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that being the landlord's name. It has, as all the houses here have, a
broad projecting roof extending over a wide verandah. Within are four
small rooms, two on either side of a narrow passage which runs from
one end to the other. By a happy afterthought, a kitchen has been
added beyond this extremely simple ground-plan, and on the
opposite side a corresponding projection which closely resembles a
packing-case, and which has been painted a bright blue inside and out.
This is the dining-room, and evidently requires to be severely handled
before its present crude and glaring tints can be at all toned down.
At a little distance stands the stable, saddle-room, etc., and a good
bedroom for English servants, and beyond that, again, among large
clumps of rose-bushes, a native hut. It came up here half built--that
is, the frame was partly put together elsewhere--and it resembled a
huge crinoline more than anything else in its original state. Since
that, however, it has been made more secure by extra pales of bamboo,
each tied in its place with infinite trouble and patience by a knot
every inch or two. The final stage consisted of careful thatching
with thick bundles of grass laid on the framework, and secured by
long ropes of grass binding the whole together. The door is the very
smallest opening imaginable, and inside it is of course pitch dark.
All this labor was performed by stalwart Kafir women, one of whom, a
fearfully repulsive female, informed my cook that she had just been
bought back by her original husband. Stress of circumstances had
obliged him to sell her, and she had been bought by three other
husband-masters since then, but was now resold, a bargain, to her
first owner, whom, she declared, she preferred to any of the others.
But few as are these rooms, they yet are watertight--which is a great
point out here--and the house, being built of large, awkward blocks
of stone, is cool and shady. When I have arranged things a little, it
will be quite comfortable and pretty; and I defy any one to wish for a
more exquisite view than can be seen from any corner of the verandah.
We are on the brow of a hill which slopes gently down to the hollow
wherein nestles the picturesque little town, or rather village, of
Maritzburg. The intervening distance of a mile or so conceals the
real ugliness and monotony of its straight streets, and hides all
architectural shortcomings. The clock-tower, for instance, is quite a
feature in th