Once more a few lines from this miserable camp--mud! mud!! mud!!! We arrived here on the 8th, and at once marched up to the front; a number of my poor comrades I hardly knew--what a change! The old Fusiliers, once one of the finest corps in our service, now poor half-starved, miserable-looking wrecks of humanity. The older hands had still that unconquerable look about them, that it would be far cheaper for the enemy to build a bridge of gold for them to pass over, than to try and take them prisoners. We have plenty of work in the camp; and 'tis bleak, cold work in the trenches, standing up to our ankles in mud and water, with hardly sufficient food to keep body and soul together; as for the fighting, we never hear one word of murmuring about that. I came off the trenches last night; we had a brush at the enemy, but it was soon all over: our people were ready for them, and gave them a warm reception. I met with a Captain of the 97th (Vicars). He is, I do believe, a thorough Christian man. We had a long chat together. He appears to be a general favourite with his men. He held a prayer-meeting in the trench yesterday morning, and got as many men around him as he could. I like him very much. I do wish he belonged to us (the Fusiliers, I mean); he appears a good, earnest man, and not at all backward in standing up in his Master's name, trying to Extol the stem of Jesse's rod, And crown Him Lord of all, in this cold, bleak corner of the earth; but yet a most determined soldier for his country. Some of his sergeants told me yesterday morning that he had used his good sword the night previous about some of the enemy, and they did not think the doctors would be of much use after he had done with them. The noble Captain invited me to his tent, and I spent, I am happy to say, a comfortable hour with him. I do not know when this town will be taken, there is a lot of rough fighting to be done yet. I must conclude, with love to all; it is very cold to handle the pen. Pray for me, and God bless you all. Believe me, ever Your affectionate son, T. GOWING, Sergeant, Royal Fusiliers. I was with Capt. Vicars once more in the trenches before that miserable night, the 22nd March. We had a lot of sickness in the camp, and duty was very heavy for those who could do it. The Old Light Division had been strengthened by the 34th to the 1st Brigade, and the 90th and 97th to the 2nd Brigade; but, with sickness and hardships, they, like ourselves, were not very strong--except in the head. A NIGHT ATTACK IN THE TRENCHES. DEATH OF CAPTAIN VICARS.