But the Deacon swore, (as Deacon's do,

With an "I dew vum," or an "I tell yeou,")

He would build one shay to beat the taown

'n' the keountry '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."

quake-day.

the Earth

There are traces of age in the onehoss-shay,

A general flavor of mild decay,
But nothing local as one may say.
There couldn't be,- for the Dea-
con'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!

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-hossshay.

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

She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing

Ez hisn in the choir; My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring, She knowed the Lord was nigher.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,

When her new meetin'-bunnet Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair O' blue eyes sot upon it.

Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some!
She seemed to've gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.

She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu,
A-raspin' on the scraper,
All ways to once her feelin's flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.

He kin' o' l'itered on the mat,
Some doubtfle o' the sekle,
His heart kep' goin' pity-pat,
But hern went pity Zekle.

An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk
Ez though she wished him furder,
An' on her apples kep' to work,
Parin' away like murder.

"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" I come da

"Wal. no

She's sprinklin'

Agin to-morrer's i'nin'."

To say why gals act so or so,

Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; Mebby to mean yes an' say no Comes nateral to women.

He stood a spell on one foot fust,
Then stood a spell on t'other,
An' on which one he felt the wust
He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.

Says he, "I'd better call agin;"

Says she, "Think likely, Mister;" That last word pricked him like a pin, An' . . . Wal, he up an' kist her.

When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,

Huldy sot pale ez ashes,
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips
An' teary roun' the lashes.

yet.

They say he'll be rich,-when he grows up,

And then he adores me indeed.
And you,sir,are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off, as you read.

"And how do I like my position?" "And what do I think of New York?"

"And now, in my higher ambition, With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?" "And isn't it nice to have riches, And diamonds and silks, and all that?"

"And aren't it a change to the ditches

And tunnels of Poverty Flat?"