see the widow Cabochard.” “Well, sir, here she is.” “I beg your pardon, but I wish to see the lady in person.” “Sir, I am the widow Cabochard.” “I don’t exactly understand you. I allude to the relict of the late Pierre Cabochard, whose monument I saw yesterday at the Père la Chaise.” “I see, I see,” was the smiling rejoinder. “Allow me to inform you that Pierre Cabochard is a myth, and therefore never had a wife. The tomb you admired cost me a good deal of money, and, although no one is buried there, it proves a first-rate advertisement, and I have had no cause to regret the expense. Now, sir, what can I sell you in the way of groceries?” The art of mingling mourning and money-making was still better illustrated in the following notice of a death in a Spanish paper:—
This morning our Saviour summoned away the jeweller, Siebald Illmaga, from his shop to another and a