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 a heat that scorched past enduring. It was, doubtless, under this feeling that Claverhouse ordered six of his dragoons to shoot him ere the last words were out of his mouth; but his prayers and conduct had disarmed them from performing such a savage action. They stood motionless. Fearing for their mutiny, Claverhouse snatched a pistol from his own belt, and shot him through the head. * * * And, while his troops slunk from the awful scene, he, like a beast of prey that tramples and howls over a fallen victim, insulted the tender-hearted wife, while she gathered up the shattered head, by taunting jeers:—"What thinkest thou of thy husband now, woman?" "I ever thought meikle good of him," said she, "and now more than ever." He, seeing her courage, said, "It were but justice to lay theothee [sic] beside him." She replied, "If ye were permitted, I doubt not your cruelty could go that length; but how will ye answer for this morning's work." With a countenance that belied his words, he answered, "To men I can be answerable, and as for God I will take him in my own hands." Thus saying, he hastily put spurs to his horse, and left her with the corpse. She tied up his head with her napkin, composed his body, covered it with her plaid, and when she had nothing further to do or contend with, she sat down on the ground, drew her children to her, and wept over her mangled husband.

The mourners of Priesthill did not long want friends. The report of the foul deed circulated rapidly, creating dismay and abhorrence. Who now could think themselves safe, when John Brown was thus treated, who was not otherwise obnoxious to Government than in not