through the towns of Essex County. Looking upon it as a +pitiful and long dead and buried superstition, I trust my poem will no +more offend the good people of Essex County than Tam O'Shanter worries +the honest folk of Ayrshire. + +The localities referred to are those with which I am familiar in my +drives about Essex County. + + O. W. H. + + _July, 1891._ + +[Illustration] + + + + +List of Illustrations + + + THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE. PAGE + The Deacon _Frontispiece._ + Half Title 11 + The Masterpiece 12 + "A chaise breaks down" 14 + "The Deacon inquired of the village folk" 16 + "Naow she'll dew" 18 + "She was a wonder, and nothing less" 19 + "Deacon and deaconess dropped away" 20 + "Eighteen Hundred" 21 + "Fifty-Five" 21 + "Its hundredth year" 22 + "A general flavor of mild decay" 23 + "In another hour it will be worn out" 24 + "The parson takes a drive" 25 + "All at once the horse stood still" 26 + "Then something decidedly like a spill" 27 + "Just as bubbles do when they burst" 28 + "End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay" 29 + + HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET. + Half Title 30 + "The famous trotting ground" 31 + "Many a noted steed" 32 + "The Sunday swell" 33 + "The jointed tandem" 34 + "So shy with us, so free with these" 35 + "The lovely bonnets beamed their smiles" 36 + "I'll bet you two to one" 37 + "Harnessed in his one-hoss-shay" 38 + "The sexton ... led forth the horse" 40 + "A sight to see" 41 + "They lead him, limping, to the track" 42 + "To limber out each stiffened joint" 43 + "Something like a stride" 45 + "A mighty stride he swung" 47 + "Off went a shoe" 48 + "And now the stand he rushes by" 50 + "And off they spring" 51 + "They follow at his heels" 52 + "They're losing ground" 52 + "He's distanced all the lot" 53 + "Some took his time" 54 + "Back in the one-hoss shay he went" 56 + "A horse _can_ trot, for all he's old" 57 + + THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN. + Half Title 58 + "Clear the track" 59 + "An Essex Deacon dropped in to call" 60 + "The old dwellings" 61 + "The small square windows" 61 + "Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes" 63 + "Norman's Woe" 64 + "The Screeching Woman of Marblehead" 65 + "It isn't fair" 66 + "You're a good old--fellow--come, let us go" 68 + "See how tall they've grown" 69 + "They called the cats" 70 + "The Essex people had dreadful times" 71 + "The withered hags were free" 72 + "A strange sea-monster stole their bait" 74 + "They could hear him twenty miles" 75 + "They came ... at their master's call" 76 + "You can hear her black cat's purr" 78 + "Catch a gleam from her wicked eye" 79 + Tail Piece 80 + +[Illustration] + + + + + _The_ + Deacon's Masterpiece + _or the_ + _Wonderful_ + One-Hoss-Shay + + _A Logical Story_ + + +[Illustration] + + + +The Deacon's Masterpiece + + + 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, + +[Illustration: "A chaise breaks down but doesn't wear out"] + + 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,-- + +[Illustration] + + 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! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "She was a wonder, and nothing less"] + + 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! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: 1800] + + 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. + +[Illustration: 1855] + +[Illustration] + + 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.) + +[Illustration] + + 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_! + +[Illustration] + + 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. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + 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,-- + +[Illustration: Then something decidedly like a spill] + + 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. + +[Illustration] + + End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay. + Logic is logic. That's all I say. + +[Illustration] + + + + + _How the_ Old Horse + _Won the_ + BET + + _Dedicated by a Contributor + to the_ Collegian + 1830 + _To the Editor of the_ Advocate + 1876 + + + + +[Illustration] + +HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET + + + 'T was on the famous trotting-ground, + The betting men were gathered round + From far and near; the "cracks" were there + Whose deeds the sporting prints declare: + The swift g. m., Old Hiram's nag, + The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer's brag, + With these a third--and who is he + That stands beside his fast b. g.? + Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name + So fills the nasal trump of fame. + +[Illustration] + + There too stood many a noted steed + Of Messenger and Morgan breed; + Green horses also, not a few; + Unknown as yet what they could do; + And all the hacks that know so well + The scourgings of the Sunday swell. + +[Illustration: The Sunday Swell] + + Blue are the skies of opening day; + The bordering turf is green with May; + The sunshine's golden gleam is thrown + On sorrel, chestnut, bay, and roan; + The horses paw and prance and neigh, + Fillies and colts like kittens play, + And dance and toss their rippled manes + Shining and soft as silken skeins; + Wagons and gigs are ranged about, + And fashion flaunts her gay turn-out; + Here stands,--each youthful Jehu's dream,-- + The jointed tandem, ticklish team! + +[Illustration] + + And there in ampler breadth expand + The splendors of the four-in-hand; + On faultless ties and glossy tiles + The lovely bonnets beam their smiles; + (The style's the man, so books avow; + The style's the woman, anyhow;) + From flounces frothed with creamy lace + Peeps out the pug-dog's smutty face, + Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye, + Or stares the wiry pet of Skye;-- + O woman, in your hours of ease + So shy with us, so free with these! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: On faultless ties and glossy tiles + The lovely bonnets beam their smiles] + + "Come on! I'll bet you two to one + I'll make him do it!" "Will you? Done!" + + What was it who was bound to do? + I did not hear and can't tell you,-- + Pray listen till my story's through. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Scarce noticed, back behind the rest, + By cart and wagon rudely prest, + The parson's lean and bony bay + Stood harnessed in his one-horse shay-- + Lent to his sexton for the day; + (A funeral--so the sexton said; + His mother's uncle's wife was dead.) + + Like Lazarus bid to Dives' feast, + So looked the poor forlorn old beast; + His coat was rough, his tail was bare, + The gray was sprinkled in his hair; + Sportsmen and jockeys knew him not, + And yet they say he once could trot + Among the fleetest of the town, + Till something cracked and broke him down,-- + The steed's, the statesman's, common lot! + "And are we then so soon forgot?" + Ah me! I doubt if one of you + Has ever heard the name "Old Blue," + Whose fame through all this region rung + In those old days when I was young! + + "Bring forth the horse!" Alas! he showed + Not like the one Mazeppa rode; + Scant-maned, sharp-backed, and shaky-kneed, + The wreck of what was once a steed, + Lips thin, eyes hollow, stiff in joints; + Yet not without his knowing points. + The sexton laughing in his sleeve, + As if 't were all a make-believe, + Led forth the horse, and as he laughed + +[Illustration] + + Unhitched the breeching from a shaft, + Unclasped the rusty belt beneath, + Drew forth the snaffle from his teeth, + Slipped off his head-stall, set him free + From strap and rein,--a sight to see! + +[Illustration] + + So worn, so lean in every limb, + It can't be they are saddling him! + It is! his back the pig-skin strides + And flaps his lank, rheumatic sides; + With look of mingled scorn and mirth + They buckle round the saddle-girth; + With horsey wink and saucy toss + A youngster throws his leg across, + And so, his rider on his back, + They lead him, limping, to the track, + Far up behind the starting-point, + To limber out each stiffened joint. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "To limber out each stiffened joint"] + + As through the jeering crowd he past, + One pitying look old Hiram cast; + "Go it, ye cripple, while ye can!" + Cried out unsentimental Dan; + "A Fast-Day dinner for the crows!" + Budd Doble's scoffing shout arose. + + Slowly, as when the walking-beam + First feels the gathering head of steam, + With warning cough and threatening wheeze + The stiff old charger crooks his knees; + At first with cautious step sedate, + As if he dragged a coach of state; + He's not a colt; he knows full well + That time is weight and sure to tell; + No horse so sturdy but he fears + The handicap of twenty years. + + As through the throng on either hand + The old horse nears the judges' stand, + Beneath his jockey's feather-weight + He warms a little to his gait, + And now and then a step is tried + That hints of something like a stride. + +[Illustration] + + "Go!"--Through his ear the summons stung + As if a battle-trump had rung; + The slumbering instincts long unstirred + Start at the old familiar word; + It thrills like flame through every limb-- + What mean his twenty years to him? + The savage blow his rider dealt + Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt; + The spur that pricked his staring hide + Unheeded tore his bleeding side; + Alike to him are spur and rein,-- + He steps a five-year-old again! + + Before the quarter pole was past, + Old Hiram said, "He's going fast." + Long ere the quarter was a half, + The chuckling crowd had ceased to laugh; + Tighter his frightened jockey clung + As in a mighty stride he swung, + The gravel flying in his track, + His neck stretched out, his ears laid back, + His tail extended all the while + Behind him like a rat-tail file! + +[Illustration] + + Off went a shoe,--away it spun, + Shot like a bullet from a gun; + The quaking jockey shapes a prayer + From scraps of oaths he used to swear; + He drops his whip, he drops his rein, + He clutches fiercely for a mane; + +[Illustration] + + He'll lose his hold--he sways and reels-- + He'll slide beneath those trampling heels! + The knees of many a horseman quake, + The flowers on many a bonnet shake, + And shouts arise from left and right, + "Stick on! Stick on!" "Hould tight! Hould tight!" + "Cling round his neck and don't let go--" + "That pace can't hold,--there! steady! whoa!" + But like the sable steed that bore + The spectral lover of Lenore, + His nostrils snorting foam and fire, + No stretch his bony limbs can tire; + And now the stand he rushes by, + And "Stop him!--stop him!" is the cry. + +[Illustration: "And now the stand he rushes by"] + + Stand back! he's only just begun,-- + He's having out three heats in one! + + "Don't rush in front! he'll smash your brains; + But follow up and grab the reins!" + Old Hiram spoke. Dan Pfeiffer heard, + And sprang impatient at the word; + Budd Doble started on his bay, + Old Hiram followed on his gray, + And off they spring, and round they go, + The fast ones doing "all they know." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Look! twice they follow at his heels, + As round the circling course he wheels, + And whirls with him that clinging boy + Like Hector round the walls of Troy; + Still on, and on, the third time round! + They're tailing off! they're losing ground! + +[Illustration] + + Budd Doble's nag begins to fail! + Dan Pfeiffer's sorrel whisks his tail! + And see! in spite of whip and shout, + Old Hiram's mare is giving out! + Now for the finish! at the turn, + The old horse--all the rest astern,-- + Comes swinging in, with easy trot; + By Jove! he's distanced all the lot! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + That trot no mortal could explain; + Some said, "Old Dutchman come again!" + Some took his time,--at least they tried, + But what it was could none decide; + One said he couldn't understand + What happened to his second hand; + One said 2.10; _that_ couldn't be-- + More like two twenty two or three; + Old Hiram settled it at last; + "The time was two--too dee-vel-ish fast!" + + The parson's horse had won the bet; + It cost him something of a sweat; + Back in the one-hoss shay he went; + The parson wondered what it meant, + And murmured, with a mild surprise + And pleasant twinkle of the eyes, + "That funeral must have been a trick, + Or corpses drive at double-quick; + I shouldn't wonder, I declare, + If brother--Jehu--made the prayer!" + + And this is all I have to say + About that tough old trotting bay. + Huddup! Huddup! G'lang!--Good-day! + +[Illustration: "Back in the one-horse-shay he went"] + + Moral for which this tale is told: + A horse _can_ trot, for all he's old. + +[Illustration] + + + + + The + + BROOMSTICK + TRAIN + + or + + The Return of the + WITCHES + + + + +[Illustration] + +THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN + + + Look out! Look out, boys! Clear the track! + The witches are here! They've all come back! + They hanged them high,--No use! No use! + What cares a witch for a hangman's noose? + They buried them deep, but they wouldn't lie still, + For cats and witches are hard to kill; + They swore they shouldn't and wouldn't die,-- + Books said they did, but they lie! they lie! + + --A couple of hundred years, or so, + They had knocked about in the world below, + When an Essex Deacon dropped in to call, + And a homesick feeling seized them all; + For he came from a place they knew full well, + And many a tale he had to tell. