a third at a little village,
and so we rolled on until mid-day, when, thoroughly exhausted, we left
our clumsy vehicle and carried our hamper beneath the shade of a
beautiful cherry-tree, and determined to lunch. Upon opening it the
first thing that met our eyes was a fine rat, who made a speedy
escape. Somewhat gravely, we proceeded to unpack its contents, without
caring to express our fears to one another, and quite soon enough we
found them realized. How or where the rat had gained access to our
hamper it was impossible to say, but he had made no bad use of his
time, and both wings of the cold duck had flown, while the tart was
considerably mangled. Sad discovery this for people who, although,
hungry, were still squeamish. We made out as well as we could with the
cold beef, and gave the rest to our Tartar driver, who had apparently
no disinclination to eating after the rat, and would very likely have
despised us heartily for such weakness. After dinner we went on more
briskly, and succeeded in reaching Baktchiserai. My journey was
perfectly unavailing. I could not find my debtor at home, and if I had
I was told it would take three weeks before the Russian law would
assist me to recover my claim. Determined, however, to have some
compensation, I carried off a raven, who had been croaking angrily at
my intrusion. Before we had been long on our homeward journey,
however, Lieut. C---- sat upon it, of course accidentally, and we
threw it to its relatives--the crows.

As the spring advanced, the troops began to move away at a brisk pace.
As they passed the Iron House upon the Col--old for the Crimea, where
so much of life's action had been compressed into so short a space of
time--they would stop and give us a parting cheer, while very often
the band struck up some familiar tune of that home they were so gladly
seeking. And very often the kind-hearted officers would find time to
run into the British Hotel to bid us good-bye, and give us a farewell
shake of the hand; for you see war, like death, is a great leveller,
and mutual suffering and endurance had made us all friends. "My dear
Mrs. Seacole, and my dear Mr. Day," wrote one on a scrap of paper left
on the counter, "I have called here four times this day, to wish you
good-bye. I am so sorry I was not fortunate enough to see you. I shall
still hope to see you to-morrow morning. We march at seven a.m."

And yet all this going home seemed strange and somewhat sad, and
s