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Before the Speedwell's anchor swung,
Ere yet the Mayflower's sail was spread,
While round his feet the Pilgrims clung, OR, THE WONDERFUL
The pastor spake, and thus he said:-

THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE;

:

"Men, brethren, sisters, children dear! God calls you hence from over sea; Ye may not build by Haerlem Meer, Nor yet along the Zuyder-Zee.

"Ye go to bear the saving word
To tribes unnamed and shores untrod:
Heed well the lessons ye have heard
From those old teachers taught of God.

"Yet think not unto them was lent
All light for all the coming days,
And Heaven's eternal wisdom spent
In making straight the ancient ways:

"The living fountain overflows

For every flock, for every lamb, Nor heeds, though angry creeds oppose, With Luther's dike or Calvin's dam."

He spake with lingering, long embrace, With tears of love and partings fond, They floated down the creeping Maas, Along the isle of Ysselmond.

They passed the frowning towers of Briel, The "Hook of Holland's" shelf of sand,

And grated soon with lifting keel

The sullen shores of Fatherland.

No home for these!- too well they knew The mitred king behind the throne;The sails were set, the pennons flew,

And westward ho! for worlds unknown.

- And these were they who gave us birth, The Pilgrims of the sunset wave, Who won for us this virgin earth,

And freedom with the soil they gave.

The pastor slumbers by the Rhine, —
In alien earth the exiles lie,
Their nameless graves our holiest shrine,
His words our noblest battle-cry!

"" ONE-HOSS SHAY.

A LOGICAL STORY.

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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,
In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,

still,

lurking

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 does n'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 could n break daown:

-"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t's mighty plain

Thut the weakes' place mus' stan the Little of all we value here

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Do! I tell you, I rather guess

She was a wonder, and nothing less! Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, Deacon and deaconess dropped away, Children and grandchildren, -where were they?

But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay

As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day! EIGHTEEN HUNDRED; - it came and found

The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound.

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.

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.)

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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,
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,

-

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