Once more a line from your rough but affectionate son. Your letters have all duly reached me. I am happy to inform you that I am getting on capitally. I have the best of attention; and, what's more, a pretty young lady for my nurse. You know, father, that soldiers have an eye to pretty girls; but woe be to the man who would attempt to molest one of these dear creatures, for they are worth their weight in gold. I am able to stand up, I am happy to inform you; but I must not let my nurse see me, or the doctor would eat me. We found that the nation's heart was bleeding for her soldiers and sailors--a grateful country was roused by the before unheard-of privations and sufferings and the heroic stand that her sons were making. All, even our enemies, were compelled to admire the daring devotion and courage displayed by a mere handful of men, at the heights of Alma; all were compelled to applaud the conduct of our soldiers on the plains of Balaclava; and the stand made at Inkermann will be the theme of admiration for ages to come. England and the world admitted that every man had nobly done his duty, and that the conquerors on Inkermann's heights had every whit the courage and daring of their forefathers. I was now well able to take my walks abroad and have a good look at all the sights and scenes of Malta, and there are some grand sights to be seen--the Church of St. John, I suppose, is one of the grandest in the world. Then I used to wander around the vast fortifications day after day. Accounts kept coming in from the seat of war. We heard that our poor fellows were dying fast of starvation and cold; death was, in fact, raging through the camp at a fearful pace, and yet our men stuck to it. From letters I received from the front, it appeared the storm that had struck the Crimea had swept away nearly all our poor fellows' tents, and they had to get into caves in the rocks, and do the best they could on that terrible 14th November, 1854. The ship "Prince," with winter clothing for the whole army, had gone down just outside the harbour of Balaclava--all hands perished; and a number of other ships shared the same fate. The cold was something terrible, men were frost-bitten, daily losing fingers and toes, and undergoing such sufferings as no tongue or pen can describe. In December, 1854, and January and February, 1855, our poor fellows were dying like rotten sheep for want of the common necessaries of life--they had little or no food, hardly sufficient clothing to cover their nakedness, the tents were full of holes, and they had nothing but mud to lay their weary bones in, with the thermometer far below freezing point. Then, too, they often had to fight with desperation to hold their own. So, upon the whole, there was not a very bright prospect before me.