On the left attack they were a little more fortunate, led on by the gallant 18th Royal Irish and the 9th, the Norfolk, Regiment. These regiments let the enemy know what they might expect if we could only get at close quarters with them. Major-General Eyre addressed them in Irish, and said that he hoped their deeds that morning would make many a cabin in Old Ireland ring again. The men of that regiment were wrought up to a state of madness, and on they went, right into the town, but, as the other attacks had proved failures, they likewise were compelled to retire, and lost a great number of men the like of which could not easily be replaced. The Royal Irish and the 9th were backed up by the 28th, 38th, and 44th Regiments, and as they carried all before them it was hard lines that they had to fight their way out of the town again. The Allies had been kept at bay for upwards of eight months--and out of all that vast army employed only two regiments managed to cut their way into Sebastopol on that terrible 18th June, and one of them was "the Holy Boys." Herein is another source of pride for Norfolk. Major-General Eyre's address had a wonderful effect upon the 18th Royal Irish, and it was not lost upon the Norfolk regiment. The fighting in the cemetery was desperate. Not a shot did those two noble regiments fire, but with a ringing cheer they dashed at the enemy. No powder was wasted, but the Russians were fairly pitched out of their works. Their general's appeal had touched them to the quick, and these gallant regiments seemed to vie with each other in the rapidity of their movements, and in their deeds of valour. A few prisoners were taken. One huge Grenadier, profusely bleeding, might have been seen dragging by the collar of his coat a monster of a Russian. Pat had fought and subdued his antagonist, and then remembered mercy, exclaiming, "Go it, lads; there are plenty more of them yonder. Hurrah for ould Ireland!" The bayonet was used with tremendous effect by these regiments; but the other attacks had been driven back, or, in other words, mowed down with a fearful slaughter, and could not close in with the enemy. The French lay in piles in front of the Malakoff, and the ground beyond our then front trench was saturated with some of the best blood of Britain. There lay some hundreds of those who had led the way up the heights of Alma, side by side with those who had taken a leading part in driving the Russians from the heights of Inkermann, who had fought with Vicars in the trenches, and, night after night and day after day, had kept the enemy at bay. Our gallant Blue Jackets lay in heaps. They had volunteered to carry the scaling ladders for us, "The Stormers," and I must pay them a tribute of respect, for they stuck to us well under great difficulties, carrying heavy ladders, and died almost to a man rather than let the enemy see their backs. "All honour to the bravest of