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OUR GRAND PROJECT.
AT the end of the fifth week of our guest's stay, among the letters which the morning's post brought to The Glen Tower there was one for me, from my son George, in the Crimea.
The effect which this letter produced in our little circle renders it necessary that I should present it here, to speak for itself.
This is what I read alone in my own room: "MY DEAREST FATHER--After the great public news of the fall of Sebastopol, have you any ears left for small items of private intelligence from insignificant subaltern officers?
Prepare, if you have, for a sudden and a startling announcement.

How shall I write the words?
How shall I tell you that I am really coming home?
"I have a private opportunity of sending this letter, and only a short time to write it in; so I must put many things, if I can, into few words.

The doctor has reported me fit to travel at last, and I leave, thanks to the privilege of a wounded man, by the next ship.

The name of the vessel and the time of starting are on the list which I inclose.