Howdy GoldRushers and Listmom, I realize this is OFF-TOPIC - stand ready to take my punishment: scoulding, spankin', bed without dinner, or even banishment. And I won't/can't tell you why:-) .But I want to share, even though it has no goldrush connection, my most favorite poem, "The One Hoss Shay" or "The Deacon's Lament"- not 100% sure of its formal name. But Oliver Wendell Holmes - father of US Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.- was the author( published by Hougton, Mifflin & Co., Boston/NY,1892). My fascination with ole Wonderful One Hoss dates back to my teenage years. Recently I messed up a couple of times getting its text: first from my triva expert, KAREN <[email protected]>- lost the URL.. Later RUTHIE<[email protected]>, not trusting my leaky archives, snailed me a copy. My thanks to them both. NOW, I risk life, limb & your wrath:-)) - and post: " THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE 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 Braddocks'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 kxounry 'n' all the kentry raoun', It should be so built that it couldn' break down! 'Fur,' said the Deacon, 't's mighty plain Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain; 'n' the way t' fix it, ux I maintain, Is only jest T' make that place uz stron 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 thrills; The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees, The panels of whitewood, 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.' TO BE CONTINUED - Part !! - in just a minute You can always delete Part II:-)) Bob Norris in Dallas <BNorris166aol.com>