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + They long to visit the haunts of men, + To see the old dwellings they knew again, + And ride on their broomsticks all around + Their wide domain of unhallowed ground. + + In Essex county there's many a roof + Well known to him of the cloven hoof; + The small square windows are full in view + Which the midnight hags went sailing through, + +[Illustration] + + On their well-trained broomsticks mounted high, + Seen like shadows against the sky; + Crossing the track of owls and bats, + Hugging before them their coal-black cats. + + Well did they know, those gray old wives, + The sights we see in our daily drives: + Shimmer of lake and shine of sea, + Brown's bare hill with its lonely tree, + (It wasn't then as we see it now, + With one scant scalp-lock to shade its brow;) + Dusky nooks in the Essex woods, + Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes, + Where the tree-toad watches the sinuous snake + Glide through his forests of fern and brake; + +[Illustration: "Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes"] + + Ipswich River; its old stone bridge; + Far off Andover's Indian Ridge, + And many a scene where history tells + Some shadow of bygone terror dwells,-- + Of "Norman's Woe" with its tale of dread, + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Of the Screeching Woman of Marblehead, + (The fearful story that turns men pale: + Don't bid me tell it,--my speech would fail.) + + Who would not, will not, if he can, + Bathe in the breezes of fair Cape Ann,-- + Rest in the bowers her bays enfold, + Loved by the sachems and squaws of old? + Home where the white magnolias bloom, + Sweet with the bayberry's chaste perfume, + Hugged by the woods and kissed by the sea! + Where is the Eden like to thee? + + For that "couple of hundred years, or so," + There had been no peace in the world below; + The witches still grumbling, "It isn't fair; + Come, give us a taste of the upper air! + We've had enough of your sulphur springs, + And the evil odor that round them clings; + We long for a drink that is cool and nice,-- + Great buckets of water with Wenham ice; + +[Illustration] + + We've served you well up-stairs, you know; + You're a good old--fellow--come, let us go!" + + I don't feel sure of his being good, + But he happened to be in a pleasant mood,-- + As fiends with their skins full sometimes are,-- + (He'd been drinking with "roughs" at a Boston bar.) + So what does he do but up and shout + To a graybeard turnkey, "Let 'em out!" + + To mind his orders was all he knew; + The gates swung open, and out they flew + "Where are our broomsticks?" the beldams cried. + +[Illustration: "You're a good old-fellow-come, let us go"] + + "Here are your broomsticks," an imp replied. + "They've been in--the place you know--so long + They smell of brimstone uncommon strong; + But they've gained by being left alone,-- + Just look, and you'll see how tall they've grown." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + --"And where is my cat?" a vixen squalled. + "Yes, where are our cats?" the witches bawled, + And began to call them all by name: + As fast as they called the cats, they came: + There was bob-tailed Tommy and long-tailed Tim, + And wall-eyed Jacky and green-eyed Jim, + And splay-foot Benny and slim-legged Beau, + And Skinny and Squally, and Jerry and Joe, + And many another that came at call,-- + It would take too long to count them all. + All black,--one could hardly tell which was which, + But every cat knew his own old witch; + And she knew hers as hers knew her,-- + Ah, didn't they curl their tails and purr! + + No sooner the withered hags were free + Than out they swarmed for a midnight spree; + I couldn't tell all they did in rhymes, + But the Essex people had dreadful times. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "The withered hags were free"] + + The Swampscott fishermen still relate + How a strange sea-monster stole their bait; + How their nets were tangled in loops and knots, + And they found dead crabs in their lobster-pots. + Poor Danvers grieved for her blasted crops, + And Wilmington mourned over mildewed hops. + A blight played havoc with Beverly beans,-- + It was all the work of those hateful queans! + A dreadful panic began at "Pride's," + Where the witches stopped in their midnight rides, + And there rose strange rumors and vague alarms + 'Mid the peaceful dwellers at Beverly Farms. + +[Illustration: "A strange sea-monster stole their bait"] + + Now when the Boss of the Beldams found + That without his leave they were ramping round, + He called,--they could hear him twenty miles, + From Chelsea beach to the Misery Isles; + The deafest old granny knew his tone + Without the trick of the telephone. + +[Illustration] + + "Come here, you witches! Come here!" says he,-- + "At your games of old, without asking me! + I'll give you a little job to do + That will keep you stirring, you godless crew!" + + They came, of course, at their master's call, + The witches, the broomsticks, the cats, and all; + +[Illustration] + + He led the hags to a railway train + The horses were trying to drag in vain. + "Now, then," says he, "you've had your fun, + And here are the cars you've got to run. + The driver may just unhitch his team, + We don't want horses, we don't want steam + You may keep your old black cats to hug, + But the loaded train you've got to lug." + + Since then on many a car you'll see + A broomstick plain as plain can be; + On every stick there's a witch astride,-- + The string you see to her leg is tied. + She will do a mischief if she can, + But the string is held by a careful man, + And whenever the evil-minded witch + Would cut some caper, he gives a twitch. + +[Illustration] + + As for the hag, you can't see her, + But hark! you can hear her black cat's purr, + And now and then, as a car goes by, + You may catch a gleam from her wicked eye. + + Often you've looked on a rushing train, + But just what moved it was not so plain. + It couldn't be those wires above, + For they could neither pull nor shove; + Where was the motor that made it go + You couldn't guess, _but now you know_. + +[Illustration: "Catch a gleam from her wicked eye"] + + Remember my rhymes when you ride again + On the rattling rail by the broomstick train! + +[Illustration: The End] + + + + +Transcriber's Note + +The following typographical errors were corrected. + + Page Error + 9 one-hoss-shay changed to one-hoss shay + 49 let go-- changed to let go--" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The One Hoss Shay, by Oliver Wendell Holmes + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ONE HOSS SHAY *** + +***** This file should be named 30279.txt or 30279.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/2/7/30279/ + +Produced by Julia Miller and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The One Hoss Shay + With its Companion Poems How the Old Horse Won the Bet & + The Broomstick Train + +Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes + +Illustrator: Howard Pyle + +Release Date: October 18, 2009 [EBook #30279] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ONE HOSS SHAY *** + + + + +Produced by Julia Miller and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="tn"> +<p class="titlepage"><b>Transcriber’s Note</b></p> + +<p class="noindent">Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A <a href="#trans_note">list</a> of corrections +is found at the end of the text.</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 219px;"> +<a name="illus-001" id="illus-001"></a><a href="images/illus-001-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-001.jpg" width="219" height="392" alt="Y^e Deacon" title="The Deacon" /></a> +</div> + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 335px;"> +<a name="illus-002-1" id="illus-002-1"></a><a href="images/illus-002-1-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-002-1.jpg" width="335" height="477" alt="Decorative title page" title="See below for text" /></a> +</div> + +<h1 class="chapterhead">The One Hoss Shay</h1> + +<p class="titlepage"><i>With its Companion Poems</i><br /> + +How the Old Horse Won the Bet<br /> +&<br /> +The Broomstick Train</p> + +<p class="titlepage">By Oliver Wendell Holmes</p> + +<p class="titlepage"><i>With Illustrations by</i><br /> + +Howard Pyle</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 106px;"> +<a name="illus-002-2" id="illus-002-2"></a><a href="images/illus-002-2-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-002-2.jpg" width="106" height="136" alt="Colophon" title="" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="titlepage"><i>Boston and New York</i><br /> + +Houghton, Mifflin and Company<br /> + +The Riverside Press, Cambridge><br /> + +M DCCC XCII</p> + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + + + +<p class="titlepage">Copyright, 1858, 1877, 1886, and 1890,<br /> + <span class="smcap">By OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.</span></p> + +<p class="titlepage">Copyright, 1891,<br /> + <span class="smcap">By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.</span></p> + +<p class="titlepage"><i>All rights reserved.</i></p> + + +<p class="titlepage extraspace"><i>The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A.</i><br /> + Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 305px;"> +<a name="illus-004" id="illus-004"></a><a href="images/illus-004-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-004.jpg" width="305" height="105" alt="Preface" title="Preface" /></a> +</div> + +<h2 class="hide">Preface</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">My</span> publishers suggested the bringing together of the three poems here +presented to the reader as being to some extent alike in their general +character. “The Wonderful One-Hoss Shay” is a perfectly intelligible +conception, whatever material difficulties it presents. It is +conceivable that a being of an order superior to humanity should so +understand the conditions of matter that he could construct a machine +which should go to pieces, if not into its constituent atoms, at a given +moment of the future. The mind may take a certain pleasure in this +picture of the impossible. The event follows as a logical consequence of +the presupposed condition of things.</p> + +<p>There is a practical lesson to be got out of the story. Observation +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>shows us in what point any particular mechanism is most likely to give +way. In a wagon, for instance, the weak point is where the axle enters +the hub or nave. When the wagon breaks down, three times out of four, I +think, it is at this point that the accident occurs. The workman should +see to it that this part should never give way; then find the next +vulnerable place, and so on, until he arrives logically at the perfect +result attained by the deacon.</p> + + +<p class="extraspace">Unquestionably there is something a little like extravagance in “How the +Old Horse won the Bet,” which taxes the credulity of experienced +horsemen. Still there have been a good many surprises in the history of +the turf and the trotting course.</p> + +<p>The Godolphin Arabian was taken from ignoble drudgery to become the +patriarch of the English racing stock.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>Old Dutchman was transferred from between the shafts of a cart to +become a champion of the American trotters in his time.</p> + +<p>“Old Blue,” a famous Boston horse of the early decades of this century, +was said to trot a mile in less than three minutes, but I do not find +any exact record of his achievements.</p> + +<p>Those who have followed the history of the American trotting horse are +aware of the wonderful development of speed attained in these last +years. The lowest time as yet recorded is by Maud S. in 2.08¾.</p> + + +<p class="extraspace">If there are any anachronisms or other inaccuracies in this story, the +reader will please to remember that the narrator’s memory is liable to +be at fault, and if the event recorded interests him, will not worry +over any little slips or stumbles.</p> + + +<p class="extraspace">The terrible witchcraft drama of 1692 has been seriously treated, as it +well deserves to be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> The story has been told in two large volumes by +the Rev. Charles Wentworth Upham, and in a small and more succinct +volume, based upon his work, by his daughter-in-law, Caroline E. Upham.</p> + +<p>The delusion commonly spoken of, as if it belonged to Salem, was more +widely diffused through the towns of Essex County. Looking upon it as a +pitiful and long dead and buried superstition, I trust my poem will no +more offend the good people of Essex County than Tam O’Shanter worries +the honest folk of Ayrshire.</p> + +<p>The localities referred to are those with which I am familiar in my +drives about Essex County.</p> + +<p class="right">O. W. H.</p> + +<p><i>July</i>, 1891.