unhappy man, and do not dip your hands in
his blood, nor rush into the very crime which you are desirous of
avenging!"

"Cut your sermon short--you are not in your pulpit," answered one of the
rioters.

"If we hear more of your clavers," said another, "we are like to hang you
up beside him."

"Peace--hush!" said Wildfire. "Do the good man no harm--he discharges his
conscience, and I like him the better."

He then addressed Butler. "Now, sir, we have patiently heard you, and we
just wish you to understand, in the way of answer, that you may as well
argue to the ashlar-work and iron stanchels of the Tolbooth as think to
change our purpose--Blood must have blood. We have sworn to each other by
the deepest oaths ever were pledged, that Porteous shall die the death he
deserves so richly; therefore, speak no more to us, but prepare him for
death as well as the briefness of his change will permit."

They had suffered the unfortunate Porteous to put on his night-gown and
slippers, as he had thrown off his coat and shoes, in order to facilitate
his attempted escape up the chimney. In this garb he was now mounted on
the hands of two of the rioters, clasped together, so as to form what is
called in Scotland, "The King's Cushion." Butler was placed close to his
side, and repeatedly urged to perform a duty always the most painful
which can be imposed on a clergyman deserving of the name, and now
rendered more so by the peculiar and horrid circumstances of the
criminal's case. Porteous at first uttered some supplications for mercy,
but when he found that there was no chance that these would be attended
to, his military education, and the natural stubbornness of his
disposition, combined to support his spirits.

"Are you prepared for this dreadful end?" said Butler, in a faltering
voice. "O turn to Him, in whose eyes time and space have no existence,
and to whom a few minutes are as a lifetime, and a lifetime as a minute."

"I believe I know what you would say," answered Porteous sullenly. "I was
bred a soldier; if they will murder me without time, let my sins as well
as my blood lie at their door."

"Who was it," said the stern voice of Wildfire, "that said to Wilson at
this very spot, when he could not pray, owing to the galling agony of his
fetters, that his pains would soon be over?--I say to you to take your
own tale home; and if you cannot profit by the good man's lessons, blame
not them that are still more merciful to