" "Who are you!" demanded the fugitive, sternly. Very well. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one. ‘En effet, it is for this that I was enquiring of this man if he has pen and paper. "Halloa!" cried Jack, looking round, and trying to fix his inebriate gaze upon the speaker,—"who's that?" "Your mother," replied Mrs. “I wish you didn’t. 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. We quickly drew up the documentation and made living arrangements for you and I. So I dare say I was christened Jack. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles.
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