waggons are the patriot's choice:
Oh! loot the farm, don't let the chickens go,
Nor heed the roaring of the sergeant's voice!

They say the gentlemen in khaki keep
The courts where Kruger once did plot so deep;
That great Oom Paul across the sea has trekked,
Before the Courts of Europe now to weep.

We are but pawns, first front, then flank, then rear,
Moved by the Master Players there and here
Upon the veldt and kopje (that's the board),
_Sans_ tents, _sans_ beds, _sans_ pudding and _sans_ BEER.

Yon broiling sun which smiles and is our bane,
Yon thunder-cloud which means a soaking rain,
Will both some day look down upon this veldt
For us, and let us hope 'twill be in vain.

The above extract will, I am sure, suffice to show the general tone of
the khaki Rubaiyat, and be more than enough to damn my poor but honest
reputation.

TREATMENT OF THE SICK.

KRUGERSDORP,
_December 5th, 1900._

As the English mail leaves this benighted place to-morrow at mid-day, I
am dropping you a few lines, though I feel in anything but a scribbling
humour. Clements moved out on Monday for about a week's jaunt, and left
us, the Sussex Squadron and sick men, behind in charge of about a
hundred remounts, mostly Argentines; and with the pleasant task of doing
pickets and such like, about two miles out from the town. As I write I
am very wet, it having been raining for the last two days. This morning
the other four occupants of Mealie Villas had to clear off at 3 o'clock
to do a picket, and so, as they naturally withdrew the support of their
rifles from their blankets, there was not much shelter for me. I wonder
what your opinion was on the statements of Mr. Burdett-Coutts, M.P., as
regards certain hospitals out here, and also what you think of the Army
doctor? It was my duty to parade the sick men before one of these august
beings this morning. I received the order at a quarter past nine from
our Squadron Sergeant-Major to parade before the doctor's tent, in the
lines of Marshall's Horse, at 9.30. So at that time, behold me with
fourteen sick men in the driving, drenching rain waiting in puddles of
water outside the well-closed tent of the disciple of Esculapius. There
we waited till at last an officer entering the tent, in response to my
inquiry, as to whether I was at the right place or not, replied in the
affirma