Our favourite walk on many a bright summer's evening was to stroll up to the Redan, and there we would seat ourselves on a little grassy mound, the last resting-place probably of a dead man, and gaze on the destroyed city below. The larks would be singing gaily over our heads, the crickets chirping around; but if we pushed away the grass, or disturbed the earth ever so little, how many records would meet the eye of the deadly strife that had raged on the very spot where we were now so quietly seated, while the extraordinary, almost awful silence of the great city made one indeed feel that it was now but a city of tombs. A little below us, on the right, stand the once lordly Alexandra barracks--a building at one time unequalled of its kind in grandeur and extent. Now the bare walls alone remain; the sky can be seen through the long lines of windows. In lieu of roof, a few blackened rafters project here and there, like monstrous gibbets, and the masses of débris around show how thoroughly the work of destruction has been carried out. It is beyond measure depressing to walk through miles of ruined streets; and, if so painful to the stranger, how heartbreaking must it be to Russians, to see beautiful buildings, once the pride of the country, hopelessly defaced and destroyed. The water-gate by which we land when coming from the yacht must once have been a great ornament to the beautiful town, for it is still lovely even in its ruin. It resembles the colonnade of an ancient Greek temple, and is approached by a broad flight of shallow steps. These, however, as well as the fine mosaic pavement, have been broken and defaced, the roof has been battered in by shells, the statues have been overthrown and broken, and scarcely a column remains uninjured. Near this gate is the opera-house, or rather what is left of it. It was formerly a large building with a long Greek façade; but the walls are now shattered, and blackened by fire, and the columns and decorations lie broken on the ground. The hospital is almost the only place that has not suffered severely from the effects of the fiery hail that was so incessantly pouring into the town. A flag showed where the unhappy wounded were lying, and as far as possible the building was spared by the besiegers; still its scorched and blackened sides and some yawning holes tell that it did not altogether escape. Near it is a small chapel, now almost a ruin, a sad memento of the sufferings of some of our poor fellows. Towards the latter end of the siege, space, air, attendants, and surgical aid were all lamentably inefficient to supply even the pressing needs of the masses of wounded who were brought in.