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. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. Gazing at her with eyes blinded with tears, he imprinted one brotherly kiss upon her lips. “Gellett,” he called, “just come and clear up a mess, will you? I’ve smashed some things. Don't shake so.
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