Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. That for you!" And she snapped her fingers in his face. If you’ll forgive my saying that, and implying what goes with it.
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