On the other a wretched engraving of the Chevalier de Saint George, or, as he was styled in the label attached to the portrait, James the Third, raised a suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture of Jacobitism.
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 farthing candle, stuck in a bottle neck, shed its feeble light upon the table, which, owing to the provident kindness of Mr.Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine.
"You've but a sorry lodging, Mrs.Sheppard," said Wood, glancing round the chamber, as he expanded his palms before the scanty flame.
"It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets." "Of course--of course," returned Wood, hastily; "anything's better than that.

But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good.

And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together.

When things are at the worst, they'll mend.