The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. Well, kill me. The worst was over now. 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 was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. ” “If it were all true,” he said doggedly, “it may still be possible.
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