Haun met his fate like a man. When under the scaffold, a drunken, lying chaplain rose up, and delivered a short address. Said he, "The poor, unfortunate young man, who is now about to pay the penalty of his crimes, says that he regrets his course, and that he was led into it through the influence of traitors. He is, therefore, deserving of your pity." As quick as thought Haun sprang to his feet, and in a much stronger and steadier tone than the lying villain beside him had made use of, said: "My fellow citizen, there is not one word of truth in what that man has told you. I have made no such concession. On the contrary, all that I have said and done, I have said and done after mature deliberation, and I would do the same again. I am here ready to be executed. Execute your purposes." He died like every Union man ought to die when called to face death by villains and traitors. My fellow citizens: I congratulate you upon the fact, now sufficiently clear, that the rebellion is now pretty well "played out." We will wind the thing up this spring and summer. They are nearly "out of soap" down South. They lack guns, clothing, boots and shoes. The boots I have on cost me $15 in Knoxville. They are out of hats, too. In Knoxville there is not a bolt of bleached domestic or calico to be had, nor a spool of Coat's thread, and, although "Cotton is King," we never made a spool of thread south of Mason and Dixon's line. Sewing needles and pins are not to be had. The blockade is breaking them up. It has been remarked on the streets of Knoxville, that no such thing as a fine-toothed comb was to be had, and that all the little secession heads were full of squatter sovereigns hunting for their rights in the territories. [Laughter and applause.]