“There’s the whole situation. The mob pursued the thief-taker and his party all the way, and such missiles as could be collected were hurled at them. 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. Hurled over the sides of the skiff, the ruffian speedily found a watery grave. You know you don’t mean it. So it is that I do not do these things. "Put about, waterman, for God's sake!" cried Wood, whose humanity got the better of every personal consideration; "some one is overboard.
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