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 152px;"> +<a name="illus-007" id="illus-007"></a><a href="images/illus-007-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-007.jpg" width="152" height="47" alt="decorative" title="" /></a> +</div> + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 299px;"> +<a name="illus-008" id="illus-008"></a><a href="images/illus-008-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-008.jpg" width="299" height="150" alt="List of Illustrations" title="" /></a> +</div> + +<h2 class="hide">List of Illustrations</h2> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="table of contents"> +<tr> + <td><a href="#Page_12">THE DEACON’S MASTERPIECE.</a></td> + <td class="tdr smrom">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-001">The Deacon</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-001"><i>Frontispiece.</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-011">Half Title</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-011">11</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-012">The Masterpiece</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-012">12</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-014">“A chaise breaks down”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-014">14</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-016">“The Deacon inquired of the village folk”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-016">16</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-018">“Naow she’ll dew”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-018">18</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-019">“She was a wonder, and nothing less”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-019">19</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-020">“Deacon and deaconess dropped away”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-020">20</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-021-1">“Eighteen Hundred”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-021-1">21</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-021-2">“Fifty-Five”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-021-2">21</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-022">“Its hundredth year”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-022">22</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-023">“A general flavor of mild decay”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-023">23</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-024">“In another hour it will be worn out”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-024">24</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-025">“The parson takes a drive”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-025">25</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-026">“All at once the horse stood still”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-026">26</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-027">“Then something decidedly like a spill”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-027">27</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-028">“Just as bubbles do when they burst”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-028">28</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-029">“End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-029">29</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><a href="#Page_30">HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET.</a></td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-030">Half Title</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-030">30</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span><a href="#illus-031">“The famous trotting ground”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-031">31</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-032">“Many a noted steed”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-032">32</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-033">“The Sunday swell”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-033">33</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-034">“The jointed tandem”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-034">34</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-035">“So shy with us, so free with these”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-035">35</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-036">“The lovely bonnets beamed their smiles”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-036">36</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-037">“I’ll bet you two to one”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-037">37</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-038">“Harnessed in his one-hoss-shay”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-038">38</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-040">“The sexton ... led forth the horse”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-040">40</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-041">“A sight to see”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-041">41</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-042">“They lead him, limping, to the track”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-042">42</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-043">“To limber out each stiffened joint”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-043">43</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-045">“Something like a stride”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-045">45</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-047">“A mighty stride he swung”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-047">47</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-048">“Off went a shoe”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-048">48</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-050">“And now the stand he rushes by”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-050">50</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-051">“And off they spring”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-051">51</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-052-1">“They follow at his heels”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-052-1">52</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-052-2">“They’re losing ground”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-052-2">52</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-053">“He’s distanced all the lot”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-053">53</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-054">“Some took his time”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-054">54</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a name="corr01" id="corr01"></a><a href="#illus-056">“Back in the one-hoss shay he went”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-056">56</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-057">“A horse <i>can</i> trot, for all he’s old”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-057">57</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><a href="#Page_58">THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN.</a></td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-058">Half Title</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-058">58</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-059">“Clear the track”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-059">59</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-060">“An Essex Deacon dropped in to call”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-060">60</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-061-1">“The old dwellings”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-061-1">61</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-061-2">“The small square windows”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-061-2">61</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-063">“Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-063">63</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span><a href="#illus-064">“Norman’s Woe”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-064">64</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-065">“The Screeching Woman of Marblehead”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-065">65</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-066">“It isn’t fair”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-066">66</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-068">“You’re a good old—fellow—come, let us go”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-068">68</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-069">“See how tall they’ve grown”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-069">69</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-070">“They called the cats”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-070">70</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-071">“The Essex people had dreadful times”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-071">71</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-072">“The withered hags were free”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-072">72</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-074">“A strange sea-monster stole their bait”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-074">74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-075">“They could hear him twenty miles”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-075">75</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-076">“They came ... at their master’s call”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-076">76</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-078">“You can hear her black cat’s purr”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-078">78</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-079">“Catch a gleam from her wicked eye”</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-079">79</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="illusname"><a href="#illus-080">Tail Piece</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus-080">80</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 137px;"> +<a name="illus-010" id="illus-010"></a><a href="images/illus-010-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-010.jpg" width="137" height="50" alt="Decorative" title="" /></a> +</div> + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 272px;"> +<a name="illus-011" id="illus-011"></a><a href="images/illus-011-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-011.jpg" width="272" height="376" alt="Decorative" title="The Deacon’s Masterpiece or the Wonderful One-Hoss-Shay A Logical Story" /></a> +</div> + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 289px;"> +<a name="illus-012" id="illus-012"></a><a href="images/illus-012-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-012.jpg" width="289" height="151" alt="Drawing of two boys chasing after a one horse chaise" title="The Masterpiece" /></a> +</div> + + + +<h2 class="sectionhead">The Deacon’s Masterpiece</h2> + + +<p class="poem"><span class="smcap">Have</span> you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,<br /> +That was built in such a logical way<br /> +It ran a hundred years to a day,<br /> +And then, of a sudden, it—ah, but stay,<br /> +I’ll tell you what happened without delay,<br /> +Scaring the parson into fits,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>Frightening people out of their wits,—<br /> +Have you ever heard of that, I say?</p> + +<p class="poem">Seventeen hundred and fifty-five,<br /> +<i>Georgius Secundus</i> was then alive,—<br /> +Snuffy old drone from the German hive;<br /> +That was the year when Lisbon-town<br /> +Saw the earth open and gulp her down,<br /> +And Braddock’s army was done so brown,<br /> +Left without a scalp to its crown.<br /> +It was on the terrible earthquake-day<br /> +That the Deacon finished the one-hoss-shay.</p> + +<p class="poem">Now in building of chaises, I tell you what,<br /> +There is always <i>somewhere</i> a weakest spot,—<br /> +In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,<br /> +In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 304px;"> +<a name="illus-014" id="illus-014"></a><a href="images/illus-014-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-014.jpg" width="304" height="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”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,—lurking still,<br /> +Find it somewhere you must and will,—<br /> +Above or below, or within or without,—<br /> +And that’s the reason, beyond a doubt,<br /> +A chaise <i>breaks down</i>, but doesn’t <i>wear out</i>.</p> + +<p class="poem">But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do,<br /> +With an “I dew vum,” or an “I tell <i>yeou</i>,”)<br /> +He would build one shay to beat the taown<br /> +’n’ the keounty ’n’ all the kentry raoun’;<br /> +It should be so built that it <i>couldn’</i> break daown!<br /> +—“Fur,” said the Deacon, “’t’s mighty plain<br /> +Thut the weakes’ place mus’ stan’ the strain;<br /> +’n’ the way t’ fix it, uz I maintain,<br /> +<span class="i4">Is only jest<br /></span> +T’ make that place uz strong uz the rest.