Next morning the prisoners were to be dragged on sledges to Kensington Common, which was the place appointed for their execution. In the first sledge was the executioner, sitting over his pinioned victims with a drawn sword in his hand. No priest--no minister of religion attended them; and around the sledges followed thousands, some few expressing sympathy, but the majority following from curiosity, and others venting their execrations against all traitors. In the midst of the multitude was a hackney coach, following the sledges, and in it was the gentle Fanny Lester, accompanied by a relative and a female friend. They had endeavoured to persuade her from the fearful trial; but she was calm, resolute, and not to be moved, and they yielded to her wish. The coach drew up within thirty yards of the scaffold; Fanny pulled down the window, and leaning over it, she beheld the piles of faggots lighted around the scaffold--she saw the flames ascend, and the soldiers form a circle round them. She saw the victims leave the sledge; she looked upon him whom her heart loved as he mounted the place of death, and his step was firm, his countenance unmoved. She saw him join in prayer with his companions, and her eyes were fixed on him as he flung papers and his hat among the multitude. She saw the fatal signal given, and the drop fall--she heard the horrid shout, the yell that burst from the multitude, but not a muscle of her frame moved. She gazed calmly, as though it had been on a bridal ceremony. She beheld the executioner begin the barbarities which the law awards to treason--the clothes were torn from the victims; one by one they were cut down; and the finisher of the law with the horrid knife in his hand, proceeded to lay open their bosoms, and taking out their hearts, flung them on the faggots that blazed around the scaffold. The last spectacle of barbarity was James Dawson, and when the executioner had plunged the knife in his breast, he raised his heart in his hand, and holding it a moment before the horror stricken and disgusted multitude, he cast it into the flames, exclaiming, as he flung it from him, "God save King George!" Fanny beheld this--her eyes became blind--she heard not the shout of the multitude--she drew back her head into the coach--it dropped upon the shoulder of her companion. "My dear! I follow thee!--I follow thee!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together. "Sweet Jesus! receive both our souls together!" They attempted to raise her head, to support her in their arms, but she sank back lifeless. Her spirit had accompanied him it loved--she died of stifled agony and a broken heart. THE CATERAN OF LOCHLOY. "Were I to lose sight of my native hills, my heart would sink, and my arm would wither like fern i' the winter blast."--ROB ROY. "And so, my dear lads, you wish me to relate my passage with the Caterans of Lochloy?" said General Dangerfield. "Do, father; you will so oblige me," replied the younger of his two sons.