The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. . 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. Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. "Because the prisoner's arrival might disturb you—ha! ha!" "I'll lay you twenty guineas you don't take him to-night," rejoined Austin.
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