When N. was out last night another ambulance had a bad experience. They had fetched three wounded Sinn Feiners out of a house and were taking them to hospital, when they came under heavy fire; the driver was killed, so the man beside him took the wheel and was promptly wounded in both legs; the car then ran away and wrecked itself on a lamp-post. Another ambulance had to run the gauntlet and go to the rescue! On the whole, as far as possible the rebels have respected the Red Cross, but not the white flag. Guinness’s brewery have made three splendid armoured cars by putting great long boilers, six feet in diameter, on to their great motor lorries. Holes are bored down the sides to let in air, and they are painted grey; the driver sits inside too; they each carry twenty-two men or a ton of food in absolute security. N. saw them at the Castle being packed with men; nineteen got in, packed like herrings, and three remained outside; up came the sergeant. ‘Now then, gentlemen, move up, move up; the car held twenty-two yesterday, it must hold twenty-two to-day,’ and in the unfortunate three were stuffed. It must have been suffocating, but they were taken to their positions in absolute safety! _29th, Saturday, 4 p.m._—Sir M. N. has just rung up to say the rebels have surrendered unconditionally. We have no details, and the firing continues in various parts of the town; but if the leaders have surrendered it can only be a question of a few hours before peace is restored and we can go forth and look on the wreck and desolation of this great city. So ends, we hope, this appalling chapter in the history of Ireland, days of horror and slaughter comparable only to the Indian Mutiny. _April 30, Sunday, 10 a.m._—This morning we hear the reports of the burning of the whole of Sackville Street were exaggerated. The Imperial Hotel, Clery’s great shop, and one or two others were burnt, but the street as a whole escaped, and the Accountant’s Office and the Sackville Street Club were not touched.