a single sentence without shaking me to the very centre with roaring Fire.  We ran down to the drawing-room and put our heads out of window, and the Major calls to an unfeeling young monkey, scampering by be joyful and ready to split “Where is it?—­Fire!” The monkey answers without stopping “O here’s a lark!  Old Buffle’s been setting his house alight to prevent its being found out that he boned the Taxes.  Hurrah!  Fire!” And then the sparks came flying up and the smoke came pouring down and the crackling of flames and spatting of water and banging of engines and hacking of axes and breaking of glass and knocking at doors and the shouting and crying and hurrying and the heat and altogether gave me a dreadful palpitation.  “Don’t be frightened dearest madam,” says the Major, “—­Fire!  There’s nothing to be alarmed at—­Fire!  Don’t open the street door till I come back—­Fire!  I’ll go and see if I can be of any service—­Fire!  You’re quite composed and comfortable ain’t you?—­Fire, Fire, Fire!” It was in vain for me to hold the man and tell him he’d be galloped to death by the engines—­pumped to death by his over-exertions—­wet-feeted to death by the slop and mess—­flattened to death when the roofs fell in—­his spirit was up and he went scampering off after the young monkey with all the breath he had and none to spare, and me and the girls huddled together at the parlour windows looking at the dreadful flames above the houses over the way, Mr. Buffle’s being round the corner.  Presently what should we see but some people running down the street straight to our door, and then the Major directing operations in the busiest way, and then some more people and then—­carried in a chair similar to Guy Fawkes—­Mr. Buffle in a blanket!

My dear the Major has Mr. Buffle brought up our steps and whisked into the parlour and carted out on the sofy, and then he and all the rest of them without so much as a word burst away again full speed leaving the impression of a vision except for Mr. Buffle awful in his blanket with his eyes a rolling.  In a twinkling they all burst back again with Mrs. Buffle in another blanket, which whisked in and carted out on the sofy they all burst off again and all burst back again with Miss Buffle in another blanket, which again whisked in and carted out they all burst off again and all burst back again with Mr. Buffle’s articled young gentleman in another blanket—­him a holding round the necks of two men carrying him by the legs, similar to the picter of the disgraceful creetur who has lost the fight (but where the chair I do not know) and his hair having the appearance of newly played upon.  When all four of a row, the Major rubs his hands and whispers me with what little hoarseness he can get together, “If our dear remarkable boy was only at home what a delightful treat this would be for him!”