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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. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. She mentally resolved to do her best to avoid personal encounters with him in that instant. Like the flaws of an old marble. "You are, Sir," thundered Jonathan; "and, unless you find him, you shan't hold your place a week. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking.
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