BALLAD OF DEACON PEASLEE

There was Uncle Ezry Cyphers and Uncle

Jonas Goff,

And Deacon Simon Peaslee, with his solemn

vestry cough;

Mis’ Ann Matilda Bellows and Aunt Almiry

Hunt,

—At all the social meetings they performed

their earnest stunt.

They were strong in exhortation, and pro-

foundly entertained

The belief that talking did it if a Heavenly

Home were gained.

So they rose on Tuesday evening, at Friday

meeting, too,

And informed their friends and neighbors what

the sinners ought to do;

They explained the route to Heaven and ex-

horted all to go

In the straight and narrow pathway through

the blandishments below;

They were good and they were earnest, but,

alas, a little tame,

For month by month and year by year their

talks were just the same,

Until the folks who’d listened all those many

years could start

And declaim those exhortations, for they had

’em all by heart.

And those old folks talked so constant there

was scarcely time to sing,

For they just let in regardless and monopolized

the thing.

Now, benign old Parson Johnson died at last.

There’s scarcely doubt

That those prosy dissertations sort of wore

the old man out.

And he promptly was succeeded ere the church

had dried its tears

By a cocky, youthful pastor, who was full of

new ideas.

Now, he sized the situation ere he’d been in

town a week,

And he set to work to fix it by a plan that was

unique,

For he saw unless he did so—and the Lord

allowed them breath,

Those devoted saints would surely talk that

wearied church to death.

So he came to Tuesday meeting and upon his

desk he placed

A nickeled teacher’s call-bell and blandly then

he faced

An astonished congregation and explained he

thought it best

To condense the exhortations so as not to

crowd the rest;

For he said that in the worship all the members

ought to share,

And monopoly of talking by the elders wasn’t

fair;

Therefore, each could have five minutes, and

he’d ring to let each know

When ’twas time to cut the discourse and give

t’other one a show.

There were scowls from Uncle Ezry—there

were grunts from Uncle Goff,

And Deacon Simon Peaslee gave a scornful

vestry cough.

Then he laid his cane beside him and he strug-

gled to his feet

And commenced his regular discourse in re-

gard to tares and wheat.

He was scarcely fairly going on the punish-

ments of hell

When the pastor smiled and nodded and ding-

clink-ling went the bell!

All the old folks gasped in horror and a titter

soft and low

Ran along the youthful sinners who were back

on Devil’s Row;

And for just a thrilling instant Deacon Simon

lost his force,

With astonished jaws a-gaping—then continued

on his course.

To the pastor’s youthful visage swept a sudden

flush of wrath,

As the obstinate old deacon brushed him calmly

from his path,

And with all the college muscle that he had at

his command

The parson cuffed the call-bell with a swift

and steady hand.

There was riot in the vestry—deacon vieing

with the bell,

As he strove to paint the terrors of the hot,

John Wesley hell,

Till at last he balked and stuttered, gasped a

while and tried to speak,

Then sat down with tears a-dropping through

the furrows on his cheek.

There he bent in voiceless anguish with his old

gray head bowed low,

While the hushed and pitying people mourned

to see him grieving so;

And the parson left the platform and contritely

crept across

To the side of Deacon Simon and expressed his

deep remorse.

But the deacon raised his visage, and, with tears

still streaming down,

Glared upon his trembling pastor with a fierce

and scornful frown.

“Drat yer hide,” roared Deacon Simon, “do

ye think that leetle bell

Scart a warrior sech as I am out of talking

truths on hell?

’Tain’t no passon sets me down, sah! ’Tain’t

no bell ye ever saw,

But ye went and got me narvous and ye’ve

made me eat my chaw.”

Then the deacon, stern and angry, arm in arm

with Jonas Goff,

And with Uncle Cyphers trailing, stalked in

righteous dudgeon off,

And the sympathizing parish held a meeting

there and then,

And extolled the absent deacon as the most

abused of men;

And the parson’s walking papers hit his neck

below the jaw

In about the same location that the deacon lost

his chaw.