e Presbyterian
Church a dextrous effort was made to discover the "lost chord," which
resulted in the organ's being for ever incapacitated to shed the soul of
any music whatsoever. The caves dug out of the debris heaps were all
inhabited; the teething community never let us forget it. A number of
the mine emigrants had returned to their native land and joined their
friends in the debris heaps. The protection of the debris heaps was not
quite so good as that afforded by the mines, and the music of the cannon
the troglodytes had always with them. But there was more liberty and
comfort in the caves, which were dry as dust and--no slang intended--not
too dusty.

Signs and portents of the approaching revolution were not wanting.
Rumours transcended in sensationalism all past products of inventive
fertility; but though men of weight were beginning to respect the fama
the populace hi the mass were too "_ware_" to fondle her. With the women
hi the mines it was different; their newly-acquired appreciation of
"Home, sweet home" had induced symptoms of their primeval predisposition
to believe all they heard--and they heard all sorts of loving lies. The
enemy, it was noticed, evinced signs of uneasiness at last; he cast
furtive looks behind him, as if some danger lurked unseen. The
traditional stoicism of the Boer was perturbed, and an air of violent
agitation was conspicuous in the portion of the cordon nearest to Modder
River. The "star" shining down on the Free State suggested an
undesirable destiny; it was filled with reconnoitring Britons. For
ourselves, we noted the point from which the balloon had ascended, and
the obvious confusion in the Boer ranks, with curiosity; and though we
still resolutely adhered to belief in the folly of expecting relief,
instinct whispered _nil desperandum_. From out the camp at
Alexandersfontein the enemy appeared to be clearing--all of which
_phenomena_ were the more mysterious because of the silence that
prevailed.

The next day to dawn was Saint Valentine's (Wednesday). The valentines
were delivered by an early post, but the intended recipients had happily
changed their addresses and were not at home to be caricatured. The
_Sanatorium_ received a batch of compliments--as a kind of satire on its
pretensions to salubrity--one of which played havoc with its bakehouse,
and, what was still more serious, a batch of bread in process of baking.
The City Fathers, as per immemorial custom, were not for