about 5 a.m., when our men were up, and then no more sleep. I wrote a number of letters that morning for poor fellows--some of whom were laid low before mid-day, and others struck down maimed, some to rise no more, long before sunset. * * * * * The following, though it was never forwarded, was written at this time, in anticipation that I should fall:-- Camp before Sebastopol, 2 a.m., 8th September, 1855. My Dear Parents, I feel that I must drop you a few lines. I came off the trenches at one o'clock this morning, to find that this town, which has given us so much trouble, and has already cost more lives than all the inhabitants of Norwich and its surroundings put together, is to be stormed to-day; long before this reaches you, or before the ink that I now use is hardly dry, hundreds, perhaps thousands, will have been launched into eternity. I feel it is an awful moment. I have repeatedly, during the last twelve months, been surrounded by death, and since the Alma have not known, honestly speaking, what fear is, as far as the enemy is concerned. But, dear parents, this is a solemn moment; thousands must fall--and we are told off to be in the thick of the fight. I feel confident that God's arm is not shortened, and into His protecting care I commit myself. I must be candid, there is a still small voice that tells me I shall fall, and if I do, I hope to meet you in a better world than this, where the nations shall learn war no more. I do not feel that I can say much, but let come what will, I am determined to try and do my duty for my Queen and Country. I am glad in one sense that this hour has come; we have looked for it for months, and long before the sun sets that is now rising, Sebastopol must be in our hands. I will now say good bye, dear and best of mothers; good bye, kind father; good bye, affectionate brothers and sisters. This letter will not be sent unless I fall; I have given it open into the hands of one of our sergeants who is in hospital wounded, and if I fall he has kindly offered to put a postscript to it and forward it. May the God of all grace bless you, dear parents, and help you to bear the pending blow. Believe me, ever Your affectionate son, T. GOWING, Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers. As I did not return to camp after the action, the comrade to whom I entrusted the letter added this postscript:--