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. Amongst others, a person near the door, roused by the shriek, observed a man make his exit with the utmost precipitation. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand.
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