‘I had not been many minutes at home, when I was startled by some one knocking at the door. Although I was conscious of having committed no fault, I felt alarmed, and my heart beat violently. On opening the window and looking out, I found it was Mr ——, the magistrate, with a party of soldiers. This at first confirmed my fears, but they were soon dispelled, for in answer to my inquiry, “what he wanted?” ‘“I would be obliged to you,” said he, “if you would get up and come along with me, for some rascals have set Rooney’s house on fire, and I am afraid have murdered some of its inmates.” ‘Having muffled myself in a cloak, I came down and accompanied him to the house, which I had left half an hour before. It was now one burning mass, shooting up showers of sparks into the air. Rooney’s son was with us, and in giving his relation to the magistrate, told what I have already related. ‘“They couldn’t get in upon us,” said he, “for we had thrown all the furniture into the passage, and had given them two or three shots, when one fellow pushed in with a lighted wisp in his hand, to set fire to the house; some of his own party knocked him down; but that did not save us, for they lighted the thatch of the house before they left the door. We then became desperate, and removing the things from the entry, pushed out, determined to live or die. The villains had escaped, but the whole roof was now in a blaze. There was no time to lose, and gathering our trembling, half-naked family together, we rushed into the field before the house. On looking round the children, my mother gave a scream ‘Oh, my little Jane!’ she cried, and sprang forward to the burning cabin. A little girl of four years of age had in the confusion been left in bed, where she was lying asleep, unconscious of the work of destruction going on. I instinctively followed my mother, and as she approached the door, I perceived a man burst from the burning house with the child—throw it into my mother’s arms, and immediately disappear. I was so struck with surprise, that I could not follow him, it seemed like the work of some supernatural being.” ‘We had now reached the house, where we found many of the neighbours assembled, and among them some, like myself, who had been there before. I was horror-struck at the dismal scene, and had there been any prospect of the least good being done by it, I would have had them all apprehended. ‘In going round the premises with the magistrate, we met the poor woman, who was strolling about, mourning the desolation of her dwelling. The light of the burning house fell full upon my face as we met—she started at me for a moment, and exclaimed, “Aren’t you the good gentleman who saved my child? O! God Almighty bless you, for it is yourself—I know you by the blood on your face.”—I was confounded,—the magistrate looked doubtfully at me. ‘“There is really blood on your face, Mr M’Carthy.”