back of each, whilst inextinguishable
laughter arose among the gods.

_Sunday, November 26, 1899._

Another day of rest. I heard a comment made on the subject by one of the
Devons washing down by the river. Its seriousness and the peculiar
humour of the British soldier will excuse it. "Why don't they go on
bombardin' of us to-day?" said one. "'Cos it's Sunday, and they're
singin' 'ymns," said another. "Well," said the first, "if they do start
bombardin' of us, there ain't only one 'ymn I'll sing, an' that's 'Rock
of Ages, cleft for me, Let me 'ide myself in thee.'" It was spoken in
the broadest Devon without a smile. The British soldier is a class
apart. One of the privates in the Liverpools showed me a diary he is
keeping of the war. It is a colourless record of getting up, going to
bed, sleeping in the rain with one blanket (a grievance he always
mentions, though without complaint), of fighting, cutting brushwood, and
building what he calls "sangers and travises." From first to last he
makes but one comment, and that is: "There is no peace for the wicked."
The Boers were engaged in putting up a new 6 in. gun on the hills beyond
Range Post, and the first number of the _Ladysmith Lyre_ was published.

_November 27, 1899._

The great event of the day was the firing of the new "Long Tom." The
Boers placed it yesterday on the hill beyond Waggon Hill, where the 60th
hold our extreme post towards the west. The point is called Middle Hill.
It commands all the west of the town and camp, the Maritzburg road from
Range Post on, and the greater part of Caesar's Camp, where the
Manchesters are. The gun is the same kind as "Long Tom" and "Puffing
Billy"--a 6 in. Creusot, throwing a shell of about 96lbs. The Boers
have sixteen of them; some say twenty-three. The name is "Gentleman
Joe." He did about L5 damage at the cost of L200. From about 8 to 9 a.m.
the general bombardment was rather severe. There are thirty-three guns
"playing" on us to-day, and though they do not concentrate their fire,
they keep one on the alert. This morning a Kaffir was working for the
Army Service Corps (being at that moment engaged in kneading a pancake),
when a small shell hit him full in the mouth, passed clean through his
head, and burst on the ground beyond. I believe he was the only man
actually killed to-day.

A Frenchman who came in yesterday from the Boer lines was examined by
General Hunter. He is a roundabout little man, who sa