We cannot follow the brave and valiant Wallace through his after career, and will but note his sad and unworthy fate. He was betrayed into Edward’s hands by Sir John Monteith, who had been his friend. Edward ordered Wallace to be carried in chains to London, where he was tried as a rebel or traitor, though he had never sworn fealty to England; and he was executed on Tower Hill. This barbarous cruelty of the English king only inflamed the Scots to fresh rebellions; and they now again sprang to arms, shouting, “Bruce to the rescue!” Robert Bruce had long resolved to attempt to free his enslaved country. The death of William Wallace, and the memory of his patriotic exhortation after the battle of Falkirk, on the banks of the river Carron, added fresh impetus to this resolve; and his open avowal could be no longer delayed on account of two incidents which happened about this time. Bruce had ventured to disclose this resolve to John Comyn, surnamed the Red, a powerful nobleman and warm friend. He found Comyn apparently in full accord with his avowed sentiments. But that nobleman afterwards treacherously revealed the secret to the English king. Edward did not immediately seize and imprison Bruce, because he desired also to ensnare his three brothers, who resided in Scotland. But he placed spies over Bruce; and a nobleman, Gilbert de Clare, one of the lords in Edward’s court, but also a friend of Robert Bruce, having learned of the danger which threatened him, and fearing to risk his own position by an open warning, sent Bruce a pair of golden spurs and a purse of gold by his servant, with this message: “My master sent these to thee, and bid me say, that the receiver would have sagacity enough to determine quickly to what use they should be put.” Bruce was not slow in taking the warning. Evidently, some one at court had betrayed him! Ah, he had it! surely it could be no other than the Red Comyn! There is a story told, that three days previous to this event, Robert Bruce was praying at the altar, in a chapel where afterwards stood St. Martin’s church. It was midnight, and Bruce was alone. With tearful eyes he exclaimed,— “Yes, at the foot of this high altar, I’ll swear forthwith to fling the yoke from off me, in spite of hostile man and misleading fiend; knowing that if I put trust in, and pay obedience to, the King of kings, my triumph shall be sure, my victory complete!” “Amen to that!” whispered a sweet and plaintive voice in the ear of the kneeling earl. Bruce sprang to his feet, exclaiming, “Who art thou?” But he saw only a muffled figure glide swiftly behind one of the pillars. Bruce pursued; but the same soft voice replied:—