CHAPTER LVI.
Ringing of Bells--Battle of Alma--The Brown Jug--Ale of Llangollen--Reverses.
On the third of October--I think that was the date--as my family and myself, attended by trusty John Jones, were returning on foot from visiting a park not far from Rhiwabon we heard, when about a mile from Llangollen, a sudden ringing of the bells of the place, and a loud shouting.

Presently we observed a postman hurrying in a cart from the direction of the town.

"Peth yw y matter ?" said John Jones.

"Y matter, y matter!" said the postman in a tone of exultation, "Sebastopol wedi cymmeryd.

Hurrah!" "What does he say ?" said my wife anxiously to me.
"Why, that Sebastopol is taken," said I.
"Then you have been mistaken," said my wife smiling, "for you always said that the place would either not be taken at all or would cost the allies to take it a deal of time and an immense quantity of blood and treasure, and here it is taken at once, for the allies only landed the other day.
Well, thank God, you have been mistaken!" "Thank God, indeed," said I, "always supposing that I have been mistaken--but I hardly think from what I have known of the Russians that they would let their town--however, let us hope that they have let it be taken.