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Sheppard. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. 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. Now, he had achieved them, and felt assured of success. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be.
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