fellows, and
had had a very hot time. They assured us that when they entered
Mafeking, so tired and gaunt were they, owing to their living on short
commons for so long, that any stranger might well have mistaken them for
the relieved garrison, and the garrison for the relieving force. They
also said the fellows there did not look half so bad as one would have
imagined, though they had eaten nearly every horse and mule in the
place. The idea which seemed general, that Plumer had a big force with
him, was very amusing to them, considering they actually only numbered a
few hundreds, and had, I think they said, two old muzzle-loading guns
only with them. Having been enlisted a month before the war, they are
the oldest Volunteer Force out here.

THE MAILS ARRIVE.

NEAR THE RACECOURSE,
PRETORIA.
_Sunday, July 8th._

Back at the Racecourse, Pretoria. The excitement of Friday has not worn
away yet. I hardly know how to describe it, especially as I must be
brief, having such a lot of correspondence to get through. The men who
relieved us on Friday afternoon said they had good news, and then gave
it to us in these magic words: "_The mails are in!_" "_Thirteen bags!_"
At first I could hardly believe or grasp it. The mails were in! I never
expected to see a letter again. The other companies had been receiving
their's for the last fortnight or more, but our whereabouts seemed
unknown to the postal authorities. At last, however, we had got them. We
had not had a word from our other world for over two months. It seemed
over two years. The men who relieved us had come away without their's,
but before we left for camp an officer, Mr. Cory, with bulging
saddle-bags rode up, and they had them. We went back in the mule-waggon,
and did not half exhort the nigger drivers to hurry, you can be sure.
"Hi, hi! Hi-yah!! Tah!!! Nurr! _Crack-crack!!_ Hamba!! Hi-yah!!!" &c. At
last the ten miles were covered and our camp reached. Out of the waggon
we leaped, and "Where are my letters" was the cry. Oh, the thrilling
excitement of seeing the sergeant diving his hand into a sack and
producing letters, papers and parcels galore. "Trooper Wilson--Wilson,
Corporal Finnigan, Lance-Corporal Ross," and a big, dirty paw pounces on
an envelope addressed by a well-known hand. Then another, and once again
a familiar hand is recognise