a few miles on the road toward Edgeworth Town, till at a tenant’s house we heard that my father had passed half an hour ago; that he was riding in company with an officer, supposed to be of Lord Cornwallis’s or General Lake’s army; that they had taken a short cut, which led into Longford by another entrance:—­most fortunately, not that at which an armed mob had assembled, expecting the object of their fury.  Seeing him return to the inn with an officer of the King’s army, they imagined, as we were afterwards told, that he was brought back a prisoner, and they were satisfied.

’The moment we saw him safe, we laughed at our own fears, and again doubted the reality of the danger, more especially as he treated the idea with the utmost incredulity and scorn.

’Major (now General) Eustace was the officer who returned with him.  He dined with us; everything appeared quiet.  The persons who had taken refuge at the inn were now gone to their homes, and it was supposed that, whatever dispositions to riot had existed, the news of the approach of some of Lord Cornwallis’s suite, or of troops who were to bring in the French prisoners, would prevent all probability of disturbance.  In the evening the prisoners arrived at the inn; a crowd followed them, but quietly.  A sun-burnt, coarse-looking man, in a huge cocked hat, with a quantity of gold lace on his clothes, seemed to fix all attention; he was pointed out as the French General Homberg, or Sarrazin.  As he dismounted from his horse, he threw the bridle over its neck, and looked at the animal as being his only friend.

’We heard my father in the evening ask Major Eustace to walk with him through the town to the barrack-yard to evening parade; and we saw them go out together without our feeling the slightest apprehension.  We remained at the inn.  By this time Colonel Handfield, Major Cannon, and some other officers, had arrived, and they were at the inn at dinner in a parlour on the ground-floor, under our room.  It being hot weather, the windows were open.  Nothing now seemed to be thought of but rejoicings for the victory.  Candles were preparing for the illumination; waiters, chambermaids, landlady, were busy scooping turnips and potatoes for candlesticks, to stand in every pane of every loyal window.

’In the midst of this preparation, half an hour after my father had left us, we heard a great uproar in the street.  At first we thought the shouts were only rejoicings for victory, but as they came nearer we heard screechings and yellings indescribably horrible.  A mob had gathered at the gates of the barrack-yard, and joined by many soldiers of the yeomanry on leaving parade, had followed Major Eustace and my father from the barracks.  The Major being this evening in coloured clothes, the people no longer knew him to be an officer, nor conceived, as they had done before, that Mr. Edgeworth was his prisoner.  The mob had not contented themselves with the horrid