The village was a melancholy spectacle;
windows shattered and doors broken. But though the mischief done was
great, there had been little pillage. Within our gates we found all
property safe; literally "not a twig touched, nor a leaf harmed."
Within the house everything was as we had left it--a map that we had
been consulting was still open upon the library table, with pencils,
and slips of paper containing the first lessons in arithmetic, in
which some of the young people had been engaged the morning we had
driven from home; a pansy, in a glass of water, which one of the
children had been copying, was still on the chimney-piece. These
trivial circumstances, marking repose and tranquillity, struck us at
this moment with an unreasonable sort of surprise, and all that had
passed seemed like an incoherent dream. The joy of having my father
in safety remained, and gratitude to Heaven for his preservation.
These feelings spread inexpressible pleasure over what seemed to be
a new sense of existence. Even the most common things appeared
delightful; the green lawn, the still groves, the birds singing, the
fresh air, all external nature, and all the goods and conveniences
of life, seemed to have wonderfully increased in value from the fear
into which we had been put of losing them irrevocably.
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