retreat, which they did, pursued by the picket, who came up with some of the hindmost of the party. They pursued for some distance, and then halted. Two of the natives were killed in the affair, one with a bullet, one by a sword-thrust, and two others were wounded. At the sound of the firing Staveley’s brigade was called out under arms, and considerable excitement prevailed for some time. Late in the evening, when the matter was understood, M. Munzinger went out to explain to Ashasta how it had happened; and as the men killed were not chiefs, and human life does not go for much in Abyssinia, our apologies were accepted, and Ashasta came into camp again to-day. Thus what might have been a very serious business is happily arranged. The men upon picket are in no way to blame; in fact, they behaved with great gallantry, and must have opened the eyes of the natives to the fact that we can fight when we like. Technically, they were somewhat to blame in charging, as the rule is that a picket should never advance, but should fire and hold its ground when possible, or retire upon its supports if threatened by an overwhelming force. The Naval Rocket Brigade now form a portion of this camp. They are an admirable body of men, and do great credit to Captain Fellowes, their commanding officer. They support the fatigues and hardships with the good-temper peculiar to naval men. They march, contrary to what might have been expected, even better than the soldiers, and never fall out, even on the most fatiguing journeys. They are a great amusement to the troops, and their admonitions to their mules, which they persist in treating as ships, are irresistibly comic. I saw a sailor the other day who was leading a mule, while a comrade walked behind it. A stoppage occurred, but he went right on into the midst of a number of soldiers. “Hallo, Jack!” they said good-humouredly, “where are you coming?” “Coming?” Jack said, “I ain’t coming anywhere. I am only towing the craft; it’s the chap behind does the steering.” It is always so with them. The head-rope is always either the “tow-rope” or “the painter.” They starboard or port their helm, “tack through a crowd,” or “wear the ship round” in a most amusing way. They have of course shore-titles for the occasion, but do not always answer to them. The other day I heard an officer call out, “Sergeant-major!” No answer. “Sergeant-major!” This time louder. Still no reply. A third and still louder hail produced no response. “Boatswain, where the devil are you?” “Ay, ay, sir!” was the instant answer from the man, who was standing close by, but who had quite forgotten his new rank of sergeant-major.