The procession having passed slowly along the front of each regiment, which, from the great extent of the square, occupied a considerable time, now drew off to the centre of what, if complete, would have constituted the fourth side of the parallelogram: there it halted. The coffin-bearers placed their burden on the ground and retired; the execution-party drew up at some distance from it. The prisoner left his doolie, and, accompanied by the clergyman, walked slowly and with a firm step towards the coffin; on this they both knelt, with their faces towards the troops, and prayed with uplifted hands. Profound was the silence. A soul was preparing for eternity! Being a spectator at large, I selected my position, and being close to the spot, saw all distinctly. After some time had been occupied in prayer, the chaplain retired, when the judge advocate, on horseback, came forward, and, drawing forth the warrant for the prisoner’s execution, read it with a firm and audible voice; at the conclusion, the chaplain once more advanced, and, kneeling on the coffin, again, with uplifted hands, and deep and impressive fervour, imparted the last spiritual consolations to the condemned. What feelings must have torn the bosom of that unhappy being at that moment! Set up as a spectacle before thousands—an ignominious death before him—and perhaps the thoughts of those he loved, of kindred and of home, never more to be seen, adding another drop to his cup of bitterness! But yet he quailed not—no muscle trembled—and a stern determination to die like a man was stamped upon his care-worn and marbly countenance. The tragedy was now drawing to a close. The chaplain, with apparent reluctance, rose and retired, and at the same moment the sergeant of the execution-party advanced and bound a handkerchief over the prisoner’s eyes, also pinioning his arms. Still not a muscle moved; there were no signs of weakness, though the situation might well have excused them, and the chest was thrown out and squared to receive the leaden messengers of death. The “make ready!” and the crack of the muskets as they were brought to the “recover,” were startling notes of preparation, and fell with sickening effect on my ear. I could scarcely believe it possible I was looking on a scene of reality—a fellow-creature about to be shot down, however deservedly, in cold blood, like a very dog. “Present!”—“fire!” and all was over. A mass of halls, close together, pierced his heart—over he went like a puppet—fell on his back, and never moved a limb. Life seemed borne away on the balls that went through him, and to have vanished with the speed of an electric spark.