not induce him to talk of the
winning of his V.C. He won't say a "blooming" word on the subject to
anyone, not even an orderly.

We have a small library in the hospital (Mrs. Dick Chamberlain's). I got
Max O'Rell's "John Bull and Co." from it a few days ago. It concludes
with the author's reply to a question asked him the day before he left
South Africa.

"Well, after all these long travels what are you going to do now?"

"What am I going to do?" he replied; "I am going to Europe to look at an
old wall with a bit of ivy on it."

And, by the Lord Harry, that's just what I want to do myself.

* * * * *

I'm getting rather tired of my prolonged loaf in Arcadia, for that is
the name of this part of Pretoria, and although it is really not my
fault, still I feel ashamed of myself for not being with the company.
Still, even if I were out of the hospital, I should merely be able to
join a number of details of Sussex, Devon, Dorset, Fife, and other
Yeomen who are waiting in Pretoria an indefinite time for remounts and
fresh equipment. I daresay my last letter, if it arrived at all arrived
later than usual, as the day the mails left here there was a biggish
fight a few miles down the line at the first station (Irene), and the
train had to return. It is also rumoured that the home mails due were
held up and collared, a hardy perennial this.

All last Friday we could hear big guns pounding away, and we heard on
Saturday that the enemy had pulled up a good deal of the line, but the
fort, or forts, at Irene had held their own. In addition to this, rumour
hath it that Delarey and eight hundred (or 500, or 1,000) have been
killed or captured, also that Clements has been killed. But all this,
as usual, needs confirmation. So inaccurate or vague is actual news when
we do get it, that a big fight might take place in the nearest
back-garden, and we should be absolutely ignorant of the real details of
the combat.

I have just heard that the news that General Clements is dead is
correct. He died of a wound received some days ago I am told. If it is
true, we have lost another good officer and brave man.

We certainly have made every use of our privilege as Englishmen to
grumble since we have been out here. A certain Bill Fletcher, erstwhile
a Cockney pot boy, now of Kitchener's Horse, has just taken a bed in our
tent, and has announced that he is tired of the "blooming" country,
where the "blooming"