HELPS TO STUDY.
Notes and Questions.
What does the word nautilus mean?
What thought must have been in the mind of those who gave the chambered nautilus this name?
Who does Holmes tell us have given expression to this fancy?
Can you think of any bodies of water which might be called "enchanted gulfs"?
Give reasons for your answer.
What are coral reefs? Where are they found?
What kind of beings--were "sea-maids" supposed to be?
What are they more commonly called?
To whom is the poet speaking?
What name do we give to such a speech?
How does the soul build mansions?
In what directions must a dome be extended to make it "more vast"?
What does the poet mean by the "outgrown sh.e.l.l" of the soul?
What is the lesson of the poem?
Which stanza do you like best? Why?
Words and Phrases for Discussion.
"Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl"
"dim dreaming life"
"sunless crypt"
"caves of thought"
"l.u.s.trous coil"
"cast from her lap forlorn"
"low-vaulted past"
"irised ceiling"
"life"s unresting sea"
THE DEACON"S MASTERPIECE: OR THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY"
A LOGICAL STORY
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
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,--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,-- 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 ellum,"-- 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."-- "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 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 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.
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-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, 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?