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">So the Deacon inquired of the village folk<br /> +Where he could find the strongest oak,<br /> +That couldn’t be split nor bent nor broke,—</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<a name="illus-016" id="illus-016"></a><a href="images/illus-016-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-016.jpg" width="300" height="371" alt="Drawing of a group of people standing around talking" title="“The Deacon inquired of the village folk”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">That was for spokes and floor and sills;<br /> +He sent for lancewood to make the thills;<br /> +The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees,<br /> +The panels of whitewood, that cuts like cheese,<br /> +But lasts like iron for things like these;<br /> +The hubs of logs from the “Settler’s ellum,”—<br /> +Last of its timber,—they couldn’t sell ’em,<br /> +Never an axe had seen their chips,<br /> +And the wedges flew from between their lip<br /> +Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;<br /> +Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,<br /> +Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too,<br /> +Steel of the finest, bright and blue;<br /> +Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span><br /> +Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide<br /> +Found in the pit when the tanner died.<br /> +That was the way he “put her through.”<br /> +“There!” said the Deacon, “naow she’ll dew.”</p> + +<p class="poem">Do! I tell you, I rather guess<br /> +She was a wonder, and nothing less!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 279px;"> +<a name="illus-018" id="illus-018"></a><a href="images/illus-018-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-018.jpg" width="279" height="261" alt="The Deacon standing by the new chaise" title="“Naow she’ll dew”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 296px;"> +<a name="illus-019" id="illus-019"></a><a href="images/illus-019-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-019.jpg" width="296" height="467" alt="Drawing of the Deacon in his new chaise, with people inspecting it" title="“She was a wonder, and nothing less”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,<br /> +Deacon and deaconess dropped away,<br /> +Children and grandchildren—where were they?<br /> +But there stood the stout old one-hoss-shay<br /> +As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 285px;"> +<a name="illus-020" id="illus-020"></a><a href="images/illus-020-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-020.jpg" width="285" height="294" alt="Drawing of gravestones" title="“Deacon and deaconess dropped away”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 267px;"> +<a name="illus-021-1" id="illus-021-1"></a><a href="images/illus-021-1-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-021-1.jpg" width="267" height="161" alt="Drawing of a couple looking at the chaise in the distance" title="1800" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem"><span class="smcap">Eighteen Hundred;</span>—it came and found<br /> +The Deacon’s Masterpiece strong and sound.<br /> +Eighteen hundred increased by ten;—<br /> +“Hahnsum kerridge” they called it then.<br /> +Eighteen hundred and twenty came;—<br /> +Running as usual; much the same.<br /> +Thirty and forty at last arrive,<br /> +And then come fifty, and <span class="smrom">FIFTY-FIVE</span>.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 239px;"> +<a name="illus-021-2" id="illus-021-2"></a><a href="images/illus-021-2-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-021-2.jpg" width="239" height="130" alt="Drawing of a couple's head and shoulders as they are looking at the chaise in the distance" title="1855" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 296px;"> +<a name="illus-022" id="illus-022"></a><a href="images/illus-022-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-022.jpg" width="296" height="247" alt="Drawing of an elderly man in an armchair looking out the window" title="“Its hundredth year”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">Little of all we value here<br /> +Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year<br /> +Without both feeling and looking queer.<br /> +In fact, there’s nothing that keeps its youth,<br /> +So far as I know, but a tree and truth.<br /> +(This is a moral that runs at large;<br /> +Take it.—You’re welcome.—No extra charge.)</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 271px;"> +<a name="illus-023" id="illus-023"></a><a href="images/illus-023-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-023.jpg" width="271" height="317" alt="Drawing of the chaise parked in the yard" title="“A general flavor of mild decay”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem"><span class="smcap">First of November</span>,—the Earthquake-day.—<br /> +There are traces of age in the one-hoss-shay,<br /> +A general flavor of mild decay,<br /> +But nothing local, as one may say.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>There couldn’t be,—for the Deacon’s art<br /> +Had made it so like in every part<br /> +That there wasn’t a chance for one to start.<br /> +For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,<br /> +And the floor was just as strong as the sills,<br /> +And the panels just as strong as the floor,<br /> +And the whippletree neither less nor more,<br /> +And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore,<br /> +And spring and axle and hub <i>encore</i>,<br /> +And yet, <i>as a whole</i>, it is past a doubt<br /> +In another hour it will be <i>worn out</i>!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 261px;"> +<a name="illus-024" id="illus-024"></a><a href="images/illus-024-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-024.jpg" width="261" height="125" alt="Drawing of the chaise stopped on the road" title="“In another hour it will be worn out”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">First of November, ’Fifty-five!<br /> +This morning the parson takes a drive.<br /> +Now, small boys, get out of the way!<br /> +Here comes the wonderful one-hoss-shay,<br /> +Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.<br /> +“Huddup!” said the parson.—Off went they.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 290px;"> +<a name="illus-025" id="illus-025"></a><a href="images/illus-025-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-025.jpg" width="290" height="272" alt="Drawing of the Deacon driving the chaise" title="“The parson takes a drive”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 262px;"> +<a name="illus-026" id="illus-026"></a><a href="images/illus-026-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-026.jpg" width="262" height="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”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">The parson was working his Sunday’s text,—<br /> +Had got to <i>fifthly</i>, and stopped perplexed<br /> +At what the—Moses—was coming next.<br /> +All at once the horse stood still,<br /> +Close by the meet’n’-house on the hill.<br /> +—First a shiver, and then a thrill,<br /> +Then something decidedly like a spill,—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 295px;"> +<a name="illus-027" id="illus-027"></a><a href="images/illus-027-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-027.jpg" width="295" height="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" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">And the parson was sitting upon a rock,<br /> +At half-past nine by the meet’n’-house clock,—<br /> +Just the hour of the Earthquake shock!<br /> +—What do you think the parson found,<br /> +When he got up and stared around?<br /> +The poor old chaise in a heap or mound,<br /> +As if it had been to the mill and ground!<br /> +You see, of course, if you’re not a dunce,<br /> +How it went to pieces all at once,—<br /> +All at once, and nothing first,—<br /> +Just as bubbles do when they burst.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 282px;"> +<a name="illus-028" id="illus-028"></a><a href="images/illus-028-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-028.jpg" width="282" height="147" alt="Drawing of an angel blowing bubbles" title="“Just as bubbles do when they burst”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay.<br /> +Logic is logic. That’s all I say.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 282px;"> +<a name="illus-029" id="illus-029"></a><a href="images/illus-029-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-029.jpg" width="282" height="213" alt="Drawing of the Deacon leading the horse, still wearing the harness" title="“End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay”" /></a> +</div> + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 267px;"> +<a name="illus-030" id="illus-030"></a><a href="images/illus-030-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-030.jpg" width="267" height="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" /></a> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 278px;"> +<a name="illus-031" id="illus-031"></a><a href="images/illus-031-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-031.jpg" width="278" height="191" alt="Drawing of a race track with two trotting horses racing" title="“The famous trotting ground”" /></a> +</div> + +<h2 class="sectionhead">HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET</h2> + + +<p class="poem"><span class="smcap">’T was</span> on the famous trotting-ground,<br /> +The betting men were gathered round<br /> +From far and near; the “cracks” were there<br /> +Whose deeds the sporting prints declare:<br /> +The swift g. m., Old Hiram’s nag,<br /> +The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer’s brag,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>With these a third—and who is he<br /> +That stands beside his fast b. g.?<br /> +Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name<br /> +So fills the nasal trump of fame.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 281px;"> +<a name="illus-032" id="illus-032"></a><a href="images/illus-032-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-032.jpg" width="281" height="159" alt="Drawing of a blanketed horse surrounded by people in paddock" title="“Many a noted steed”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">There too stood many a noted steed<br /> +Of Messenger and Morgan breed;<br /> +Green horses also, not a few;<br /> +Unknown as yet what they could do;<br /> +And all the hacks that know so well<br /> +The scourgings of the Sunday swell.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 295px;"> +<a name="illus-033" id="illus-033"></a><a href="images/illus-033-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-033.jpg" width="295" height="451" alt="Drawing of a trotting horse pulling a light vehicle" title="The Sunday Swell" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Blue are the skies of opening day;<br /> +The bordering turf is green with May;<br /> +The sunshine’s golden gleam is thrown<br /> +On sorrel, chestnut, bay, and roan;<br /> +The horses paw and prance and neigh,<br /> +Fillies and colts like kittens play,<br /> +And dance and toss their rippled manes<br /> +Shining and soft as silken skeins;<br /> +Wagons and gigs are ranged about,<br /> +And fashion flaunts her gay turn-out;<br /> +Here stands,—each youthful Jehu’s dream,—<br /> +The jointed tandem, ticklish team!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 279px;"> +<a name="illus-034" id="illus-034"></a><a href="images/illus-034-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-034.jpg" width="279" height="130" alt="Drawing of a tandem team pulling light vehicle" title="“The jointed tandem”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">And there in ampler breadth expand<br /> +The splendors of the four-in-hand;<br /> +On faultless ties and glossy tiles<br /> +The lovely bonnets beam their smiles;<br /> +(The style’s the man, so books avow;<br /> +The style’s the woman, anyhow;)<br /> +From flounces frothed with creamy lace<br /> +Peeps out the pug-dog’s smutty face,<br /> +Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye,<br /> +Or stares the wiry pet of Skye;—<br /> +O woman, in your hours of ease<br /> +So shy with us, so free with these!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 283px;"> +<a name="illus-035" id="illus-035"></a><a href="images/illus-035-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-035.jpg" width="283" height="141" alt="Drawing of a woman walking a small dog on a leash, several other dogs in the bac" title="“So shy with us, so free with these”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 288px;"> +<a name="illus-036" id="illus-036"></a><a href="images/illus-036-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-036.jpg" width="288" height="452" alt="Drawing of the crowd at the race track" title="On faultless ties and glossy tiles +The lovely bonnets beam their smiles" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">“Come on! I’ll bet you two to one<br /> +I’ll make him do it!” “Will you? Done!”