Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. 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. Understand me. A sinister thought edged in. ‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again. Sorry I’m a bit late the first evening. I want to be very plain with you. " "Never count your chickens till they're hatched," observed Mrs.
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