You must know
that, in a climate so sultry as mine, it is frequently impossible to
keep a spirit alive for more than two or three hours; and after death,
unless pickled
immediately
(and a pickled spirit is not good),
they will--smell--you understand, eh?
Poe - 5
ugh! ugh!" (Here his Majesty retched
violently.) "I never tasted but one--that rascal Hippocrates!--smelt of
asafoetida--ugh! ugh! ugh!--caught a wretched cold washing him in the
Styx--and after all he gave me the cholera morbus."
"The--hiccup--wretch!" ejaculated Bon-Bon, "the--hic-cup!--absorption of
a pill-box!"--and the philosopher dropped a tear.
"After all," continued the visiter, "after all, if a dev--if a gentleman
wishes to live, he must have more talents than one or two; and with us a
fat face is an evidence of diplomacy."
"How so?"
"Why, we are sometimes exceedingly pushed for provisions.
You must know
that, in a climate so sultry as mine, it is frequently impossible to
keep a spirit alive for more than two or three hours; and after death,
unless pickled
immediately
(and a pickled spirit is not good),
they will--smell--you understand, eh?
Putrefaction is always to be
apprehended when the souls are consigned to us in the usual way."
"Hiccup!--hiccup!--good God! how do you manage?"
Here the iron lamp commenced swinging with redoubled violence, and
the devil half started from his seat;--however, with a slight sigh, he
recovered his composure, merely saying to our hero in a low tone: "I
tell you what, Pierre Bon-Bon, we must have no more swearing."
The host swallowed another bumper, by way of denoting thorough
comprehension and acquiescence, and the visiter continued.
"Why, there are several ways of managing. The most of us starve: some
put up with the pickle: for my part I purchase my spirits vivente
corpore, in which case I find they keep very well."
"But the body!--hiccup!--the body!"
"The body, the body--well, what of the body?--oh! ah!