--MY SHARE IN THEM--DINNER AT SPRING HILL--AT
THE RACES--CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE BRITISH HOTEL--NEW
YEAR'S DAY IN THE HOSPITAL.

Well, the great work was accomplished--Sebastopol was taken. The
Russians had retired sullenly to their stronghold on the north side of
the harbour, from which, every now and then, they sent a few vain shot
and shell, which sent the amateurs in the streets of Sebastopol
scampering, but gave the experienced no concern. In a few days the
camp could find plenty to talk about in their novel position--and what
then? What was to be done? More fighting? Another equally terrible and
lengthy siege of the north? That was the business of a few at
head-quarters and in council at home, between whom the electric wires
flashed many a message. In the meanwhile, the real workers applied
themselves to plan amusements, and the same energy and activity which
had made Sebastopol a heap of ruins and a well-filled cemetery--which
had dug the miles of trenches, and held them when made against a
desperate foe--which had manned the many guns, and worked them so
well, set to work as eager to kill their present enemy, Time, as they
had lately been to destroy their fled enemies, the Russians.

All who were before Sebastopol will long remember the beautiful autumn
which succeeded to so eventful a summer, and ushered in so pleasantly
the second winter of the campaign. It was appreciated as only those
who earn the right to enjoyment can enjoy relaxation. The camp was
full of visitors of every rank. They thronged the streets of
Sebastopol, sketching its ruins and setting up photographic apparatus,
in contemptuous indifference of the shot with which the Russians
generally favoured every conspicuous group.

Pleasure was hunted keenly. Cricket matches, pic-nics, dinner parties,
races, theatricals, all found their admirers. My restaurant was always
full, and once more merry laughter was heard, and many a dinner party
was held, beneath the iron roof of the British Hotel. Several were
given in compliment to our allies, and many distinguished Frenchmen
have tested my powers of cooking. You might have seen at one party
some of their most famous officers. At once were present a Prince of
the Imperial family of France, the Duc de Rouchefoucault, and a
certain corporal in the French service, who was perhaps the best known
man in the whole army, the Viscount Talon. They expressed themselves
highly gratified at the _carte_, and