The Story of the Two Bulls — Reading Notes

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In Category - Fantasy Juvenile Worlds

Authors: Bolles, John R. (John Rogers), 1810-1895 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2004 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Children's poetry; Wit and humor, Juvenile; Bulls -- Juvenile poetry Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 4,600

Reading time 20 min

Text sections 1

The source record for The Story of the Two Bulls — Reading Notes measures this digital text at 4,600 words, 20 min estimated reading time, and 1 detected text section.

The text analysis averages about 22.2 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Children's poetry,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #10796

A 19th-century children's poem in which a deacon's purchase of a second bull sets up a comic confrontation, told in rhyming couplets with a wry narrative voice that undercuts the deacon's piety.

Editorial Edition Score 4.4/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg10796

Read the Text

Where was he, then? Perhaps you'll say In easy chair reclining, The glimmer of his spectacles, Upon his Bible shining.

Ah, no! See you that earnest man, With air so bold and free, Driving a spotted, warlike bull?-- That very man is he.

Left to himself, the deacon grave Tarried not long within, And, thinking of his sturdy beasts, Forgot his medicine.

"I hope the meeting will be full, And I shall not be missed," Softly he breathed, and, looking round, He murmured, "All is whist!"

Thus on he drove that spotted bull, And near the gateway placed him, And when the other one came out, It happened so, he faced him.

"When Greek meets Greek," the deacon said, "Then comes the tug of war;" But such another tug, I ween, The deacon never saw.

Like sudden thunderbolts they met, The spotted and the red. Those bulls will never fight again-- The spotted one is dead.

All gored and prostrate in his blood, He lies upon the ground, While the unsated red one toward The deacon made a bound.

Down from the bars where he was perched. Aghast, the good man sprung, And if you'd seen him go it, _then_, You'd said that he was young.

Still after him with fury The bull did rush and roar, And was very near the deacon When he reached the outer door.

Through kitchen and through parlor fine, Breathless, the poor man flew, And lo! the bull is at his heels And in the parlor too.

A flight of stairs is all that's left Between him and despair; He springs to gain the top, and falls, A sober deacon, there.

But to his ears terrific sounds Rise from the room below-- Tables and glasses, chairs and all, Crash, crash, together go!

Upon the wall a mirror hung, Of massive, gilded frame, Which had reflected many a squire And many a worthy dame.

There last, not least, the raging beast Descried his form at length, And deemed it was another bull Coming to try his strength.

He plunged to meet his threatening foe, But fought himself, alas! While all around in fragments flew The shattered looking glass!

"What will come next?" the deacon cries; "This is too much for one day: My rifle's loaded, and I'll try To stop this noise on Sunday."

With trembling hand he seized the gun, With wary step descended; He aimed, he fired, he killed the bull, And thus the battle ended.

To yonder house we turn again, And to the quiet throng The preacher now has said, Amen! Now ends the choral song.

And friendly speech and courtesies And shake of hands go round, And each inquires the other's health, All as in duty bound.

"How is your spouse?" the parson said; "I see he's not at meeting." "This morning, sir," the wife replied, "His heart was strangely beating.

"I hope you'll call and see him soon" "That I shall gladly do." "Ride down with us--the carriage waits; There's room enough for you."

All seated now, with solemn air, And with a placid smile, Such words of truth the parson spoke As might their fears beguile.

Lo! they alight, the gate in sight-- "What's that?" the matron said. Says Peter, "It's the spotted bull, And I believe he's dead."

Thus all, amazed, a moment gazed, And quickly turn about; In doleful plight, the deacon sighs, "Murder will surely out!

"Where shall I go? What shall I do? I'm caught--I am a sinner! My wife, good soul--my wife has brought The parson home to dinner!"

And with a little spice of wit, To which he was inclined, Though none to spare the deacon had, He thus relieved his mind:

"I've often heard the preacher say That good may come of evil; Still every hour, with all our might, We must resist the devil.

"If horn and hoof be any proof, And if the foot be riven, Surely I am the very man That with the beast has striven!"

Now hurried steps without are heard, And earnest voices blend; "I'm in a vice," the deacon groans-- "When will this torture end?"

Young Peter, being first within, For he had run ahead, Loudly exclaims, "Another bull Lies in the parlor, dead!"

They enter all, with hands upraised And faces filled with wonder-- There stood confessed the deacon's case, And all were struck with thunder.

