The Steyne was in a throng, as they jogged it along,

Madam hadn't been so "put to it" for many a day;

Old Nobbs, in quiet mood, was sleeping as he Her pleasure it was damped, and her person stood

(He might possibly be dreaming of his corn or hay);

Not a foot did he wag, so they whipt out every

rag,

somewhat cramped,

Doubled up beneath the apron of the onehorse shay.

XX.

And gutted the contents of the one-horse Oh, would that I were laid," Mr. Bubb in shay.

XV.

sorrow said,

"In a broad-wheeled wagon, well covered with hay!

When our pair were soused enough and re- I'm sick of sporting smart, and would take a

turned in their buff,

tilted cart

In exchange for this bauble of a one-horse shay.

XXI.

To find the empty state of the one-horse "I'd give half my riches for my worst pair of shay.

XVI.

breeches,

Or the apron that I wore last boiling-day;

"If I live," said she, "I swear I'll consult my They would wrap my arms and shoulders from

"Come, bundle in with me; we must squeeze So he wouldn't mend his pace, though they'd

XXIII.

Find it somewhere you must and willNow good people, laugh your fill, and fancy if Above or below, or within or withoutyou will, And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, (For I'm fairly out of breath and have had A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out. my say)

The trouble and the rout to wrap and get them But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do out, With an "I dew vam" or an "I tell yeou"), When they drove to their lodgings in their He would build one shay to beat the taown one-horse shay. 'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun'; It should be so built that it couldna' break daown:

XXIV.

The day was swelt'ring warm, so they took no cold or harm,

And o'er a smoking lunch soon forgot their | dismay;

But, fearing Brighton mobs, started off at night

with Nobbs,

To a snugger watering-place, in the onehorse shay.

By the late JOHN HUGHES, A. M.,

From Blackwood's Magazine, 1824.

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

A LOGICAL STORY.

-"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t's mighty plain
That the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain;
'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain,

T' make that place uz strong uz the rest.”
Is only jest

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 cross-bars 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 ellum "-

Have you never heard of the wonderful one- Last of its timber--they couldn't sell 'em.

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-
Stuffy 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 his one-hoss shay.

Now in building of chaises, I will tell you
what,

There is always somewhere a weakest spot-
In hub, tire, or felloe, in spring or thill,

In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,

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 linch-pin too,
Steel of the finest, bright and blue;

Thorough-broke 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.
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

In screw, bolt, thorough brace-lurking still, The deacon's masterpiece strong and scund.

Eighteen hundred increased by ten ;-
"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then.
Eighteen hundred and twenty came;-
Running as usual; much the same.
Thirty and forty at last arrive,
And then came fifty and FIFTY-FIVE.

Little of all we value here

Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year
Without both feeling and looking queer.
In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth,
So far as I know but a tree and truth.
(This is a moral that runs at large;
Take it you're welcome.-No extra charge.)

FIRST OF NOVEMBER-The Earthquake-day-
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.

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.
End of the wonderful one-hoss shay.
Logic is logic. That's all I say.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

DID NOT KNOW A NAME MORE ILLUS-
TRIOUS.

During the French Campaign in Italy, in which Napoleon I. first began to win the laurels which, subsequently, so abundantly crowned his career, in one of the early battles, a young Italian cavalry officer was taken prisoner. Having serious doubts about his safety, it occurred to him to pretend he was a great personage. So he promised rewards to his captors, if they would ensure his good treatment,

For the wheels were just as strong as the adding confidentially that he was 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!

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.

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

Duke of Modena. He was accordingly exceedingly well cared for, and early next morning was called before Napoleon, who was somewhat puzzled at finding two Dukes of Modena amongst his prisoners, for the real Duke was also a prisoner; which one was the Simon pure was very soon determined; because the Duke wrathfully asked his counterfeit by what authority he had assumed the title of Duke of Modena. The young officer answered, "Your Grace, the peril of my situation yesterday was such that had I known a more illustrious title, I would not have assumed yours," a reply which so pleased both the Duke and General Napoleon that he was forgiven his ingenious deceit.

THE SOUP STORY.