</p> + +<p class="poem">What was it who was bound to do?<br /> +I did not hear and can’t tell you,—<br /> +Pray listen till my story’s through.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 231px;"> +<a name="illus-037" id="illus-037"></a><a href="images/illus-037-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-037.jpg" width="231" height="265" alt="Drawing of two men talking at the race track" title="“I’ll bet you two to one”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 283px;"> +<a name="illus-038" id="illus-038"></a><a href="images/illus-038-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-038.jpg" width="283" height="217" alt="Drawing of hitched horses, tied to rails at the race track" title="“Harnessed in his one-hoss-shay”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">Scarce noticed, back behind the rest,<br /> +By cart and wagon rudely prest,<br /> +The parson’s lean and bony bay<br /> +Stood harnessed in his one-horse shay—<br /> +Lent to his sexton for the day;<br /> +(A funeral—so the sexton said;<br /> +His mother’s uncle’s wife was dead.)</p> + +<p class="poem">Like Lazarus bid to Dives’ feast,<br /> +So looked the poor forlorn old beast;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>His coat was rough, his tail was bare,<br /> +The gray was sprinkled in his hair;<br /> +Sportsmen and jockeys knew him not,<br /> +And yet they say he once could trot<br /> +Among the fleetest of the town,<br /> +Till something cracked and broke him down,—<br /> +The steed’s, the statesman’s, common lot!<br /> +“And are we then so soon forgot?”<br /> +Ah me! I doubt if one of you<br /> +Has ever heard the name “Old Blue,”<br /> +Whose fame through all this region rung<br /> +In those old days when I was young!</p> + +<p class="poem">“Bring forth the horse!” Alas! he showed<br /> +Not like the one Mazeppa rode;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>Scant-maned, sharp-backed, and shaky-kneed,<br /> +The wreck of what was once a steed,<br /> +Lips thin, eyes hollow, stiff in joints;<br /> +Yet not without his knowing points.<br /> +The sexton laughing in his sleeve,<br /> +As if ’t were all a make-believe,<br /> +Led forth the horse, and as he laughed</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 254px;"> +<a name="illus-040" id="illus-040"></a><a href="images/illus-040-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-040.jpg" width="254" height="243" alt="Drawing of a man leading a horse hitched to a light carriage" title="“The sexton ... led forth the horse”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Unhitched the breeching from a shaft,<br /> +Unclasped the rusty belt beneath,<br /> +Drew forth the snaffle from his teeth,<br /> +Slipped off his head-stall, set him free<br /> +From strap and rein,—a sight to see!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 281px;"> +<a name="illus-041" id="illus-041"></a><a href="images/illus-041-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-041.jpg" width="281" height="260" alt="Drawing of a crowd with a man laughing at the horse being unharnessed" title="“A sight to see”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">So worn, so lean in every limb,<br /> +It can’t be they are saddling him!<br /> +It is! his back the pig-skin strides<br /> +And flaps his lank, rheumatic sides;<br /> +With look of mingled scorn and mirth<br /> +They buckle round the saddle-girth;<br /> +With horsey wink and saucy toss<br /> +A youngster throws his leg across,<br /> +And so, his rider on his back,<br /> +They lead him, limping, to the track,<br /> +Far up behind the starting-point,<br /> +To limber out each stiffened joint.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 279px;"> +<a name="illus-042" id="illus-042"></a><a href="images/illus-042-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-042.jpg" width="279" height="107" alt="Drawing of the horse with jockey being led away from the crowd" title="“They lead him, limping, to the track”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 290px;"> +<a name="illus-043" id="illus-043"></a><a href="images/illus-043-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-043.jpg" width="290" height="413" alt="Drawing of the horse cantering along the race track rail" title="“To limber out each stiffened joint”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">As through the jeering crowd he past,<br /> +One pitying look old Hiram cast;<br /> +“Go it, ye cripple, while ye can!”<br /> +Cried out unsentimental Dan;<br /> +“A Fast-Day dinner for the crows!”<br /> +Budd Doble’s scoffing shout arose.</p> + +<p class="poem">Slowly, as when the walking-beam<br /> +First feels the gathering head of steam,<br /> +With warning cough and threatening wheeze<br /> +The stiff old charger crooks his knees;<br /> +At first with cautious step sedate,<br /> +As if he dragged a coach of state;<br /> +He’s not a colt; he knows full well<br /> +That time is weight and sure to tell;<br /> +No horse so sturdy but he fears<br /> +The handicap of twenty years.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>As through the throng on either hand<br /> +The old horse nears the judges’ stand,<br /> +Beneath his jockey’s feather-weight<br /> +He warms a little to his gait,<br /> +And now and then a step is tried<br /> +That hints of something like a stride.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 276px;"> +<a name="illus-045" id="illus-045"></a><a href="images/illus-045-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-045.jpg" width="276" height="267" alt="Drawing of the horse trotting past the grandstands" title="“Something like a stride”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">“Go!”—Through his ear the summons stung<br /> +As if a battle-trump had rung;<br /> +The slumbering instincts long unstirred<br /> +Start at the old familiar word;<br /> +It thrills like flame through every limb—<br /> +What mean his twenty years to him?<br /> +The savage blow his rider dealt<br /> +Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt;<br /> +The spur that pricked his staring hide<br /> +Unheeded tore his bleeding side;<br /> +Alike to him are spur and rein,—<br /> +He steps a five-year-old again!</p> + +<p class="poem">Before the quarter pole was past,<br /> +Old Hiram said, “He’s going fast.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>Long ere the quarter was a half,<br /> +The chuckling crowd had ceased to laugh;<br /> +Tighter his frightened jockey clung<br /> +As in a mighty stride he swung,<br /> +The gravel flying in his track,<br /> +His neck stretched out, his ears laid back,<br /> +His tail extended all the while<br /> +Behind him like a rat-tail file!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 270px;"> +<a name="illus-047" id="illus-047"></a><a href="images/illus-047-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-047.jpg" width="270" height="229" alt="Drawing from the rear of the horse heading down the race track, with people scattering in front" title="“A mighty stride he swung”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Off went a shoe,—away it spun,<br /> +Shot like a bullet from a gun;<br /> +The quaking jockey shapes a prayer<br /> +From scraps of oaths he used to swear;<br /> +He drops his whip, he drops his rein,<br /> +He clutches fiercely for a mane;</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 288px;"> +<a name="illus-048" id="illus-048"></a><a href="images/illus-048-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-048.jpg" width="288" height="241" alt="Drawing of the horse running down the track with the jockey holding on to the saddle, with the reins flying" title="“Off went a shoe”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">He’ll lose his hold—he sways and reels—<br /> +He’ll slide beneath those trampling heels!<br /> +The knees of many a horseman quake,<br /> +The flowers on many a bonnet shake,<br /> +And shouts arise from left and right,<br /> +“Stick on! Stick on!” “Hould tight! Hould tight!”<br /> +“Cling round his neck and don’t let <a name="corr02" id="corr02"></a>go—”<br /> +“That pace can’t hold,—there! steady! whoa!”<br /> +But like the sable steed that bore<br /> +The spectral lover of Lenore,<br /> +His nostrils snorting foam and fire,<br /> +No stretch his bony limbs can tire;<br /> +And now the stand he rushes by,<br /> +And “Stop him!—stop him!” is the cry.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 298px;"> +<a name="illus-050" id="illus-050"></a><a href="images/illus-050-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-050.jpg" width="298" height="471" alt="Head-on drawing of the horse running past the grandstands, the jockey has his arms wrapped around the horse's neck" title="“And now the stand he rushes by”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Stand back! he’s only just begun,—<br /> +He’s having out three heats in one!</p> + +<p class="poem">“Don’t rush in front! he’ll smash your brains;<br /> +But follow up and grab the reins!”<br /> +Old Hiram spoke. Dan Pfeiffer heard,<br /> +And sprang impatient at the word;<br /> +Budd Doble started on his bay,<br /> +Old Hiram followed on his gray,<br /> +And off they spring, and round they go,<br /> +The fast ones doing “all they know.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 275px;"> +<a name="illus-051" id="illus-051"></a><a href="images/illus-051-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-051.jpg" width="275" height="114" alt="Drawing of horses running down the track" title="“And off they spring”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<a name="illus-052-1" id="illus-052-1"></a><a href="images/illus-052-1-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-052-1.jpg" width="277" height="101" alt="Drawing of the pack of horses chasing after the leader" title="“They follow at his heels”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">Look! twice they follow at his heels,<br /> +As round the circling course he wheels,<br /> +And whirls with him that clinging boy<br /> +Like Hector round the walls of Troy;<br /> +Still on, and on, the third time round!<br /> +They’re tailing off! they’re losing ground!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 233px;"> +<a name="illus-052-2" id="illus-052-2"></a><a href="images/illus-052-2-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-052-2.jpg" width="233" height="116" alt="Drawing of the lead horse pulling away from the pack" title="“They’re losing ground”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Budd Doble’s nag begins to fail!<br /> +Dan Pfeiffer’s sorrel whisks his tail!<br /> +And see! in spite of whip and shout,<br /> +Old Hiram’s mare is giving out!<br /> +Now for the finish! at the turn,<br /> +The old horse—all the rest astern,—<br /> +Comes swinging in, with easy trot;<br /> +By Jove! he’s distanced all the lot!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 282px;"> +<a name="illus-053" id="illus-053"></a><a href="images/illus-053-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-053.jpg" width="282" height="228" alt="Drawing of the horse coming to the grandstands with the pack far behind" title="“He’s distanced all the lot”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 279px;"> +<a name="illus-054" id="illus-054"></a><a href="images/illus-054-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-054.jpg" width="279" height="219" alt="Drawing of a group of men comparing watches" title="“Some took his time”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">That trot no mortal could explain;<br /> +Some said, “Old Dutchman come again!”<br /> +Some took his time,—at least they tried,<br /> +But what it was could none decide;<br /> +One said he couldn’t understand<br /> +What happened to his second hand;<br /> +One said 2.10; <i>that</i> couldn’t be—<br /> +More like two twenty two or three;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>Old Hiram settled it at last;<br /> +“The time was two—too dee-vel-ish fast!”</p> + +<p class="poem">The parson’s horse had won the bet;<br /> +It cost him something of a sweat;<br /> +Back in the one-hoss shay he went;<br /> +The parson wondered what it meant,<br /> +And murmured, with a mild surprise<br /> +And pleasant twinkle of the eyes,<br /> +“That funeral must have been a trick,<br /> +Or corpses drive at double-quick;<br /> +I shouldn’t wonder, I declare,<br /> +If brother—Jehu—made the prayer!”</p> + +<p class="poem">And this is all I have to say<br /> +About that tough old trotting bay.<br /> +Huddup! Huddup! G’lang!—Good-day!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 292px;"> +<a name="illus-056" id="illus-056"></a><a href="images/illus-056-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-056.jpg" width="292" height="457" alt="Drawing of the horse being hitched to the chaise, surrounded by the race track crowd" title="“Back in the one-horse-shay he went”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Moral for which this tale is told:<br /> +A horse <i>can</i> trot, for all he’s old.