Democratic Sentinel, Volume 10, Number 1, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 February 1886 — That Sausage. [ARTICLE]

That Sausage.

A clergyman in a Southern State was on his war to preach a funeral sermon. As he was passing the house of a widow lady, a member of his congregation, she ran out and stopped him, saying, as they had just slaughtered their hogs, she had put up a few pounds of sausage as a present, adding that, as she had put it in double paper pockets, she thought it would not soil his clothes. He thanked her earnestly for her kindness, and rode on, having put the parcel in his pocket. All the time he was officiating at the grave a large, half-starved hound kept snuffing around him, sometimes approaching alarmingly near, attracted by the scent of the fresh meat. As the deceased was a man of some prominence, there was a considerable crowd collected, and great mourning and lamentation came from the family group; so no one paid any attention to the movements of the animal, but all noticed with concern —"or he was beloved by his congregation—the great pallor of the clergyman, and the beads of perspiration standing upon his brow, and they began to whisper to each other that Mr. H must be ill.

After the interment they all proceeded to the church, where the funeral sermon was to be preached. Just before entering, Mr. H turned round to ascertain the whereabouts of his tormentor, when lo! there he was, not far from him, but the crowd prevented him from approaching too closely, Just at this moment some one gave the poor creature a cruel kick, which sent him off howling. When the minister reached his pulpit —one of those old-fashioned affairs ascended by a short, steep flight of steps—he breathed more freely. He was just about to commence his duties when the sexton, a good old man, came noiselessly up tho steps with a slip of paper in his hand, which he wished to give to the minister, but who was unnoticed by that gentleman, though seen by all the congregation. He gently twitched his coat to attract his attention. A thrill of horror passed over the unhappy preacher at the dreadful thought that the dog had entered unseen in the crowd, and was now about to take forcible possession of the sausage before the whole assembly ; so, hoping to drive him away, he kicked back cautiously but vigorously, and struck the old man in the breast, who rolled down the steps. Seeing the look of surprise and alarm on the faces of the audience, he stammered out, with crimson face: “I must explain to you, my brethren, what must seem my intemperate conduct. A friend came out to me, as I was passing her house, with a small package of sausage for me to carry home in my pocket; but ever since I dismounted from my horse this old dog”—pointing behind to the prostrate sexton, but without looking round—“has been following me, and at length came into the pulpit, and has been tugging at my coat, determined to get the sausage from my pocket.” At this moment the sexton, a little stunned and a little hurt, arose from the floor, and the minister at a glance took it all in, stared wildly at him, took a drink of water, turned very pale, and sat down, overwhelmed with consternation.— Editor’s Drawer , in Harper’s Magazine.