"HE'D BETTER HAVE SWALLOWED IT." He had "struck it rich," and deter

At half-past nine by the meet'n' house clock-mined on a visit to the East, and in ac

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!

cordance with this intent, had reached. Chicago. It was just before noon, when, having fixed himself a little in room 347, of the Palmer House, he sauntered down in search of the dining-room. He had not yet had time to adorn himself with

other liquid refreshments; and, by the time for retiring to rest he was so "happy" that we believe he would have forgiven the three waiters though they had said " 'soup" to him in chorus. By the aid of his companions he reached his bedroom, and they, having partially undressed him, bid him good-night, leaving his door slightly ajar. He was "too far

It happened that a poor fellow in the next room, No. 349, was extremely sick, and was attended by a professional nurse, who had instructions from his doctor to administer a clyster to his patient at midnight. This nurse had gone down to the bar-room to chat with some friends; and, on looking at the clock, discovered he was half an hour beyond his time; so, hurrying back to his patient, syringe in hand (having had the injection prepared in the drug-store below), he made all speed into the room and administered his mission. It happened, however, that he had struck No. 347 instead of 349, and our hero, who lay dreaming of soup, was sufficiently awakened from his drunken stupor to partially take in the situation: as he clapped his hand behind him, he roused long enough to mutter, "Great Scott! they've done it at last; I guess I'd better have swallowed it," and fell sound asleep again.

store clothes, but wanted dinner, and his "biled" shirt and his coarse useful Western attire to correspond, gave him rather the appearance of a frontier greenhorn. He found the dining-room door partially open, and, walking in, seated himself at the first table he came to. The waiters eyed him curiously, because he was a little ahead of time, but not so far ahead that they thought it worth while to ex-gone" even to shut it; so throwing himplain. The young man after making a self on the bed he was soon fast asleep. wondering inspection of the frescoes on the ceiling and walls, and a general survey of the elegant surroundings, thought it time to commence dinner, so he hailed one of the waiters, who came, carte in hand, and asked, "What soup, sir, will you have?" Our friend replied, “Don't want soup." Now, dinner being hardly ready, soup was a device to gain time; consequently, this abrupt, ungracious reply, and its tone, discouraged the waiter, who left him without saying a word. Another waiter, seeing him unattended, handed him a carte, and asked him" What soup, sir, will you have?" to which he received reply, "I just told that other feller I didn't want soup; bring me a nice, solid dinner, and be quick about it." Away sauntered the waiter, and, by this time, a few early lunchers, accustomed to take soup, began to drop in. The head waiter, seeing the young man sitting there still with nothing before him, stepped forward, tendering him a carte, and asked, "What soup will you have, sir?" This startled our friend, and he concluded they were "guying" him; so, looking sternly at the waiter, he said, "Look ye here, my friend, I'm perhaps a little rough to look at, but I guess I could buy your tarnation ranch; I came here for dinner, and don't want slops; I want a solid, square dinner; you're the third or fourth feller that's tried to crowd your swill on to me; what I want is a good square meal; if I can't get it here, I'll try to get it elsewhere." The waiter endeavored to explain to him exactly how the whole thing occurred, but did not succeed very well, and, although he sent him as square a meal as a man could wish, yet, when he went abroad in the afternoon to see the boys, the remembrance of the soup imposition was so uppermost in his mind that he bored his companions with it the whole time.

Although our hero was averse to soup, the same objection did not extend to

BEBEGI.

SHERIDAN COMPROMISING A DIFFI

CULTY.

One night, when leaving the House of Commons, as Sheridan was passing along Parliament street, having visited several "wine shades" in the course of the day, and feeling particularly "happy" and hilarious, he was hailed by a voice from the side-walk, "I say, sir! won't ye help a fellow up." Sheridan glanced at where the voice came from, saw what ailed the man in a moment, and, in a sympathetic mood, essayed to give the help asked for, but the experiment proving to him that he was in no condition to give the aid desired, he explained to his companion in difficulty: "See here, I can't help you up, but I'll tell you what I'll do, if you don't mind, I'll lie down beside you.'