tace is in danger!"

'The officers, who were at dinner, and who till that moment had
supposed the noise in the street to be only drunken rejoicings,
immediately ran out and rescued Major Eustace and my father. At the
sight of British officers and drawn swords, the populace gave way,
and dispersed in different directions.

'The preparation for the illumination then went on as if nothing had
intervened. All the panes of our windows in the front room were in a
blaze of light by the time the mob returned through the street. The
night passed without further disturbance.

'As early as we could the next morning we left Longford, and
returned homewards, all danger from rebels being now over, and the
Rebellion having been terminated by the late battle.

'When we came near Edgeworth Town, we saw many well-known faces at
the cabin doors looking out to welcome us. One man, who was digging
in his field by the roadside, when he looked up as our horses
passed, and saw my father, let fall his spade and clasped his hands;
his face, as the morning sun shone upon it, was the strongest
picture of joy I ever saw. The village was a melancholy spectacle;
windows shattered and doors broken. But though the mischief done was
great, there had been little pillage. Within our gates we found all
property safe; literally "not a twig touched, nor a leaf harmed."
Within the house everything was as we had left it--a map that we had
been consulting was still open upon the library table, with pencils,
and slips of paper containing the first lessons in arithmetic, in
which some of the young people had been engaged the morning we had
driven from home; a pansy, in a glass of water, which one of the
children had been copying, was still on the chimney-piece. These
trivial circumstances, marking repose and tranquillity, struck us at
this moment with an unreasonable sort of surprise, and all that had
passed seemed like an incoherent dream. The joy of having my father
in safety remained, and gratitude to Heaven for his preservation.
These feelings spread inexpressible pleasure over what seemed to be
a new sense of existence. Even the most common things appeared
delightful; the green lawn, the still groves, the birds singing, the
fresh air, all external nature, and all the goods and conveniences
of life, seemed to have wonderfully increased in value from the fear
into which we had been put of losing them irrevocably.

'The first thing my father did, the day