The Autocrat of the breakfast table

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1858 - American wit and humor - 373 pages
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Page 295 - 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...
Page 296 - 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...
Page 112 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new...
Page 298 - 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...
Page 295 - 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.
Page 107 - I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving: To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it, — but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.
Page 112 - THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.* This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
Page 313 - I care not much for gold or land; Give me a mortgage here and there — Some good bank-stock — some note of hand, Or trifling railroad share — I only ask that Fortune send A little more than I shall spend.
Page 202 - The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves Flows murmuring through its hidden caves, Whose streams of brightening purple rush, Fired with a new and livelier blush, While all their burden of decay The ebbing current steals away, And red with Nature's flame they start From the warm fountains of the heart.
Page 112 - And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell...

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