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The Wonderful One-Hoss-Shay.

FIRST OF NOVEMBER,-the Earthquake-day.There are traces of age in the one-hoss-shay, A general flavour 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 hub3 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-tail'd, ewe-neck'd bay.
"Huddup!" said the parson.-Off went they.

The parson was working his Sunday's text,
Had got to fifthly, and stopp'd perplex'd
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?

2 Splinter-bar.

3 Nave.

The Wonderful One-Hoss-Shay.

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,-
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.

THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS.

W. M. THACKERAY.

ALLIANT gents and lovely ladies,
List a tail vich late befel,
Vich I heard it, bein on duty,

At the Pleace Hoffice, Clerkenwell.

Praps you know the Fondling Chapel,
Vere the little children sings:
(Lor! 1 likes to hear on Sundies
Them there pooty little things!)

In this street there lived a housemaid,
If you particklarly ask me where--
Vy, it vas at four and twenty,

Guilford Street, by Brunsvick Square.

Vich her name was Eliza Davis,

And she went to fetch the beer:

In the street she met a party

As was quite surprised to see her.

Vich he vas a British Sailor,

For to judge him by his look: Tarry jacket, canvass trowsies, Ha-la Mr. T. P. Cooke.

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You're so like my Sister Sally,

Both in valk and face and size; Miss, that-dang my old lee scuppers, It brings tears into my heyes!

"I'm a mate on board a wessel,
I'm a sailor bold and true;
Shiver up my poor old timbers,
Let me be a mate for you!

"What's your name, my beauty, tell me?" And she faintly hansers," Lore,

Sir, my name's Eliza Davis,

And I live at tventy-four."

Hofttimes came this British seaman,
This deluded gal to meet :
And at tventy-four was welcome,
Tventy-four in Guilford Street.

And Eliza told her Master,

(Kinder they than Missuses are), How in marridge he had ast her, Like a galliant British Tar.

And he brought his landlady vith him,
(Vich vas all his artful plan),
And she told how Charley Thompson
Reely vas a good young man.

And how she herself had lived in
Many years of union sweet,
With a gent she met promiskous,
Valkin in the public street.

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