“Supposing he were to touch the wrong spring, might not the knife come down, with the result not only of beheading him, but of making the world believe a most sensational suicide had been committed? “He shouted for help, and at length an attendant, followed by a crowd of visitors, appeared. “‘What is the matter?’ they asked in English; but the official was equal to the occasion, and turned it to good account. “_À l’aide! Au secours!_’ yelled the Parisian, who could only speak French. “‘A little patience,’ answered the other. “‘What does he say?’ was the general query. “‘Oh, it’s a part of his performance, ladies and gentleman. You see, Madame Tussaud is not satisfied with merely exhibiting the guillotine. She wishes to show you how it is actually worked.’ “This statement was greeted with general applause by everybody except the victim, who continued entreating to be released, whilst the impromptu lecturer calmly explained to the audience the practical working of the death-dealing machine. “‘Bravo! How well he acts!’ was the verdict, as the prisoner appealed frantically in a language which none else but the attendant understood. “Finally, on being at last released, he fainted. They brought him round with smelling-salts and cold water, and the first thing he did was to feel if his head was still safe. Satisfied on this point, he fled, without stopping to find his hat, and lost not an instant in starting at once for Paris.” I come now, by a sudden transition, to write of three notable shrieval servants whose occupation, however indispensable, was unsavoury. Calcraft, the first to be styled the “Yeoman of the Halter,” I had not the “pleasure” of knowing. We have the original signboard he used to exhibit outside his house. It is a framed piece of wood, about three feet by two feet, and it bears in black letters the following notice: J. CALCRAFT, Boot and Shoe Maker. Executioner to Her Majesty. His successor, Marwood, sat on several occasions for his model. [Illustration: WILLIAM MARWOOD, THE HANGMAN Modeled from life.] The executioner would sometimes visit the studios when his spirits were low, and a pipe and a glass of gin and water--his favourite beverage--were always at his service. Then he would go down to the Chamber of Horrors to see some of his old acquaintances around whose necks he had so delicately adjusted the fatal noose. He would stop before each one with a grim look, while his lips moved tremulously. “Put me there,” he once said after he had given a sitting. It was like a man choosing the site of his grave. His companion on these visits was a grizzled terrier. One day he came alone. “Your dog, Mr. Marwood--where is it?” he was asked. The old man was sad. “My poor old dog is dying--my dog that knew the business like a Christian and the inside of every prison in England; that has played with my ropes; that has caught rats in my business bags.”