ton one. Why wasn't I wearing this article? I
explained that I was too hot already. That did not matter a Continental.
Where was it? I produced it from under a bed near by and managed to
avoid putting it on in his presence, as that would have still further
revealed that I was wearing a belt containing money, which is contrary
to Rule No. something or other, in which it is emphatically laid down
that all jewels, money, and valuables are to be given in to the
staff-sergeant in charge of the pack store, who will give a receipt for
the same, &c., and so forth. Verily the backbone of the Army is the
non-commissioned man, but I must confess to frequently wishing to break,
or at least dislocate, that backbone.

The mosquitoes here seem rather more troublesome than their Pretoria
relatives. There are twenty men in the next room, and only three of us
here; and we three get a frightful lot of attention from these
_skeeturs_. They seem vicious as well as hungry. We fancy this is to be
explained by the fact that they had been marked down from up country for
the base and England, and are enraged at being kept here with the
prospect of being returned whence they came; their hunger in this
R.A.M.C. Hospital we can understand, and would sympathise with more if
they did not treat us as rations. Other patients have a theory that they
are the lost and much damned spirits of R.A.M.C. officers,
non-commissioned officers, and men, who have gone before and come back
to their old earthly billet. But of course these are all mere surmises,
and hardly to be regarded seriously. On Thursday I am to be sent to
Rondebosch, Tommy's oft and ever-repeated cry, "Roll on, dear old
Blighty" (England), seems vainer than ever as time spins out its endless
cocoon.

AT THE BASE.

MCKENZIE'S FARM,
MAITLAND (once again).
_Sunday, March 3rd, 1901._

Of late my addresses have been many and varied. The above is the latest.
I have filtered through into Maitland, which has changed considerably
since last April. On Thursday last I left Wynberg for the convalescent
camp at Rondebosch without any regret, for, as a matter of fact, I was
getting hungry. On the afternoon of that day I found myself one of a
very unselect-looking band of khaki men, parading before the terrible
R.A.M.C. Sergt.-Major of the Wynberg Hospital.

Just before paradin