was now planned and written by Irving? Name Irving's other wellknown historical work, finished just before his death. What lighter book was written by Irving while in Spain? Why was this book so named? What political appointment did Irving receive in acknowledgment of his literary genius? To what man's influence was this appointment due? Why was Irving given this particular appointment rather than one of equal rank elsewhere? Upon the completion of this service and his return to America, where did Irving make his home? Where can we find his own description of this home? Why was Irving never married? Name the three leading characters of the selection studied in class. In what book did this story first appear? Name another famous story found in this book. Upon what class of writing does Irving's fame principally rest? Where and when did Irving die? Give a quotation from Irving.

THE ARROW AND THE SONG

I

SHOT an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE

(This humorous poem introduces to us one of the brightest and wittiest authors that our country has produced. Oliver Wendell Holmes was a physician as well as an author, and he believed that it is as necessary to laugh occasionally as it is to eat. You will get many a hearty laugh from his poems, and from The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, his most pleasing book. Dr. Holmes could be serious, too, and sometimes in his writings he mingles fun and sadness in a most surprising way. Be on the lookout for this strange combination in the two poems which follow this one, and in your further reading of Dr. Holmes' poems and books.)

AVE you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,°

HA

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,

*All words marked with a star are found in Pronunciation of Names at the back of the book.

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 beneath 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 or 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 come 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 might 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.