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. "No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge. It’s not like we’re getting married. "Good night!" "Blueskin," whispered Jack, in his natural tones, as the other passed him, "wait without.
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