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"Good gracious! so I do," exclaimed his amiable consort. He had something across his knees. 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. The knife is at my breast. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. “It is true. Here you are, young, sound, with a heart that will recover in no time, provided you keep liquor out of it. Too late, alas, to stop the disastrous marriage.
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