" "Odd's me! do you think so?" cried the host of the Trumpeter. “I did it for love of you,” he said. 1703. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. 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. A pity, en effet, that she dare not truly desire him to rescue her.
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