‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings. 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. Both started. "How sweet these roses are! Shall I put them into water?" "Put them where they came from," replied Mrs. ‘Quickly! You must get up. It is very bad.
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