The tale flew quickly round, and woke Much pity and more laughter; But not a word the deacon spoke Of his two bulls thereafter.

Listen! listen to my song, There is meaning in it; You may know it sha'nt be long-- Only half a minute.

Have you ever read the tale-- Have you heard the story-- How two bulls together fought On the field of glory?

Continue Reading →

John R. Bolles's The Story of the Two Bulls (1856) is a comic poem in rhyming couplets that follows Deacon R., a farmer whose pride in his spotted bull is pricked when he learns that Justice Moses Grimes owns a finer animal. The deacon buys the rival bull, but his plan to keep the beasts separate unravels on a Sunday when his household goes to church. The narrative voice is wry and detached, often undercutting the deacon's self-image: he claims to be a man of peace, yet the poem notes he always liked to see war among the beasts. The verse moves briskly, with short lines and a conversational tone that suits the mock-heroic treatment of a barnyard squabble.

The Deacon’s Double Mind

The poem opens by establishing Deacon R. as neither the worst man nor the best, and immediately ties his identity to his livestock: his brindle cow won the county fair, his horse Bonny Gray was once a racehorse, and his spotted bull is the pride of his heart. This catalog of animals does more than set the scene—it reveals the deacon’s values. He measures worth by prizes and appearances: the cow’s “taper limbs and rounded form,” the bull’s “back so straight, his breast so broad.” Yet his piety is a thin veneer. When he recalls Bonny Gray’s racing days, he adds a moral tag—“Alas! such sports are far from right”—only to undercut it with “But Bonny won the day!” The narrator’s parenthetical “for so he claimed” when calling the deacon a man of peace signals the gap between self-image and behavior. The deacon’s internal conflict on Sunday morning is rendered through simile: “Like birds of evil token, / Flew round and round the deacon’s mind— / Its holy peace was broken.” The language is precise, the irony gentle but persistent.

Rhyme, Rhythm, and the Comic Beat

Bolles writes in a steady iambic meter, mostly tetrameter and trimeter, with a regular abcb rhyme scheme. The rhythm is galloping, suited to the poem’s action and its mock-heroic tone. Short lines and frequent end-stops keep the pace quick, as in the negotiation scene: “I’ll take him at your price,” said he— / “Please drive him down to-morrow, / And you shall have the money, sir, / If I the cash can borrow.” The rhyme often lands on a punchy word—“after” / “laughter”—that reinforces the squire’s amusement. The narrator occasionally inserts a direct address (“Run, Peter, run for Bonny Gray”) that mimics oral storytelling. The poem’s voice is that of a wry observer who knows the deacon’s pretensions will be deflated. The comic timing depends on the contrast between the deacon’s solemn self-regard and the narrator’s dry asides, such as “The parson was a portly man— / The deacon loved to joke; / But afterwards, as it befell, / Was sorry that he spoke.”

Setting and the Unseen Showdown

The poem’s physical setting is tightly drawn: the deacon’s house, barn, and fields, with the church steeple visible “beyond the hills, distant a mile or two.” The deacon’s decision to stay home from meeting is motivated by a “curious fluttering” near his heart—a euphemism for his eagerness to watch the bulls fight. His wife offers to stay with him, but he insists she go, claiming a minor ailment. The poem builds anticipation by keeping the bulls offstage during the Sabbath morning. The reader knows the new bull has arrived and is penned in the barn, but the actual confrontation is deferred. The deacon’s thoughts circle around the question “How will the bulls together look, / And which will prove the stronger?” The narrator notes that it would be a sin to wish the time to pass, yet the deacon does exactly that. The setting—a quiet farm on a Sunday—contrasts with the impending violence, and the poem’s humor derives from the tension between the deacon’s religious observance and his worldly curiosity.

Bolles’s poem rewards attention to its verbal play and the narrator’s sly commentary. The deacon is not a villain but a recognizable type: a man whose self-deception is laid bare by his own actions. The verse form, with its clipped lines and unexpected rhymes, keeps the story moving while allowing room for ironic observation. Readers may note how the poem’s moral stance is never stated outright but emerges from the gap between what the deacon says and what he does.

That deacon’s pious bluster brought back my grandfather’s barn, where he’d mutter scripture at stubborn cows. I felt the same wry warmth rereading London Town — Inside the Classic, another gentle mockery of solemn pretensions. Both poems treat their characters’ foolishness as a kind of quiet music—not to laugh at, but to hum along with, unhurried, as evening settles.