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 118px;"> +<a name="illus-057" id="illus-057"></a><a href="images/illus-057-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-057.jpg" width="118" height="181" alt="Drawing of the man standing by his horse" title="“A horse can trot, for all he’s old”" /></a> +</div> + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 262px;"> +<a name="illus-058" id="illus-058"></a><a href="images/illus-058-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-058.jpg" width="262" height="328" alt="Decorative" title="The BROOMSTICK TRAIN or The Return of the WITCHES" /></a> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 293px;"> +<a name="illus-059" id="illus-059"></a><a href="images/illus-059-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-059.jpg" width="293" height="163" alt="Drawing of a streetcar with witches on broomsticks flying in the sky above it" title="“Clear the track”" /></a> +</div> + +<h2 class="sectionhead">THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN</h2> + + +<p class="poem"><span class="smcap">Look</span> out! Look out, boys! Clear the track!<br /> +The witches are here! They’ve all come back!<br /> +They hanged them high,—No use! No use!<br /> +What cares a witch for a hangman’s noose?<br /> +They buried them deep, but they wouldn’t lie still,<br /> +For cats and witches are hard to kill;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>They swore they shouldn’t and wouldn’t die,—<br /> +Books said they did, but they lie! they lie!</p> + +<p class="poem">—A couple of hundred years, or so,<br /> +They had knocked about in the world below,<br /> +When an Essex Deacon dropped in to call,<br /> +And a homesick feeling seized them all;<br /> +For he came from a place they knew full well,<br /> +And many a tale he had to tell.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 303px;"> +<a name="illus-060" id="illus-060"></a><a href="images/illus-060-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-060.jpg" width="303" height="202" alt="Drawing of a man facing a group of witch ghosts" title="“An Essex Deacon dropped in to call”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 290px;"> +<a name="illus-061-1" id="illus-061-1"></a><a href="images/illus-061-1-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-061-1.jpg" width="290" height="101" alt="Drawing of a long barn" title="“The old dwellings”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">They long to visit the haunts of men,<br /> +To see the old dwellings they knew again,<br /> +And ride on their broomsticks all around<br /> +Their wide domain of unhallowed ground.</p> + +<p class="poem">In Essex county there’s many a roof<br /> +Well known to him of the cloven hoof;<br /> +The small square windows are full in view<br /> +Which the midnight hags went sailing through,</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 268px;"> +<a name="illus-061-2" id="illus-061-2"></a><a href="images/illus-061-2-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-061-2.jpg" width="268" height="141" alt="Drawing of a witch witch, with a black cat on top of her hat, holding a broom, climbing out a window" title="“The small square windows”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">On their well-trained broomsticks mounted high,<br /> +Seen like shadows against the sky;<br /> +Crossing the track of owls and bats,<br /> +Hugging before them their coal-black cats.</p> + +<p class="poem">Well did they know, those gray old wives,<br /> +The sights we see in our daily drives:<br /> +Shimmer of lake and shine of sea,<br /> +Brown’s bare hill with its lonely tree,<br /> +(It wasn’t then as we see it now,<br /> +With one scant scalp-lock to shade its brow;)<br /> +Dusky nooks in the Essex woods,<br /> +Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes,<br /> +Where the tree-toad watches the sinuous snake<br /> +Glide through his forests of fern and brake;</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 293px;"> +<a name="illus-063" id="illus-063"></a><a href="images/illus-063-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-063.jpg" width="293" height="478" alt="Drawing of a hag walking down a dark forest path" title="“Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Ipswich River; its old stone bridge;<br /> +Far off Andover’s Indian Ridge,<br /> +And many a scene where history tells<br /> +Some shadow of bygone terror dwells,—<br /> +Of “Norman’s Woe” with its tale of dread,</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 272px;"> +<a name="illus-064" id="illus-064"></a><a href="images/illus-064-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-064.jpg" width="272" height="345" alt="Drawing of a ship being swamped at by waves" title="“Norman’s Woe”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 271px;"> +<a name="illus-065" id="illus-065"></a><a href="images/illus-065-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-065.jpg" width="271" height="208" alt="Drawing of a ghostly woman standing on a rock in water near the edge of the sea" title="“The Screeching Woman of Marblehead”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">Of the Screeching Woman of Marblehead,<br /> +(The fearful story that turns men pale:<br /> +Don’t bid me tell it,—my speech would fail.)</p> + +<p class="poem">Who would not, will not, if he can,<br /> +Bathe in the breezes of fair Cape Ann,—<br /> +Rest in the bowers her bays enfold,<br /> +Loved by the sachems and squaws of old?<br /> +Home where the white magnolias bloom,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>Sweet with the bayberry’s chaste perfume,<br /> +Hugged by the woods and kissed by the sea!<br /> +Where is the Eden like to thee?</p> + +<p class="poem">For that “couple of hundred years, or so,”<br /> +There had been no peace in the world below;<br /> +The witches still grumbling, “It isn’t fair;<br /> +Come, give us a taste of the upper air!<br /> +We’ve had enough of your sulphur springs,<br /> +And the evil odor that round them clings;<br /> +We long for a drink that is cool and nice,—<br /> +Great buckets of water with Wenham ice;</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 259px;"> +<a name="illus-066" id="illus-066"></a><a href="images/illus-066-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-066.jpg" width="259" height="103" alt="Drawing of the arms and heads of a group of witches reaching out their arms" title="“It isn’t fair”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">We’ve served you well up-stairs, you know;<br /> +You’re a good old—fellow—come, let us go!”</p> + +<p class="poem">I don’t feel sure of his being good,<br /> +But he happened to be in a pleasant mood,—<br /> +As fiends with their skins full sometimes are,—<br /> +(He’d been drinking with “roughs” at a Boston bar.)<br /> +So what does he do but up and shout<br /> +To a graybeard turnkey, “Let ’em out!”</p> + +<p class="poem">To mind his orders was all he knew;<br /> +The gates swung open, and out they flew<br /> +“Where are our broomsticks?” the beldams cried.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 301px;"> +<a name="illus-068" id="illus-068"></a><a href="images/illus-068-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-068.jpg" width="301" height="507" alt="Drawing of a group of witches surrounding the Devil" title="“You’re a good old-fellow-come, let us go”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">“Here are your broomsticks,” an imp replied.<br /> +“They’ve been in—the place you know—so long<br /> +They smell of brimstone uncommon strong;<br /> +But they’ve gained by being left alone,—<br /> +Just look, and you’ll see how tall they’ve grown.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 303px;"> +<a name="illus-069" id="illus-069"></a><a href="images/illus-069-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-069.jpg" width="303" height="300" alt="Drawing of a group of witches with their broomsticks flying over a streetcar" title="“See how tall they’ve grown”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 289px;"> +<a name="illus-070" id="illus-070"></a><a href="images/illus-070-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-070.jpg" width="289" height="163" alt="Drawing of a group of black witch's cats running to the witches" title="“They called the cats”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">—“And where is my cat?” a vixen squalled.<br /> +“Yes, where are our cats?” the witches bawled,<br /> +And began to call them all by name:<br /> +As fast as they called the cats, they came:<br /> +There was bob-tailed Tommy and long-tailed Tim,<br /> +And wall-eyed Jacky and green-eyed Jim,<br /> +And splay-foot Benny and slim-legged Beau,<br /> +And Skinny and Squally, and Jerry and Joe,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>And many another that came at call,—<br /> +It would take too long to count them all.<br /> +All black,—one could hardly tell which was which,<br /> +But every cat knew his own old witch;<br /> +And she knew hers as hers knew her,—<br /> +Ah, didn’t they curl their tails and purr!</p> + +<p class="poem">No sooner the withered hags were free<br /> +Than out they swarmed for a midnight spree;<br /> +I couldn’t tell all they did in rhymes,<br /> +But the Essex people had dreadful times.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 282px;"> +<a name="illus-071" id="illus-071"></a><a href="images/illus-071-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-071.jpg" width="282" height="138" alt="Drawing of four men running away from a witch" title="“The Essex people had dreadful times”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 296px;"> +<a name="illus-072" id="illus-072"></a><a href="images/illus-072-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-072.jpg" width="296" height="473" alt="Drawing of a man and woman looking up into the sky at the witches flying above them" title="“The withered hags were free”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">The Swampscott fishermen still relate<br /> +How a strange sea-monster stole their bait;<br /> +How their nets were tangled in loops and knots,<br /> +And they found dead crabs in their lobster-pots.<br /> +Poor Danvers grieved for her blasted crops,<br /> +And Wilmington mourned over mildewed hops.<br /> +A blight played havoc with Beverly beans,—<br /> +It was all the work of those hateful queans!<br /> +A dreadful panic began at “Pride’s,”<br /> +Where the witches stopped in their midnight rides,<br /> +And there rose strange rumors and vague alarms<br /> +’Mid the peaceful dwellers at Beverly Farms.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 298px;"> +<a name="illus-074" id="illus-074"></a><a href="images/illus-074-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-074.jpg" width="298" height="477" alt="Drawing of two men in a small boat with a strange creature on their line in the water" title="“A strange sea-monster stole their bait”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Now when the Boss of the Beldams found<br /> +That without his leave they were ramping round,<br /> +He called,—they could hear him twenty miles,<br /> +From Chelsea beach to the Misery Isles;<br /> +The deafest old granny knew his tone<br /> +Without the trick of the telephone.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 271px;"> +<a name="illus-075" id="illus-075"></a><a href="images/illus-075-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-075.jpg" width="271" height="259" alt="Drawing of the Devil dancing in the darkness" title="“They could hear him twenty miles”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">“Come here, you witches! Come here!” says he,—<br /> +“At your games of old, without asking me!<br /> +I’ll give you a little job to do<br /> +That will keep you stirring, you godless crew!”</p> + +<p class="poem">They came, of course, at their master’s call,<br /> +The witches, the broomsticks, the cats, and all;</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 293px;"> +<a name="illus-076" id="illus-076"></a><a href="images/illus-076-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-076.jpg" width="293" height="180" alt="Drawing of the witches and cats returning" title="“They came ... at their master’s call”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">He led the hags to a railway train<br /> +The horses were trying to drag in vain.<br /> +“Now, then,” says he, “you’ve had your fun,<br /> +And here are the cars you’ve got to run.<br /> +The driver may just unhitch his team,<br /> +We don’t want horses, we don’t want steam<br /> +You may keep your old black cats to hug,<br /> +But the loaded train you’ve got to lug.”</p> + +<p class="poem">Since then on many a car you’ll see<br /> +A broomstick plain as plain can be;<br /> +On every stick there’s a witch astride,—<br /> +The string you see to her leg is tied.<br /> +She will do a mischief if she can,<br /> +But the string is held by a careful man,<br /> +And whenever the evil-minded witch<br /> +Would cut some caper, he gives a twitch.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<a name="illus-078" id="illus-078"></a><a href="images/illus-078-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-078.jpg" width="300" height="199" alt="Drawing of a streetcar" title="“You can hear her black cat’s purr”" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="poem">As for the hag, you can’t see her,<br /> +But hark! you can hear her black cat’s purr,<br /> +And now and then, as a car goes by,<br /> +You may catch a gleam from her wicked eye.