no resources of language, or varieties
of incident, could invest them with interest, and he resolved to attend
them no more. Here, too, the reader will be willing to abandon them.
Since, they have often been repeated; but happily society has adopted
from reflection, what that gentle-hearted man, so powerful is habit,
required years to learn--that the executioner is an officer far less
useful, and the agent of a spirit far less just, than past ages have
deemed.[213]

At parting, it is proper to pay the tribute of history to the memory
of Dogherty, the hangman--a functionary who surpassed greatly the
common character of his order; and who, while he lived, contrived to
evade the detestation of his calling. There was no amateur gaiety in his
manner--no harshness in his speech. He accepted office when a prisoner,
to enjoy the quiet quarters of the gaol and liberation from ordinary
toil: he intended to resign it with his bondage, but the number of
candidates for his place, it is said, reconciled his mind to its
retention. Not in the spirit of menace, but defensive retort, he would
promise those by whom he was jeered, his most delicate attentions in
their last emergency. He was always willing to part with his provisions:
to divide his sugar and tea with the necessitous, and to perform errands
of kindness in their favor. No one could wield the lash with more mercy;
and it is said that once, an offender, sentenced to a public flogging,
received one stroke at starting, and the cart being driven by an
associate, a second at stopping. His predecessor was a different
character; and overcome with the misery of his condition, he committed
murder, that he might escape from life! Dogherty passed through the town
without fear of vengeance; although once, certain soldiers, his
countrymen, injured him, and left scars which he carried to the grave.
But what character is perfect? He was addicted to intemperance, and
commonly spent the day succeeding an execution in drunkenness. The
incredulous are assured, that this is not the language of fiction, but
the character commonly ascribed in sober earnest to this unfortunate
being.

The day will come, when the sacrifice of life, made with more
hesitation, will cease to be a public spectacle; when, if it is deemed
requisite to cut off from the earth the shedder of blood, the dreadful
doom will cease to amuse the brutal, or to offer a momentary excitement
to the unreflecting. Women will be no lon