tive and informed an unseen being that there was a sick parade
outside. Apparently without even rising, the great unseen was heard to
remark shortly, "Sick parade is at seven o'clock every morning," the
tent was again closed, and the men with fever, dysentery, colds and
sores wended their ways through the rain and mud, back to the damp
interiors of their leaking blanket hovels. They were men of the Fife,
Devon, Dorset, and Sussex Yeomanry Squadrons, and that is how some of
your dear patriotic volunteers get treated occasionally by certain
doctors out here. Our Battalion doctor (the 7th) is a very good sort,
and if you are bad will see you at almost any time.

On Wednesday (November 29th) a friend and I went into the 'Dorp and got
a few stores (alas! the Field Force canteen is almost empty and the
prospects of its being replenished are drear). Afterwards we strolled up
to the station to see if there were any mails, and to see a train again.
The Johannesburg train came in while we were there, and a sergeant-major
of Kitchener's Horse shot an officer of the same corps soon after
alighting from the train. The officer had put him under arrest for
misbehaviour in Johannesburg. I had my choice of a dozen yarns as to the
real cause of the tragedy. The officer was buried the next day. The fate
of the sergeant-major I have not heard yet, though it is not difficult
to guess. Mr. Wynne, our troop leader left us this day for England,
having applied for leave on business. A statement of the losses among
our officers may not be uninteresting. All of the following, save the
last, are home or on their way: The Duke of Norfolk, injured thigh; the
Hon. T. A. Brassey, elections; Mr. Ashby, reasons unknown, but
undoubtedly excellent; Mr. Williams-Wynne, business reasons; Mr. Cory,
still out here but working with the transport--hard.

Which leaves us Mr. McLean, of rowing fame, as our captain and only
officer.

Saturday, apart from lifting us into December, was I believe,
uneventful.

VELDT CHURCH SERVICE.

On Sunday we had a Brigade Church Service--we had not had one for a long
time. We also had a real padre, who wore a surplice, cassock, and
helmet, and who preached an indifferent sermon. I don't suppose we
deserve a real good man.

[Illustration: Hymns & their Singers (At an I.Y. Veldt Church Service).
"I was not even thus" Lead kindly Light.]

The great event of Tuesday was the fate of my Christmas pudding, which I
had receive