Thank God, there was one there with enough of the heart and feelings of a man, to be roused to energetic remonstrance by such malignant inhumanity. The Lieutenant of Hale's guard earnestly and successfully besought that these requests be granted. In the silent hours, so swiftly bearing him on to the verge of his dear and happy life, the strong soul of the martyr was permitted to write, for loved eyes its parting messages. Doubtless, one of these was to the sweet Alice Adams, the maiden to whom he was betrothed. On came the swift and fatal morning, and with it the diabolical Cunningham, eager to luxuriate in another's woe. Hale handed him the letters he had written; Cunningham at once read them, and, growing furious at their high spirit, _tore them to pieces before the writer's eyes_. He afterward gave, as his reason, "that the rebels should never know they had a man who could die with such firmness." Confronted by this representative of His Majesty, cheered by no voice of friendship, or even of sympathy, beset by the emblems and ministers of ignominious death, Hale stood on the fatal spot. His youthful face transfigured with the calm peace of a triumphant martyr; a life, suffused with religious sensibilities, and blooming with holy love, then and there culminated. The ritual of disgrace had been performed, and a single refinement of malice, was all that even Cunningham's ingenuity could devise; he demanded "a dying speech and confession." Humanity had begun to assert itself in the crowd of curious gazers, for pity was swelling up in many hearts, finding expression in stifled sobs. Firm and calm, glowing with purification and self-sacrifice, Hale seemed to gather up his soul out of his body, as, with solemn emphasis, he gave answer to this last demand of malignity: "_I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country._" Why have not we a sky-piercing monument, wherein is set a tablet of solid silver, whereon those words are printed in letters of pure gold? Honest Tunis Bogart, a witness of Hale's execution, said: "I have never been able to efface the scene of horror from my mind—it rises up to my imagination always." Ashar Wright, who was Hale's personal attendant, was so completely overwhelmed by his fate, that his understanding reeled from its throne, never to be fully reinstated. There was such lamentation among relatives, friends, and brother officers, when his death was learned, as betokened how he had endeared himself to all. His memory has been quietly cherished in many hearts. And ever, as the tide of time rolls on, his fame increases—his star sails steadily up among the immortal crowd of illustrious dead.