The Writings of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Volume 12

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1891
 

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Page 101 - 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...
Page 101 - So the Deacon inquired of the village folk Where he could find the strongest oak, That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke, — That was for spokes and floor and sills; He sent for lancewood to make the thills; The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees, The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these; The hubs of logs from the "Settler's...
Page 102 - Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. First a shiver, and then a thrill, Then something decidedly like a spill,— And the parson was sitting upon a rock, At half -past nine by the meet'n'-house clock,— Just the hour of the Earthquake shock!
Page 101 - 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'ta chance for one to start.
Page 11 - HAS there any old fellow got mixed with the boys ? If there has, take him out, without making a noise. Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite ! Old time is a liar ! We're twenty to-night ! We're twenty ! We're twenty ! Who says we are more ? He's tipsy, — young jackanapes ! — show him the door !
Page 101 - 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.
Page 87 - Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings : — Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low- vaulted past ! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
Page 101 - Last of its timber— they couldn't sell 'em. Never an axe had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lips, Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips ; Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, 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.
Page 101 - 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. 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...
Page 11 - That could harness a team with a logical chain; When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire, We called him "The Justice,

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