his majesty's service, upon a pinch, as well as two posts and a crossbar
(the more legitimate 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_.