We arrived at Rheims on the evening of the 16th, a large, fine, regular, dull-looking city in a dull-looking plain. The Cathedral is grand enough, but I felt no wish to remain till the Coronation. Hitherto we had seen inanimate vestiges of war, at Rheims we were to see the living effects. By accident we passed the door of a large Church or Hall which had been converted into an Hospital for 400 Russian prisoners, and on benches near the porch were seated some convalescent patients without arms or legs. We stopped to speak to them as well as we could, and upon saying we were Englanders, one of the Russians with evident rapture and unfeigned delight made signs that there was a British soldier amongst their number, and immediately 4 or 5 of them ran to bring him out; and such a poor object did appear dragged along, his legs withered away and emaciated to the last degree. He had been wounded at St. Jean de Luz in the thigh, and subsequently afflicted with a fever which had thus deprived him of the use of his limbs. We gave something to those who were nearest, and on my asking if any Prussian was there to whom I could speak in French, as I wished to express our desire but inability to relieve all, I was conducted through the wards to a miserable being who was seated with his head suspended in a sling from the top of the bed, both legs dreadfully shattered, and unable to support himself upright through extreme weakness. During the whole of supper-time the Hospital and this Englishman hung heavy on my mind; I felt as if I had not done enough, and that I might be of use in writing to his friends. Accordingly about 10 o'clock I went again to the Gate and begged admittance. On mentioning my wish to see the Englishman, I was immediately allowed to enter, and conducted up the wards. On each side were small beds, clean, and in admirable order; there was nothing to interrupt the silence but our own echoing footsteps and the groans of the poor patients all round. The Nurses were in the costume of Nuns, and from religious principles undertake the care of the sick--there was something very awful in marching up the aisles with these conductors at this time. My poor countryman was asleep when I came to his bedside. I took down memorandums of his case, and promised to write to his friends, and left him money to assist him on his road home, should he (of which I much doubt) ever recover.