ate instrument upon such occasions): and he also
considered that, when a rope was not at hand, there was no good reason
why his own silk cravat (being softer than an ordinary halter, and of
course less calculated to _hurt_ a man) should not be a more merciful
choke-band than that employed by any _Jack Ketch_ in the three kingdoms.

In pursuance of these benevolent intentions, the lieutenant, as a
preliminary step, first knocked down the suspected rebel from County
Kildare, which the weight of mettle in his fist rendered no difficult
achievement. His garters then did duty as handcuffs: and with the aid of
a brawny aide-de-camp (one such always attended him), he pinioned his
victim hand and foot, and then most considerately advised him to pray
for King George, observing that any prayers for his _own_ d--d _popish
soul_ would be only time lost, as his fate in every world (should there
be even a thousand) was decided to all eternity for having imagined the
death of so good a monarch.

During this exhortation, the lieutenant twisted up his long cravat so as
to make a firm, handsome rope, and then expertly sliding it over the
rebel's neck, secured it there by a double knot, drew the cravat over
his own shoulders, and the aide-de-camp holding up the rebel's heels,
till he felt him _pretty easy_, the lieutenant with a powerful chuck
drew up the poor devil's head as high as his own (cheek by jowl), and
began to trot about with his burden like a jolting cart-horse,--the
rebel choking and gulping meanwhile, until he had no further solicitude
about sublunary affairs--when the lieutenant, giving him a parting
chuck, just to make sure that his neck was broken, threw down his
load--the personal assets about which the aide-de-camp made a _present_
of to _himself_.

Now all this proceeding was very painstaking and ingenious: and yet the
ungrateful government (as Secretary Cook assured me) would have been
better pleased had the execution taken place on timber and with hemp,
according to old formalities.

To be serious:--this story is scarcely credible--yet it is a notorious
fact; and the lieutenant, a few nights afterwards, acquired the
_sobriquet_ which forms a head to this sketch and with which he was
invested by the upper gallery of Crow Street Theatre--nor did he ever
get rid of it to his dying-day.

The above _trotting_ execution (which was humorously related to me by an
eye-witness) took place in the barrack-yard at Kerry Hous