“Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. 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. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “these gentlemen are your friends, and therefore they are my friends.
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