I don't wish to eat it, and be turned into a mummy before my time." "You would make a really beautiful mummy," said Braddock, paying what he conceived was a compliment; "and, should you die, I shall certainly attend to your embalming, if you prefer that to cremation." "You dreadful man!" cried the widow, turning pale and shrinking.

"Why, I really believe that you would like to see me packed away in one of those disgusting coffins." "Disgusting!" cried the outraged Professor, striking one of the brilliantly tinted cases.

"Can you call so beautiful a specimen of sepulchral art disgusting?
Look at the colors, at the regularity of the hieroglyphics--why, the history of the dead is set out in this magnificent series of pictures." He adjusted his pince-nez and began to read, "The Osirian, Scemiophis that is a female name, Mrs.
Jasher--who--" "I don't want to have my history written on my coffin," interrupted the widow hysterically, for this funereal talk frightened her.

"It would take much more space than a mummy case upon which to write it.

My life has been volcanic, I can tell you.