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. “He would never have found you out if you had not personated me. But I'll tell e'e what we might do——" The young man heard no more. ” He said as Cathy took his coat and alternately handed him back his bouquet of red roses. Or run me through. We mustn’t make it so. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter.
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