</p> + +<p class="poem">Often you’ve looked on a rushing train,<br /> +But just what moved it was not so plain.<br /> +It couldn’t be those wires above,<br /> +For they could neither pull nor shove;<br /> +Where was the motor that made it go<br /> +You couldn’t guess, <i>but now you know</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 302px;"> +<a name="illus-079" id="illus-079"></a><a href="images/illus-079-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-079.jpg" width="302" height="483" alt="Drawing of a witch, with her cat on her hat, flying on her broomstick in front of the moon" title="“Catch a gleam from her wicked eye”" /></a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">Remember my rhymes when you ride again<br /> +On the rattling rail by the broomstick train!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 174px;"> +<a name="illus-080" id="illus-080"></a><a href="images/illus-080-full.jpg"><img src="images/illus-080.jpg" width="174" height="245" alt="Decorative" title="The End" /></a> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chapbreak" /> + +<div class="tn"> +<p class="titlepage"><a name="trans_note" id="trans_note"></a><b>Transcriber’s Note</b></p> + +<p class="noindent">The following typographical errors were corrected.</p> + +<table style="margin-left: 0;" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="typos"> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">Page</td> + <td>Error</td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#corr01">9</a></td> + <td>one-hoss-shay</td> + <td>one-hoss shay</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#corr02">49</a></td> + <td>let go—</td> + <td>let go—”</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The One Hoss Shay, by Oliver Wendell Holmes + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ONE HOSS SHAY *** + +***** This file should be named 30279-h.htm or 30279-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/2/7/30279/ + +Produced by Julia Miller and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Project Gutenberg EBook of The One Hoss Shay, by Oliver Wendell Holmes + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The One Hoss Shay + With its Companion Poems How the Old Horse Won the Bet & + The Broomstick Train + +Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes + +Illustrator: Howard Pyle + +Release Date: October 18, 2009 [EBook #30279] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ONE HOSS SHAY *** + + + + +Produced by Julia Miller and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Y^e Deacon] + + + + + The One Hoss Shay + + _With its Companion Poems_ + + How the Old Horse Won the Bet + & + The Broomstick Train + + By Oliver Wendell Holmes + + _With Illustrations by_ + Howard Pyle + + [Illustration] + + _Boston and New York_ + Houghton, Mifflin and Company + The Riverside Press, Cambridge + M DCCC XCII + + + + + Copyright, 1858, 1877, 1886, and 1890, + BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. + + Copyright, 1891, + BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. + + _All rights reserved._ + + + _The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A._ + Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. + + + + +Preface + + +My publishers suggested the bringing together of the three poems here +presented to the reader as being to some extent alike in their general +character. "The Wonderful One-Hoss Shay" is a perfectly intelligible +conception, whatever material difficulties it presents. It is +conceivable that a being of an order superior to humanity should so +understand the conditions of matter that he could construct a machine +which should go to pieces, if not into its constituent atoms, at a given +moment of the future. The mind may take a certain pleasure in this +picture of the impossible. The event follows as a logical consequence of +the presupposed condition of things. + +There is a practical lesson to be got out of the story. Observation +shows us in what point any particular mechanism is most likely to give +way. In a wagon, for instance, the weak point is where the axle enters +the hub or nave. When the wagon breaks down, three times out of four, I +think, it is at this point that the accident occurs. The workman should +see to it that this part should never give way; then find the next +vulnerable place, and so on, until he arrives logically at the perfect +result attained by the deacon. + + * * * * * + +Unquestionably there is something a little like extravagance in "How the +Old Horse won the Bet," which taxes the credulity of experienced +horsemen. Still there have been a good many surprises in the history of +the turf and the trotting course. + +The Godolphin Arabian was taken from ignoble drudgery to become the +patriarch of the English racing stock. + +Old Dutchman was transferred from between the shafts of a cart to +become a champion of the American trotters in his time. + +"Old Blue," a famous Boston horse of the early decades of this century, +was said to trot a mile in less than three minutes, but I do not find +any exact record of his achievements. + +Those who have followed the history of the American trotting horse are +aware of the wonderful development of speed attained in these last +years. The lowest time as yet recorded is by Maud S. in 2.08-3/4. + + * * * * * + +If there are any anachronisms or other inaccuracies in this story, the +reader will please to remember that the narrator's memory is liable to +be at fault, and if the event recorded interests him, will not worry +over any little slips or stumbles. + + * * * * * + +The terrible witchcraft drama of 1692 has been seriously treated, as it +well deserves to be. The story has been told in two large volumes by +the Rev. Charles Wentworth Upham, and in a small and more succinct +volume, based upon his work, by his daughter-in-law, Caroline E. Upham. + +The delusion commonly spoken of, as if it belonged to Salem, was more +widely diffused through the towns of Essex County. Looking upon it as a +pitiful and long dead and buried superstition, I trust my poem will no +more offend the good people of Essex County than Tam O'Shanter worries +the honest folk of Ayrshire. + +The localities referred to are those with which I am familiar in my +drives about Essex County. + + O. W. H. + + _July, 1891._ + +[Illustration] + + + + +List of Illustrations + + + THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE. PAGE + The Deacon _Frontispiece._ + Half Title 11 + The Masterpiece 12 + "A chaise breaks down" 14 + "The Deacon inquired of the village folk" 16 + "Naow she'll dew" 18 + "She was a wonder, and nothing less" 19 + "Deacon and deaconess dropped away" 20 + "Eighteen Hundred" 21 + "Fifty-Five" 21 + "Its hundredth year" 22 + "A general flavor of mild decay" 23 + "In another hour it will be worn out" 24 + "The parson takes a drive" 25 + "All at once the horse stood still" 26 + "Then something decidedly like a spill" 27 + "Just as bubbles do when they burst" 28 + "End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay" 29 + + HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET. + Half Title 30 + "The famous trotting ground" 31 + "Many a noted steed" 32 + "The Sunday swell" 33 + "The jointed tandem" 34 + "So shy with us, so free with these" 35 + "The lovely bonnets beamed their smiles" 36 + "I'll bet you two to one" 37 + "Harnessed in his one-hoss-shay" 38 + "The sexton ... led forth the horse" 40 + "A sight to see" 41 + "They lead him, limping, to the track" 42 + "To limber out each stiffened joint" 43 + "Something like a stride" 45 + "A mighty stride he swung" 47 + "Off went a shoe" 48 + "And now the stand he rushes by" 50 + "And off they spring" 51 + "They follow at his heels" 52 + "They're losing ground" 52 + "He's distanced all the lot" 53 + "Some took his time" 54 + "Back in the one-hoss shay he went" 56 + "A horse _can_ trot, for all he's old" 57 + + THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN. + Half Title 58 + "Clear the track" 59 + "An Essex Deacon dropped in to call" 60 + "The old dwellings" 61 + "The small square windows" 61 + "Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes" 63 + "Norman's Woe" 64 + "The Screeching Woman of Marblehead" 65 + "It isn't fair" 66 + "You're a good old--fellow--come, let us go" 68 + "See how tall they've grown" 69 + "They called the cats" 70 + "The Essex people had dreadful times" 71 + "The withered hags were free" 72 + "A strange sea-monster stole their bait" 74 + "They could hear him twenty miles" 75 + "They came ... at their master's call" 76 + "You can hear her black cat's purr" 78 + "Catch a gleam from her wicked eye" 79 + Tail Piece 80 + +[Illustration] + + + + + _The_ + Deacon's Masterpiece + _or the_ + _Wonderful_ + One-Hoss-Shay + + _A Logical Story_ + + +[Illustration] + + + +The Deacon's Masterpiece + + + 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, + +[Illustration: "A chaise breaks down but doesn't wear out"] + + 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,-- + +[Illustration] + + 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! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "She was a wonder, and nothing less"] + + 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! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: 1800] + + 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. + +[Illustration: 1855] + +[Illustration] + + 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.) + +[Illustration] + + 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_! + +[Illustration] + + 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. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + 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,-- + +[Illustration: Then something decidedly like a spill] + + 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. + +[Illustration] + + End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay. + Logic is logic. That's all I say. + +[Illustration] + + + + + _How the_ Old Horse + _Won the_ + BET + + _Dedicated by a Contributor + to the_ Collegian + 1830 + _To the Editor of the_ Advocate + 1876 + + + + +[Illustration] + +HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET + + + 'T was on the famous trotting-ground, + The betting men were gathered round + From far and near; the "cracks" were there + Whose deeds the sporting prints declare: + The swift g. m., Old Hiram's nag, + The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer's brag, + With these a third--and who is he + That stands beside his fast b. g.? + Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name + So fills the nasal trump of fame. + +[Illustration] + + There too stood many a noted steed + Of Messenger and Morgan breed; + Green horses also, not a few; + Unknown as yet what they could do; + And all the hacks that know so well + The scourgings of the Sunday swell. + +[Illustration: The Sunday Swell] + + Blue are the skies of opening day; + The bordering turf is green with May; + The sunshine's golden gleam is thrown + On sorrel, chestnut, bay, and roan; + The horses paw and prance and neigh, + Fillies and colts like kittens play, + And dance and toss their rippled manes + Shining and soft as silken skeins; + Wagons and gigs are ranged about, + And fashion flaunts her gay turn-out; + Here stands,--each youthful Jehu's dream,-- + The jointed tandem, ticklish team! + +[Illustration] + + And there in ampler breadth expand + The splendors of the four-in-hand; + On faultless ties and glossy tiles + The lovely bonnets beam their smiles; + (The style's the man, so books avow; + The style's the woman, anyhow;) + From flounces frothed with creamy lace + Peeps out the pug-dog's smutty face, + Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye, + Or stares the wiry pet of Skye;-- + O woman, in your hours of ease + So shy with us, so free with these! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: On faultless ties and glossy tiles + The lovely bonnets beam their smiles] + + "Come on! I'll bet you two to one + I'll make him do it!" "Will you? Done!" + + What was it who was bound to do? + I did not hear and can't tell you,-- + Pray listen till my story's through. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Scarce noticed, back behind the rest, + By cart and wagon rudely prest, + The parson's lean and bony bay + Stood harnessed in his one-horse shay-- + Lent to his sexton for the day; + (A funeral--so the sexton said; + His mother's uncle's wife was dead.) + + Like Lazarus bid to Dives' feast, + So looked the poor forlorn old beast; + His coat was rough, his tail was bare, + The gray was sprinkled in his hair; + Sportsmen and jockeys knew him not, + And yet they say he once could trot + Among the fleetest of the town, + Till something cracked and broke him down,-- + The steed's, the statesman's, common lot! + "And are we then so soon forgot?" + Ah me! I doubt if one of you + Has ever heard the name "Old Blue," + Whose fame through all this region rung + In those old days when I was young! + + "Bring forth the horse!" Alas! he showed + Not like the one Mazeppa rode; + Scant-maned, sharp-backed, and shaky-kneed, + The wreck of what was once a steed, + Lips thin, eyes hollow, stiff in joints; + Yet not without his knowing points. + The sexton laughing in his sleeve, + As if 't were all a make-believe, + Led forth the horse, and as he laughed + +[Illustration] + + Unhitched the breeching from a shaft, + Unclasped the rusty belt beneath, + Drew forth the snaffle from his teeth, + Slipped off his head-stall, set him free + From strap and rein,--a sight to see! + +[Illustration] + + So worn, so lean in every limb, + It can't be they are saddling him! + It is! his back the pig-skin strides + And flaps his lank, rheumatic sides; + With look of mingled scorn and mirth + They buckle round the saddle-girth; + With horsey wink and saucy toss + A youngster throws his leg across, + And so, his rider on his back, + They lead him, limping, to the track, + Far up behind the starting-point, + To limber out each stiffened joint. