The sun., 1903-11-18
SAUSAGE MAKERS CELEBRATE,
THEY DINE AND SING THE GREAT.
NESS OF THEIR ART.
Ephraim Medbury, the Only Yankee OF the
Craft. Sets the Rhythmical Ball Roll.
ing-Hymns TO the Dark Liver.
wurst and the Ruddy Frankfurter.


ing-Hymns TO the Dark Liver.
wurst and the Ruddy Frankfurter.
The Society Of Sausage Makers of Man
haitian dined last night at Fifty-eighth
street and Third avenue and the members
dropped into poetry to tell the glories of
their profession
There were eighty seven present, average
weight, 26s pounds Adolph Seidensticker,
the most Worthy Grand Link was toast
master. No attempt was made to shroud
in mystery the ingredients of the annual
feast, and the menu was printed in four
languages for the benefit Of all present.
The ices were served in little papier
mache sucking pigs and there was no
canine suggestion In any of the decorations,
although there was something Of the sort
in one Of the after dinner odes, The small
tables, which were arranged INK lashi0n
about three sides of the room. were prrettily
decorated with asparagus vine and gar
lands Of country sausage.
Ephraim Miedbury, the only Yankee
sausage maker IN Manhattan. responded
Confidence" he said, "is everything in
the business OF the world and we may con-
pratulate ourselves that we have the con-
fdence of the public in our wares. II Is
the fashion to make fun OF BARRIERS and saus-
| age, ana WUll6 DOtH tiCa'Nu Nce''
we know that the public still gets shaved
and eats our glistening cylinders of gas
| tronomic delight.
"Gentlemen, as you know, ! am lone
Yankee among you, native OF okownegan,
shall never forget when as lad in Maine
determined to be sausage maker, and
Tonight | stand before you as what you
might call a self-made sausage maker. IT
was on a frosty Sunday morning that ]
made up my mind on that morning eSegs
for breakfast. We ddn t call 1t country
sausage because II was the only kind we
knew. Well do l remember how the gar
lands looked hanging in the window OF the
village butcher shop, pale and colorless,
and how they curled and crinkled up and
became crisp and brown in the spider on
Sunday morning.
1T was on such a morning, gentlemen;
that l. with boyish independence. refused
a rich uncles offer to put me through Har-
ward and resolved to grow up and be
sausage maker.
toast on confidence and with the poet say
"Better eat all and be deceived,
And take pill for that deceiving.
Would be feast that cant be beaten"
The poem OF Ephraim Medbury, which he
said should be called Faith" gave courage
70 Fritz Binderbender. who said that he
had dashed off little something which he
called "An Ode on Eating Liverwurst.
There were Calls lCT tUS ode dlii
Binderbender, who was on the programme
for a toast on "How Old Is Blood Pudding
repeated these lines
The passionate hrst bite
OF that roll OF mystery came
And there rose upon our sight
a glow OF ethereal name.
And where the outer skin
Was lost In tender gray
Our palates sought to win
Nor did our teeth we stay
But on and on we bit
Through that cylinder OF Joy
And when. alas, we finished IL
Our taste II did not cloy
There was prolonged applause and in
their enthusiasm the sausage makers seized
the links on the tables and wound them
! about their heads. Medbury and Binder
bender had set the pace and the members
wouldn't listen to formal speech on b.
Products"
To restore order the Most Worthy Grand
Link Seidenstecker had TO add to the poetry
of the evening and he contributed the fol-
lowing Tribute to the Frankfurter':
They say that thou art
Lovely with the beer.
More lovely than In life
When in the kennels thrall
You trembled In the bench shows pail.
Some knives were lifted
And thou ddst appear
In meat rolled In sphere.
But in the loose meat
or clasped tight within the roll
still art thou Frankftlrter dear
And still ART lovely with the beer.