Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1872-08-03

DIALFCrIc EXCUSE FOR A GOOD MAN.
Its Deacon Brown yer askin' about?
He hain't been round for n year:
They planted him last kibbage time.
hich is why he isn't here
Fur pTaps you We observed as n gin raj thing
Thet this lyin under ground
Fur year or two don't ma kc one feel
Pretty much like sloshin round.
His kerricter, eh? What. old Dcac. Brown?
Well. I'm rnther 'shamed to say
Thet ne wasn't much the sort O. saint
Sot up by Harte and Hay.
He never cussed in his natral life
mention this with consarn-
He didn't know how. though he might knowd
Ell he'd a cared to larn.
But it makes il rough fur the chap tibet gets
The writin' of his bog
To hev ter confess he's slngin' ink
Over SIGH bump on log,
Who didn't amount to shucks in arrow,
who never was out on n tear, .
And for tacklin neat little game OF draw.
Couldn't tell full from a pair;
Fur the Deac. just war a common cuss
o. the most ornariest ind.
Who never looked out o. the window sin.
And dursn't raise a blind.
Ie've no idee how parvarse he was.
I've hearn him remark this limb
Thet though he war raised IN Christian lahd'
Ono wife war enough fur him.
His canal boat onc't-it was years ago
When drivers both druv and steerd
Run agin the bank lest above Penn Yam.
An some o. the help got skeercd.
The pilot sot in the ingin room.
And felt his nozzle and swore.
But the Deac spread hisself at the gang plank
A 1andin' the ladies ashore.
P'raps the Deac eff hid he'd the rcarin' of some.
Would apanned out better that trip;
He didn't quite lose his grip.
Onfortuuet like fur the Deac. an me-
He'd careful raisin' to hum;
An yer can't 'Spcct much of chap. yer know.
Onlcss he sprouts from slum.
IF he'd been high toned gambolicr.
Or the rough of mining camp.
With bushel of sin in his kerricter,
An n touch of Sairey Camp.
Or an injincer or an injun thar
;, Any kind of 4 rum histin' lout- ,
Per APPS he'd a done some pretty big thing
Fur me to be splur gin about
But he jest plugged on in a no count way.
leadin good squar life.
Till the war KEN on-then he pulled up stalk S
And said good bye to his wife.
I've hearn tell grittier man nor him
In battle never trod.
An he didn't let down in the face of Death.
Although he believed in a God.
It's queer how he fout at fredericksburg
The Deac. Jest went in wet
A prayin an shootin. an every time
A tetchin' his man. you bet.
Yet he wasn't sustained by the soothin' thought
When he fell October 'leventh
That he'd KNOCKED spots out the commandments.
An been special rough on the seventh.
Jest over beyond the turnip patch.
Some twenty holes yer can see,
That air Fl led by chaps who went from here
To fight gin General Lee
They went from here bout plantin time.
They KEN back when corn was ripe,
An we buried EN- by that walnut tree
All chaps of the Deacon's stripe.
Well cross over thar to the old mans grave.
And | guess I'll be gettin' then
Yet pardin. stranger. l alters unroof
At the grave o that sort O men.
I've beon gassin' away promscus-like,
But now | make bold ter say.
1t don't foller on mans a sneak
Cause he lives in a decent way.
| know some folks reck n contrary w,sc.
An sling their ink quite free,
But they hain't got holt the right ent on it.
Accordn to my idee
An that's why Eve sort o been chippin' in.
pleadin' the DeacOn's excuse,
Fur you know all can't be gamblers ant
thieves.
An all women needn't be loose.