A gentleman in the country, who had just buried a rich relation who
was an attorney, was complaining to Foote, who happened to be on a
visit with him, of the very great expense of a country funeral in
respect to carriages, hat-bands, scarves, etc.
"Why, do you bury your attorneys here?" asked Foote gravely.
"Yes, to be sure we do; how else?"
"Oh, we never do that in London."
"No?" said the other much surprised, "how do you manage?"
"Why, when the patient happens to die, we lay him out in a room over
night by himself, lock the door, throw open the sash, and in the
morning he is entirely off."
"Indeed!" said the other in amazement; "what becomes of him?"
"Why, that we cannot exactly tell, not being acquainted with
supernatural causes. All that we know of the matter is, that there's a
strong smell of brimstone in the room the next morning."