I sent off a very hurriedly-written letter two days since from Lât. In these two days we have crossed thirty-one miles of as rough a country as the warmest admirer of the desolate and savage could wish to see. Around us, as far as the eye could reach, was stretched a perfect sea of mountains; and up and down these we have tumbled and stumbled—not a few horses getting tremendous falls—from morning until long after nightfall. It has been one long monotonous toil. Sometimes we climb upon smooth slippery rock; then we ascend steep paths covered with loose boulders of every size; then we are upon a narrow ledge on a mountain’s face; then we are crashing through thick bushes. One can no longer keep count of the number of ravines we cross, for we climb a dozen hills a day. It would puzzle even the engineers of the Topographical Department to lay down this rugged and broken country in a map. It would be as easy to make a map of the Straits of Dover, and to draw each wave to its proper scale. The toil of the troops during these two days has been tremendous. The first day’s march was thirteen miles; yesterday’s was eighteen,—many say it was twenty; but I think a long eighteen was about the mark. Eighteen miles would be a long march in England, but here it is a tremendous journey. Each man is carrying with him ammunition, &c.—fifty-five pounds—more than half a mule-load. In addition to this, most of the troops are now upon baggage-guard, and have to assist in constantly adjusting loads and looking after the mules. Lastly, a fourth of the troops are out every night upon picket. I had occasion, in a letter written from Mahkan, to speak upon the cruel over-marching of men and animals; but that was nothing to these two days’ marches. The country now is much rougher, the distances longer, and the men have in addition to carry their kits. The troops came in last night in a prostrate state; very many did not come in at all. I should say that not more than half the baggage arrived until this morning; and to add to the other disagreeables, we had a tremendous thunderstorm about eight o’clock, which wetted every soul, except the very few who had been fortunate enough to get up their tents, to the skin. The men have no change of clothes with them, and of course had to sleep in their wet clothes. Of those who were on the road when the rain began, some held on and came straggling in up to ten o’clock; the greater number, however, unrolled their blanket and waterproof-sheet, and lay down where they were for the night. I say fearlessly that such a march over such a country was never before made by similarly-weighted men. Of course we have to halt to-day, and then by to-night we shall have progressed a less distance towards Magdala than we should have done had we made three days’ marches of, say, eleven miles each. Nor is there any reason why we should not have done so. We are fortunately now in a well-watered country.