THE GHOST OF DEACON BROWN

In a backwoods town

Lived Deacon Brown,

And he was a miser old;

He would trust no bank,

So he dug, and sank

In the ground a box of gold,

Down deep in the ground a box of gold.

He hid his gold,

As has been told,

He remembered that he did it;

But sad to say,

On the very next day,

He forgot just where he hid it:

To find his gold he tried and tried

Till he grew faint and sick, and died.

Then on each dark and gloomy night

A form in phosphorescent white,

A genuine hair-raising sight,

Would wander through the town.

And as it slowly roamed around,

With a spade it dug each foot of ground;

So the folks about

Said there was no doubt

‘ Twas the ghost of Deacon Brown.

Around the church

This Ghost would search,

And whenever it would see

The passers-by

Take wings and fly

It would laugh in ghostly glee,

Hee, hee!— it would laugh in ghostly glee.

And so the town

Went quickly down,

For they said that it was haunted;

And doors and gates,

So the story states,

Bore a notice, “Tenants wanted.”

And the town is now for let,

But the ghost is digging yet.