"
"What do you think of a- hic-cup!- physician?"
"Don't mention them!- ugh! 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.
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