THERE are times and seasons when sleep is never appropriate, and with
these may be classed the sleep of the good old Cincinnati deacon.
The deacon was the owner and overseer of a large pork-packing
establishment. His duty it was to stand at the head of the scalding
trough, watch in hand, to "time" the length of the scald, crying "Hog
in!" when the just slaughtered hog was to be thrown into the trough, and
"Hog out!" when the watch told three minutes. One week the press of
business compelled the packers to unusually hard labor, and Saturday
night found the deacon completely exhausted. Indeed, he was almost sick
the next morning, when church time came; but he was a leading member,
and it was his duty to attend the usual Sabbath service, if he could. He
went. The occasion was of unusual solemnity, as a revival was in
progress. The minister preached a sermon, well calculated for effect.
His peroration was a climax of great beauty. Assuming the attitude of
one intently listening, he recited to the breathless auditory:
"Hark, they whisper; angels say--
"_Hog in!_" came from the deacon's pew, in a stentorian voice. The
astonished audience turned their attention from the preacher. He went
on, however, unmoved--
"Sister spirit, come away."
"_Hog out!_" shouted the deacon, "_tally four_."
This was too much for the preacher and the audience. The latter smiled,
some snickered audibly, while a few boys broke for the door, to "split
their sides," laughing outside, within full hearing. The preacher was
entirely disconcerted, sat down, arose again, pronounced a brief
benediction, and dismissed the anything else than solemn minded hearers.
The deacon soon came to a realizing sense of his unconscious interlude,
for his brethren reprimanded him severely; while the boys caught the
infection of the joke, and every possible occasion afforded an
opportunity for them to say, "_Hog in!_" "_Hog out!_"