The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1866-08-10

"Let the doctor 90 his rounds and ioin us
at dinner at six. You can drive home by moon
light"
Thus it was settled. The doctor drove his
way, and was conducted to the scene of recent
slaughter.
Dear Rose She called me Frank, as she had
done twenty years ago, and her pleasure at the
meeting was honest and uniegned. She was in
the highest spirits. The children had gone on a
visit to neighbor, TO be out of the way in pig.
week, and she had nothing to divert her atten-
ton from the rig and me.
In large kitchen, seated about a table, were
about dozen girls, while several ladies' of ripper
years hovered about, bTandlshing large knives,
like scimitars, and the disabled Marie haunted,
Ike an unqmet spirit, the scene of her former
exploits.
Rose as she entered, armed herself hastily, as
If the pig were still alive and standing despe-
rately at bay. Then she introduced me, es an
old and valued friend, to most of the assembled
company, including the pastors daughter, the
projects widow, and the syndic's wife.
The schoolgirls we're merely neophytes and
had come to be initiated by the elder priest
esses INTO the mysteries of this horrible sacrifice.
! bowed to the ladies and to circumstances;
but there, stark and ghastlY, reClined upon the
table the miserable pig, and seemed to concen-
trate all my faculties, by horrible fascination,
upon itself.
/ was conscious of voice remarking CON.
placently that all had been "magnifquement
arrange" and that now they would begin, in
reply to which everybody sad "tres-bien,r and
so did |. remember that, STOPPING for my hat
hatchet slid into my hand.
Seeing that / was suspected, / took a stern
resolut on, and bracine my nerves up the occa-
son, determined to be priest, butcher, anything
but the object of rIdlCule OF the impatient
semby.
Let me beginw l said, striding forward,
and, waving my hatchet in the air, with wild
war.whoOp shut my ewes aud struck savage
blow. shIill scream arose. had missed the
brute's body, and only cut oil an ear.
Rose applauded my zeal, but, with some mis-
trust in my skill, undertook to direct my fur
ther operations. The Ratchet and the post OF
honor had (she sad) been unanimously assigned
TO me, aud must do my best.
l decline to state, minutely, to what that
amounted. | believe that, had the pig been
alive, and sensible of the playful havoc was
making with his carcase, | could scarcely have
suffered more. / cut and slashed and hacked
and hewed, conscious only of the one desire to
reduce the brute to the smallest possible dimen-
sions At length, whether excited by the com
mendatons received, or in obedience to some
| strange law OF our nature which ! have never
yet had time to investigate, IT, certainly came to
pass that began to experience certain sense
of satisfaction in the work. Time, dinner
everything was FORGOTTEN, except only the beautl-
tul proportions OF the pig-"OJu'n pg--iOr by
this time | had fairly adopted him, and was
| still the centre OF an admiring band executing
a chef d'G1tUTe of skill and elegance (cuttmg oil
| chops), when, casting my eyes round, became
| aware of the figure OF my friend the doctor
| standing at the door, and quveIing all over
| with suppressed laughter His presence broke
| the charm. But the work was done. The pig
| was dismembered from snOut TO tail. Covered
| with glory, resumed my coat, and sunk from
| the butcher to the man. Dear Rose and | parted
| the best of friends, but did not kiss her hand.
| Time passed rapidly away, and still the doc
tor found some new reason TO postpone our
| promised visit to my third Rose-Rose Grahame.
| At length one Sunday, after service, he led me
| through the vineyards saying this was our
| opportunity. We took familiar path, under
walnut trees, winding ever up and up till it led
| us out upon the hlli and to the cemetery, my
| than death, kept ever sacred, on the mountain
side.
We entered the well-known gates and pre-
| sen,ly were standing by the "Proscrit's" grave.
But what is this beside It? Another crave A
little one. A little marble cross a broken fly
and beneath,
'ROsE GRAHAME,
Ht. g."
AL the Year Round.