He was not particularly grateful for the present situation. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. 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.
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