There are few things of less interest than the closing chapter of a campaign. The excitement and anxiety, the success and triumph, are over; the curtain has fallen upon the play, and we have only to put on our wraps and go home. Even by the present date the telegraph has told England of the success with which the expedition has been crowned. When he has once read the details, the English reader will, after the first little burst of natural pride and satisfaction, sit himself down with a slight sigh to count the cost, and then endeavour, as far as possible, to forget the unpleasant subject. I feel that the heading of my letter, “The Abyssinian Expedition,” will no longer be an attractive one. Epilogues are gone out of fashion, and are only retained as a relic of the past at the annual play of the Westminster boys. I should imagine that at the end of a modern play very few people would sit-out an epilogue; and in the same way, I anticipate that very few readers will care for hearing any more about the barren and mountainous country in which it has been our lot to sojourn for the last six months. I should imagine that they must be nearly as weary of the subject as we are ourselves. Never certainly in my experience have special correspondents had so hard or so ungrateful a task as that which has devolved upon us here. The country through which the army has marched has been barren and mountainous in the extreme. The actual events have been few and far between. There has been no opportunity for generalship or strategical movement. It has been one long, slow, monotonous march, accompanied with more or less hardship to all concerned. It has presented no points of comparison with the shifting scenes and exciting phases of a European campaign. It is only by its results, and by the remembrance of the hostile criticisms and lugubrious prophecies with which it was assailed in its early days, that we ourselves can judge of the difficulty of the task accomplished, and of the way in which the world will view it. It has to us been simply a monotony of hard work and hard living. Until the last week of our march we had no excitement whatever to enliven it; and, as far as the incidents of the campaign have been concerned, there has been but little to recompense the British taxpayer for his outlay. In other respects there is no doubt that, worthless as were the set of people as a whole in whose favour this costly expedition has been undertaken, the money has been well spent. In no other way, with so comparatively small an outlay, could Great Britain have recovered the prestige which years of peace had undoubtedly much impaired both in Europe and the East. England has shown that she can go to war really for an idea; that she can embark in a war so difficult, hazardous, and costly, that no other European Power would have undertaken it under similar circumstances, and this, without the smallest idea of material advantage to herself. England had, _pace_