You take a lot
of gums and spices, and first of all you lays out the deceased, and
next--"
"Yes, yes," the Parson interrupted hurriedly; "I know the process, of
course."
"What? to _practise_ it?" Hope illumined Mr. Jope's countenance.
"No, most certainly not. . . . But, my good man,--an embalmer! and at
Botusfleming, of all places!"
The sailor's face fell. He sighed patiently.
"That's what they said at Saltash, more or less. I got a sister
living there--Sarah Treleaven her name is--a widow-woman, and sells
fish. When I called on her this morning, 'Embalmer?' she said; 'Go
and embalm your grandmother!' Those were her words, and the rest of
Saltash wasn't scarcely more helpful. But, as luck would have it,
while I was searchin', Bill Adams went for a shave, and inside of the
barber's shop what should he see but a fair-sized otter in a glass
case? Bill began to admire it, and it turned out the barber had
stuffed the thing. Maybe your Reverence knows the man?--'A. Grigg
and Son,' he calls hisself."
"Grigg? Yes, to be sure: he stuffed a trout for me last summer."
"What weight, makin' so bold?"
"Seven pounds."
Mr.
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