ust covered ten miles, by emphatically swearing
that his battalion has done twenty. For cheeriness, the fellows I have
met would take a lot of beating, and their pride in their own particular
regiments is a very pleasing trait, though frequently it leads them to
be rough on other by no means unworthy corps.

From the dry canteen of the Border Regiment I was fortunate enough
yesterday to procure two dozen boxes of matches, a packet of six
candles, a quarter-of-a-pound of Navy Cut, notepaper and envelopes. The
latter I got none too soon, as my last gumless envelope I stuck down
with jam. Candles are a luxury I have been without for many months, and
matches have been worth sixpence a box. I bought them at a penny, and
the candles at 1/6 the packet. We have the Yorkshire Light Infantry with
us now in place of the Worcesters.

Saturday, October 13th.

The law which sways our generals' ways,
Is mystery to me;
Though we of course, both foot and horse
Fulfil each strange decree.

This morning we had _reveille_ at five and moved off up the valley at
about seven, the Infantry going on the Magaliesberg. This being the
case, of course our progress was slow, and the distance covered at the
most six miles. We are going to be joined in a few days' time by
detachments of our Police, who are coming out from the flesh pots of
Pretoria. Two Sussex officers are coming with them and we expect about
fifty men. To-day I had to go into a barn and pry about for arms and
ammunition on the off chance. I did not find anything in that line, but
got covered with fleas, a hundred or so--so I have been well occupied
since I have been in camp. We rode through some grand crops of oats,
wheat and barley; in one field the wheat was so high as to reach to our
horses' ears. Where I got my fleas, or rather they got me, there was a
grand garden with orange trees (no fruit), peaches coming on, figs also,
and pomegranates in blossom. In a corner of this deserted garden I came
across a real, old-fashioned English rose, of the kind usually and
irreverently called "cabbage." The occasion seemed to call for an
effort, so here it is:

An old-fashioned English rose
In the far-off Transvaal land;
Smelt by an English nose,
And plucked by an English hand.

This evening we had tents served out to us. Last night we had a deal of
thunder and lightning, but no rain. It was very close, and most of us
slept, or tried to sleep, in our shirt-