borated by the prosecutor, the Bench
goes on:--

"If he had possessed no means I had intended giving him the heaviest
sentence in my power, namely, a year's imprisonment with hard-labour.
Stock-stealing has assumed alarming proportions of late, and I am
determined to check it in this district, by making an example of every
offender. As it is, I sentence Gonjana to pay a fine of 4 pounds, to
pay Mr Suffield 1 pound, the value of the sheep, and to receive
twenty-five lashes with the `cat.' Call on the next case."

Kaffirs are stoical folk. This one's expression of countenance
undergoes no change, nor does he make any remark as, his sentence having
been interpreted to him, he shambles down from the dock to take his seat
on the prisoners' bench until the rising of the court. His place is
taken by a fellow-countryman, who is charged with contravening the
Masters and Servants Act by refusing to obey the lawful commands of his
master, Petrus Jacobus Botha.

The latter, an unkempt, corduroy-clad Dutchman, ascends the witness-box,
and, placing his greasy slouch hat on the rail, spits on the floor two
or three times, Sartly from nervousness, partly from sheer force of
habit; then he takes the oath, unctuously and with right hand uplifted,
as the manner of his countrymen is. He, too, is a farmer, and the
accused native is a herd. The facts of the case are soon got at, and
resolve themselves into a matter of "six of one, and half a dozen of the
other." The accused has no legal representative, but Mr Van Stolz
holds the scale of justice with rigid evenness. He listens to the
statements of all parties with infinite patience, and, having given the
prosecutor a little of his mind, he summarily dismisses the case, with
the metaphor that "people should come into court with clean hands, which
is just what the prosecutor has not done"; a remark which evolves a
laugh from two or three who grasp the humour underlying it.

Two Hottentot women, old offenders, are sent to gaol for a week for
lying drunk about the streets, and then the civil business begins. This
consists of a series of unimportant cases, mostly recovery suits, which
are soon disposed of; and by one o'clock the court work is over for the
day.

"Well, Musgrave," says the little magistrate, as he and his new clerk
stroll down the street together towards their respective dinners. "You
are getting quite into the swim of things, considering you have only
been at it te