It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. But he did not find the sword of monsieur le major, for this sergeant would have recognised it and told me that I am arrested again. I’ve had enough of 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. A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes.
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