how much more decent were it to make one's quietus under the merry
greenwood tree with a cord--"

He stops suddenly, holding his breath; and, almost simultaneously with a
sharp, rushing noise in the leaves overhead, something drops upon his
shoulder. He grasps it, cautiously feels of it, and, to his unspeakable
amazement, discovers that it is a rope apparently fastened to the
branches above!

"Wonderful!" he ejaculates, in an awe-stricken whisper. "Providence
helps a wretch to die, if not to live. At any other time I should think
this very strange, but just now I've got but one thing to do. Here's my
rope, here's my neck, and here goes!"

Heedless of everything but his dread intention, he rapidly ties the rope
about his throat, and is in the act of throwing forward his whole weight
upon it, when there is a sharp jerk of the rope, he is drawn up about
three feet in the air, and, before he can collect his thoughts, is as
abruptly let down upon his feet again. Simultaneously, a sound almost
like suppressed swearing comes very clearly to his ear, and he is
conscious of something dimly white in the profound darkness, not far
away.

"Sold again: signed, J. BUMSTEAD," exclaims a deep voice. "I thought the
rope was caught in a crotch; but 'twasn't. Try't once more."

The astounded hearer feels the rope tugging at his own neck again, and,
with a half comprehension of the situation, calls "Stop!" in a
suffocating voice.