Marshall County Republican., 1872-07-18
Deacon Brown.
A D1ALzcr1c EXCUSE FOR A GOOD MAN.

DIALEcTIc EXCUSE FOR A GOOD MAN.
Its Deacon Brown yer askin' about?
He hahn been round for q year:
They planted him last kibbage time,
W Nhich is why he isn't here.
Fur p'raps you've observed as a gin raj thing
Thet thiz lyin under ground
Fur a year or two don't make one feel
Pretty much like sloshin' round.
His kerricter, eh? What. old Deac. Brown?
Well I'm ruther 'shamed to say
Tbet ne wasn't much the sort o. saint
Sot up by flarte and Hay.
He never cussed in his matt life
l mention this with consarn-
Ne didn't know how, though he might a know'd
Ell he'd cared to larn.
SEt it makes it rough fur the chap thet gets
The writin' of his biog
70 hev ter confess he's slingin' ink
Over slch a bump on log,
W ho didn't amount to shucks in arrow,
Who anever was out on tear,
Couldn't tell full from a pair;
Fgr the Deae. Just war a common cuss
o. the most ornariest kind,
Who never looked out o. the window o''sin,
And dursnt raise blind.
we've no ldee how parvarse he was,
I've hearn him remark-this limb
Ihet though he war raised in Christian land,
One wife war enough fur him.
His canal boat onc't-it was years ago
When drivers both druv and steerd l.
Run agln the bank lest above Penn Yam.
An some o the help got skeered.
The pilot sot in the ingin-room,
And felt Ills nozzle and swore,
But the Deac, spread hisselfat the gang plank
iandin the ladies ashore.
P'raps the Deac.. eff hid he'd the rearin' of some.
Would panned out better that trip;
Bat. co1siderin' of his broughtsns up.
He didn't quite lose his grip.
Onfortunet- like fur the Deac. an me,
He'd careful rsisin' to hum:
An yer can't 'spect much of a chap, yer know,
onless he sprouts from a slum.
Efhe'd been hieh-toned gambolier.
Or the rough Of mining camp
With bushel of sin in his kerricter,
An touch of Sairey Camp.
Or an injineer or an injun thar
Any KIND of a rum-histin' lout-
Per aps 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 stakes
And said goodbye 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 God.
Its queer how he fout at fredericksburg
The Deac. jest went in wet;
A prayin' an shootin.' an every time
tetchln his man, you bet.
Yet he wasn't sustained by the soothin' thought
That he'd knock d 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 filled 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 'em by that walnut tree
All chaps of the Deaeons stripe.
Wen cross over thar to the old mans grave,
And guess I'll be gettin then
Yet pardin, stranger. 1 alters unroof
At the grave O. that sort O. men.
I've been gassin away promiscus-like,
But now make bold ter say
1t don't foller on a mans sneak
Cause he lives in decent way.
know some folks reck'n contrary wise,
An sling their ink quite free,
But they hain't got holt the right end on it,
Accordin to my idee
An that's why I've sort O. been chippin' in.
p'eadin' the Deacon's excuse,
Fur you know we all can't be gamblers ant
thieves,
An all women needn't he loose