Thursday, August 7, 2014

MULLINS THE AGNOSTIC



The Cortland Democrat, Friday, July 1, 1887.
Mullins the Agnostic.
(as told by Deacon Stillwater)
His name was William Mullins, and
  He had a sneerin' way
Of turnin' his proboscis up,
  At everything you'd say.
"Wall, now, how do you know?" said he;
  "Humph, now, how do you know?"
The way it closed the argument
  It wasn't by no means slow.

You might be talkin' social like
  With fellows at the store
On war or politics and sich,
  And you might have the floor
And be a-gittin' it down fine,
  Provin' that things was so.
When Mullins would stick his long nose in
  With "Humph, now, how do you know?"

I seen that critter set in church
  And take a sermon in.
And turn his nose up in a sneer
  At death and grace and sin.
With no regard for time or place
  With realms of endless woe.
He'd rise and burst the whole thing up
  With "Humph, now, how do you know?"

He cut his grass whenever it rained,
  He shocked his wheat up green,
He cut his corn behind the frost,
  His hogs was allus lean.
He built his stacks the big end up,
  His corn cribs big end down;
"Crooked as Mullin's roadside fence"
  Was a proverb in our town.

"The older he got the wuss he grew,
  and crookeder day by day;
The squint of his eyes would wind a clock,
  His toes turned out each way.
His boots and shoes were both of them lefts,
  The rheumatiz twisted so;
But if you said he didn't look well
  He'd growl, "Now, how do you know?"

And that darned grit led to his death--
  He was on the railroad track
Crossin' a bridge; I heard the train
  And yelled, "Mullins, come back!
The train's round the curve in sight!"
  Says he, "Humph, how do you know?"
I helped to gather him up in a pail
  The engine scattered him so.

I think it's best to have more faith
  In every-day concerns,
And not be allus a snoopin' round
  To get behind the returns.
A plain statement will do for me,
  A hint instead of a blow;
A coroner's jury may fetch out facts,
  But its rather late to know.

A. T. Worden.

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