I could see the bare-headed Clavers in front of his men, kicking and struggling up the steep sides of Calder hill. He halted only a moment on the top to look behind him, then plunged his rowels into his horse, and darted forward; nor did he recover from his panic till he found himself in the city of Glasgow. ‘And, my children,’ the Laird would say, after he had told the adventures of this bloody day, ‘I visited the field of battle next day; I shall never forget the sight. Men and horses lay in their gory beds. I turned away from the horrible spectacle. I passed by the spot where God saved my life in the single combat, and where the unhappy Captain Arrol fell, I observed that, in the subsequent fray, the body had been trampled on by a horse, and his bowels were poured out. Thus, my children, the defence of our lives, and the regaining of our liberty and religion, has subjected us to severe trials. And how great must be the love of liberty, when it carries men forward, under the impulse of self-defence, to witness the most disgusting spectacles, and to encounter the most cruel hardships of war!’ BATTLE OF BOTHWELL BRIDGE. “Heu! victa jacet pietas.” * * * After the ranks of the patriotic Whigs were broken by overwhelming forces, and while Dalzell and Clavers swept the south and west of Scotland like the blast of the desert, breathing pestilence and death--the individual wanderers betook themselves to the caves and fastnesses of their rugged country. This was their situation chiefly from A. D. 1680, to the Revolution. The Laird spent his days in seclusion; but still he fearlessly attended the weekly assemblies in the fields, for the worship of Almighty God. What had he to fear?--His estate had been confiscated. His wife and babes stript by the life guards of the last remnant of earthly comfort which they could take away; and himself doomed as an outlaw, to be executed by the military assassins when taken. He became reckless of the world.