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "To limber out each stiffened joint"] + + As through the jeering crowd he past, + One pitying look old Hiram cast; + "Go it, ye cripple, while ye can!" + Cried out unsentimental Dan; + "A Fast-Day dinner for the crows!" + Budd Doble's scoffing shout arose. + + Slowly, as when the walking-beam + First feels the gathering head of steam, + With warning cough and threatening wheeze + The stiff old charger crooks his knees; + At first with cautious step sedate, + As if he dragged a coach of state; + He's not a colt; he knows full well + That time is weight and sure to tell; + No horse so sturdy but he fears + The handicap of twenty years. + + As through the throng on either hand + The old horse nears the judges' stand, + Beneath his jockey's feather-weight + He warms a little to his gait, + And now and then a step is tried + That hints of something like a stride. + +[Illustration] + + "Go!"--Through his ear the summons stung + As if a battle-trump had rung; + The slumbering instincts long unstirred + Start at the old familiar word; + It thrills like flame through every limb-- + What mean his twenty years to him? + The savage blow his rider dealt + Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt; + The spur that pricked his staring hide + Unheeded tore his bleeding side; + Alike to him are spur and rein,-- + He steps a five-year-old again! + + Before the quarter pole was past, + Old Hiram said, "He's going fast." + Long ere the quarter was a half, + The chuckling crowd had ceased to laugh; + Tighter his frightened jockey clung + As in a mighty stride he swung, + The gravel flying in his track, + His neck stretched out, his ears laid back, + His tail extended all the while + Behind him like a rat-tail file! + +[Illustration] + + Off went a shoe,--away it spun, + Shot like a bullet from a gun; + The quaking jockey shapes a prayer + From scraps of oaths he used to swear; + He drops his whip, he drops his rein, + He clutches fiercely for a mane; + +[Illustration] + + He'll lose his hold--he sways and reels-- + He'll slide beneath those trampling heels! + The knees of many a horseman quake, + The flowers on many a bonnet shake, + And shouts arise from left and right, + "Stick on! Stick on!" "Hould tight! Hould tight!" + "Cling round his neck and don't let go--" + "That pace can't hold,--there! steady! whoa!" + But like the sable steed that bore + The spectral lover of Lenore, + His nostrils snorting foam and fire, + No stretch his bony limbs can tire; + And now the stand he rushes by, + And "Stop him!--stop him!" is the cry. + +[Illustration: "And now the stand he rushes by"] + + Stand back! he's only just begun,-- + He's having out three heats in one! + + "Don't rush in front! he'll smash your brains; + But follow up and grab the reins!" + Old Hiram spoke. Dan Pfeiffer heard, + And sprang impatient at the word; + Budd Doble started on his bay, + Old Hiram followed on his gray, + And off they spring, and round they go, + The fast ones doing "all they know." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Look! twice they follow at his heels, + As round the circling course he wheels, + And whirls with him that clinging boy + Like Hector round the walls of Troy; + Still on, and on, the third time round! + They're tailing off! they're losing ground! + +[Illustration] + + Budd Doble's nag begins to fail! + Dan Pfeiffer's sorrel whisks his tail! + And see! in spite of whip and shout, + Old Hiram's mare is giving out! + Now for the finish! at the turn, + The old horse--all the rest astern,-- + Comes swinging in, with easy trot; + By Jove! he's distanced all the lot! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + That trot no mortal could explain; + Some said, "Old Dutchman come again!" + Some took his time,--at least they tried, + But what it was could none decide; + One said he couldn't understand + What happened to his second hand; + One said 2.10; _that_ couldn't be-- + More like two twenty two or three; + Old Hiram settled it at last; + "The time was two--too dee-vel-ish fast!" + + The parson's horse had won the bet; + It cost him something of a sweat; + Back in the one-hoss shay he went; + The parson wondered what it meant, + And murmured, with a mild surprise + And pleasant twinkle of the eyes, + "That funeral must have been a trick, + Or corpses drive at double-quick; + I shouldn't wonder, I declare, + If brother--Jehu--made the prayer!" + + And this is all I have to say + About that tough old trotting bay. + Huddup! Huddup! G'lang!--Good-day! + +[Illustration: "Back in the one-horse-shay he went"] + + Moral for which this tale is told: + A horse _can_ trot, for all he's old. + +[Illustration] + + + + + The + + BROOMSTICK + TRAIN + + or + + The Return of the + WITCHES + + + + +[Illustration] + +THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN + + + Look out! Look out, boys! Clear the track! + The witches are here! They've all come back! + They hanged them high,--No use! No use! + What cares a witch for a hangman's noose? + They buried them deep, but they wouldn't lie still, + For cats and witches are hard to kill; + They swore they shouldn't and wouldn't die,-- + Books said they did, but they lie! they lie! + + --A couple of hundred years, or so, + They had knocked about in the world below, + When an Essex Deacon dropped in to call, + And a homesick feeling seized them all; + For he came from a place they knew full well, + And many a tale he had to tell. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + They long to visit the haunts of men, + To see the old dwellings they knew again, + And ride on their broomsticks all around + Their wide domain of unhallowed ground. + + In Essex county there's many a roof + Well known to him of the cloven hoof; + The small square windows are full in view + Which the midnight hags went sailing through, + +[Illustration] + + On their well-trained broomsticks mounted high, + Seen like shadows against the sky; + Crossing the track of owls and bats, + Hugging before them their coal-black cats. + + Well did they know, those gray old wives, + The sights we see in our daily drives: + Shimmer of lake and shine of sea, + Brown's bare hill with its lonely tree, + (It wasn't then as we see it now, + With one scant scalp-lock to shade its brow;) + Dusky nooks in the Essex woods, + Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes, + Where the tree-toad watches the sinuous snake + Glide through his forests of fern and brake; + +[Illustration: "Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes"] + + Ipswich River; its old stone bridge; + Far off Andover's Indian Ridge, + And many a scene where history tells + Some shadow of bygone terror dwells,-- + Of "Norman's Woe" with its tale of dread, + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + Of the Screeching Woman of Marblehead, + (The fearful story that turns men pale: + Don't bid me tell it,--my speech would fail.) + + Who would not, will not, if he can, + Bathe in the breezes of fair Cape Ann,-- + Rest in the bowers her bays enfold, + Loved by the sachems and squaws of old? + Home where the white magnolias bloom, + Sweet with the bayberry's chaste perfume, + Hugged by the woods and kissed by the sea! + Where is the Eden like to thee? + + For that "couple of hundred years, or so," + There had been no peace in the world below; + The witches still grumbling, "It isn't fair; + Come, give us a taste of the upper air! + We've had enough of your sulphur springs, + And the evil odor that round them clings; + We long for a drink that is cool and nice,-- + Great buckets of water with Wenham ice; + +[Illustration] + + We've served you well up-stairs, you know; + You're a good old--fellow--come, let us go!" + + I don't feel sure of his being good, + But he happened to be in a pleasant mood,-- + As fiends with their skins full sometimes are,-- + (He'd been drinking with "roughs" at a Boston bar.) + So what does he do but up and shout + To a graybeard turnkey, "Let 'em out!" + + To mind his orders was all he knew; + The gates swung open, and out they flew + "Where are our broomsticks?" the beldams cried. + +[Illustration: "You're a good old-fellow-come, let us go"] + + "Here are your broomsticks," an imp replied. + "They've been in--the place you know--so long + They smell of brimstone uncommon strong; + But they've gained by being left alone,-- + Just look, and you'll see how tall they've grown." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + --"And where is my cat?" a vixen squalled. + "Yes, where are our cats?" the witches bawled, + And began to call them all by name: + As fast as they called the cats, they came: + There was bob-tailed Tommy and long-tailed Tim, + And wall-eyed Jacky and green-eyed Jim, + And splay-foot Benny and slim-legged Beau, + And Skinny and Squally, and Jerry and Joe, + And many another that came at call,-- + It would take too long to count them all. + All black,--one could hardly tell which was which, + But every cat knew his own old witch; + And she knew hers as hers knew her,-- + Ah, didn't they curl their tails and purr! + + No sooner the withered hags were free + Than out they swarmed for a midnight spree; + I couldn't tell all they did in rhymes, + But the Essex people had dreadful times. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: "The withered hags were free"] + + The Swampscott fishermen still relate + How a strange sea-monster stole their bait; + How their nets were tangled in loops and knots, + And they found dead crabs in their lobster-pots. + Poor Danvers grieved for her blasted crops, + And Wilmington mourned over mildewed hops. + A blight played havoc with Beverly beans,-- + It was all the work of those hateful queans! + A dreadful panic began at "Pride's," + Where the witches stopped in their midnight rides, + And there rose strange rumors and vague alarms + 'Mid the peaceful dwellers at Beverly Farms. + +[Illustration: "A strange sea-monster stole their bait"] + + Now when the Boss of the Beldams found + That without his leave they were ramping round, + He called,--they could hear him twenty miles, + From Chelsea beach to the Misery Isles; + The deafest old granny knew his tone + Without the trick of the telephone. + +[Illustration] + + "Come here, you witches! Come here!" says he,-- + "At your games of old, without asking me! + I'll give you a little job to do + That will keep you stirring, you godless crew!" + + They came, of course, at their master's call, + The witches, the broomsticks, the cats, and all; + +[Illustration] + + He led the hags to a railway train + The horses were trying to drag in vain. + "Now, then," says he, "you've had your fun, + And here are the cars you've got to run. + The driver may just unhitch his team, + We don't want horses, we don't want steam + You may keep your old black cats to hug, + But the loaded train you've got to lug." + + Since then on many a car you'll see + A broomstick plain as plain can be; + On every stick there's a witch astride,-- + The string you see to her leg is tied. + She will do a mischief if she can, + But the string is held by a careful man, + And whenever the evil-minded witch + Would cut some caper, he gives a twitch. + +[Illustration] + + As for the hag, you can't see her, + But hark! you can hear her black cat's purr, + And now and then, as a car goes by, + You may catch a gleam from her wicked eye. + + Often you've looked on a rushing train, + But just what moved it was not so plain. + It couldn't be those wires above, + For they could neither pull nor shove; + Where was the motor that made it go + You couldn't guess, _but now you know_. + +[Illustration: "Catch a gleam from her wicked eye"] + + Remember my rhymes when you ride again + On the rattling rail by the broomstick train! + +[Illustration: The End] + + + + +Transcriber's Note + +The following typographical errors were corrected. + + Page Error + 9 one-hoss-shay changed to one-hoss shay + 49 let go-- changed to let go--" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The One Hoss Shay, by Oliver Wendell Holmes + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ONE HOSS SHAY *** + +***** This file should be named 30279.txt or 30279.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/2/7/30279/ + +Produced by Julia Miller and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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