A human bloodhound.

Jemmy O’Brien.

O’Brien, to whom Mr Macready refers, had obtained an unenviable notoriety for murder, burglary, and general chicane, when Major Sirr enlisted him in his service as a “bloodhound,” who, to quote the words of Curran, “with more than instinctive keenness pursued victim after victim.” “I have heard,” he added, “of assassinations by sword, by pistol, and by dagger; but here is a wretch who would dip the Evangelists in blood. If he thinks he has not sworn his victim to death, he is ready to swear without mercy and without end. But, oh! do not, I conjure you, suffer him to take an oath; the hand of the murderer should not pollute the purity of the gospel, or, if he will swear, let it be by the knife, the proper symbol of his profession.”

To trace O’Brien through the bloody track of his progress during “the reign of terror,” would prove a repulsive task. The following account of the circumstances which led to his end were given to us in 1854 by a gentleman connected with the Irish Executive. In the year 1800, O’Brien was deputed to scrutinise some persons who had assembled for the purpose of playing foot-ball near Stevens’ Lane. In scrambling over a fence which enclosed the field, assisted by an old man named Hoey, who happened to be on the spot, the cry of “O’Brien the informer” was immediately raised, the people fled, and O’Brien in his chagrin turned round and illogically wreaked his vengeance by stabbing Hoey to death.

He was tried for the crime, and sentenced to execution by Judge Day, who was a just judge in bad times, and disregarded the eulogiums with which Major Sirr belauded O’Brien during the trial. The delight of the populace was unbounded. A vast ocean of people surged round the prison and under the gallows. A delay occurred; the populace became impatient, and finally uneasy, lest the Government should have yielded to the memorial which was known to have been presented in his favour. A multitudinous murmur gradually gave place to a loud boom of popular indignation. The delay was caused by the cowardice of O’Brien, who shrank from his approaching doom. Prostrate on his knees, he begged intervals of indulgence according as the turnkey reminded him “that his hour had come;” At length Tom Galvin, the hangman, a person of barbarous humour, accosted him, saying, “Ah, Misther O’Brien, long life to you, sir, come out on the balcony, an’ don’t keep the people in suspense; they are mighty onasy entirely under the swing-swong.”

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