Church in Dublin. Mrs. Edgeworth writes:

When we set off from the church door for Edgeworthstown, the rebellion
had broken out in many parts of Ireland.

Soon after we had passed the second stage from Dublin, one of the
carriage wheels broke down. Mr. Edgeworth went back to the inn, then
called the Nineteen-mile House, [Footnote: Now Enfield: a railway
station.] to get assistance. Very few people were to be found, and a
woman who was alone in the kitchen came up to him and whispered, "The
boys (the rebels) are hid in the potato furrows beyond." He was rather
startled at this intelligence, but took no notice. He found an ostler
who lent him a wheel, which they managed to put on, and we drove off
without being stopped by any of _the boys._ A little farther on I saw
something very odd on the side of the road before us. "What is
that?"--"Look to the other side--don't look at it!" cried Mr. Edgeworth;
and when we had passed he said it was a car turned up, between the
shafts of which a man was hung--murdered by the rebels.

We reached Edgeworthstown late in the evening. The family at that time
consisted of the two Miss Sneyds, Maria, Emmeline, Bessy, Charlotte
(Lovell was then at Edinburgh), Henry, Sneyd, Honora, and William. Sneyd
was not twelve years old, and the other two were much younger. All
agreed in making me feel at once at home, and part of the family; all
received me with the most unaffected cordiality: but from Maria it was
something more. She more than fulfilled the promise of her letter; she
made me at once her most intimate friend; and in all the serious
concerns of life, and in every trifle of the day, treated me with the
most generous confidence.