stances of the country would allow. There were no ceilings; and the bare rafters and blackened thatch lent to the little room an appearance of want of finish, which was not uninteresting or disagreeable. There were easy-chairs, flowers, books, a table at which ten people could seat themselves, a sideboard, guns, and a violin; but the floor was mud, or rather would have been mud had it been wet, which of course it was not. The doors leading to the other little rooms, as well as to the kitchen, all opened from this central chamber, which, as it had a back door, and a front door opening on South Africa generally, afforded unlimited opportunities for enjoying whatever breeze might blow.

The visitors, on entering, were duly introduced to the family, consisting of Mrs Roth, the Landdrost's wife, a large, handsome, fair woman, whose head was adorned with magnificent, heavy, sweeping masses of golden hair that would make the fortune of nineteen girls out of twenty in benighted Europe. Then there was her mother, Mrs Botha, an active, powerfully built, lively, clever, chatty dame, of some fortyfive summers. Both these ladies were full of information about the country, and were well acquainted with all the English and Dutch notorieties, the elder one, indeed, pluming herself on the amount and accuracy of her local and political information, and her insight into the motives and minds of many men who certainly never dreamed, in their wildest imaginations, that their petty weaknesses, sordid ambitions, and low-spirited notions, were well and accurately gauged and probed to the bottom by this vivacious Dutchwoman. A mob of children filled up the corners. These were polite, silent, and respectful, and consisted, as we were astonished to learn, in contradiction to Mrs Roth's youthful appearance, entirely of her own contributions to the true wealth of the land. After smoking, lounging, and otherwise amusing ourselves for an hour, our attention was called to the fact that dinner was ready. By this time had arrived three other guests-Messrs Francks, De Suza, and little Doctor Ashton. The latter young gentleman added nothing to our amusement; he was in love, and pretended his medical duties were so absorbing as not to leave him time even to eat. A few minutes after his departure he passed by the

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door with a young lady on horseback, and galloped off somewhere, no doubt in the most earnest prosecution of his medical duties. The dinner consisted of very good soup, followed by lamb, ham, and curried fowl, accompanied by pumpkin, both boiled and roasted, sweet and ordinary potatoes, and some very small white beans, which seem to be peculiar to that part of the country, as I have never seen them elsewhere. There were pastry and coffee, and then we went back to our pipes and the easy-chairs, no spirits or wine of any kind appearing or being asked for.

Now, although this dinner, for two ladies and seven men, with all its preparation, was begun, carried through, and brought to a conclusion, in a room 16 feet by 10, to which was attached a kitchen 7 feet by 5, there was very little, if any, confusion, and matters were so well arranged that neither the preparations nor the cooking became obtrusive. The meal concluded, we smoked and played whist, for "love," on the very same table we had dined off, without feeling in the least degree shocked at its change of uses.

Francks, one of the guests, was a most amusing companion. In his early life he had been a Frenchman and a French sailor, was wounded in Algeria, and wore legitimately what no Frenchman is complete without a red ribbon and a little cross. He did not look more than thirtyfive. His moustache was as black as ever. He was a burly, jolly, rosy, healthy-looking man, full of anecdote and exaggeration; but he had children as old as the author, and grandchildren much taller than the legs of most chairs. He had been twenty-seven years in the country, had been a field-cornet, a commandant, and a rebel by turns, and was now settled down into a barrister-at-law, advocate of the supreme court, notary - public, attorney, auctioneer, landagent, and public valuator. In addition to this he was said, and I believe with truth, to be the owner of a billiard-table, and interested in one or two rustic hotels in out-of-the-way places. Still he was well dressed, and if dropped suddenly, just as he stood—cuffs, frills, studs, diamond rings and all— into his beloved Paris, I do not think there would be ten Frenchmen that would ever imagine him to have been twenty-seven days, much less twenty-seven. years, an exile.

De Suza was not so significant a person. He was a small, neat, and eminently wealthy Portuguese, who had migrated years before from the coast to our little village. In his time he had seen Lydenberg prosperous, and that long before the advent of the huckster classes. He knew Lydenberg when it was as famous for the manufacture of waggons as Long Acre is to-day for its carriage marts. He was a comfortable little man, and having made his little pile, was satisfied to regret nothing in the past, as he hoped for nothing in the future. Captain Warren was an able and entertaining companion. Major Ravenscroft was fresh, clever, and interested in the country and all that concerned it. A pleasanter evening could hardly have been spent than was got through on that occasion in the small whitewashed, half-roofed, and unfloored reception-room of the Landdrost of Lydenberg.

Mr Roth was full of information. He had lived all over the country, had witnessed the rise and fall of the settlement at Schoemansdal, and was quite intimate with the life of the northern border, where he had been married. He will, if he ever reads this book, recognise some of his descriptions and remarks, which I make no scruple of adopting. He had come to Africa twenty years before, from London, with whose life he was well acquainted; for although a Dutchman by birth, his knowledge of England and France and their respective customs was extensive, and more than fairly accurate. He spoke four or five languages, was a brilliant accountant, had been for the most part of eighteen years an official, and discussed without bigotry the policy and results of the annexation of which everybody was talking. Without giving our conversation in detail, I may say that the impression left on my mind was that we were all pretty well agreed that the country was a desert, and much more a desert than the worst part of Syria. We could honestly discern no prospect of the insane anticipations of the Annexationists ever being realised. Gross exaggerations had been resorted to, to enhance the value of the country in English eyes, and the whole territory was not worth the sacrifice of one honest man's life. Its mineral wealth was, in many instances, exaggerated or a sham; the larger portion of its surface was unhealthy bushveld; its only valuable lands were naturally

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suited only for pastoral and wool-growing purposes, and therefore were never likely to carry a large mass of people. Sheep never did, and never will, mean population. The Transvaal is unlikely to become a manufacturing country. It may yield a subsistence to squatters, and sustenance to vast flocks and herds, but it will never add one spark of lustre to England's glory; while its possession may cost her the lives of some of her best and bravest sons, and even at some, perhaps not distant, period, be the means of adding another penny in the pound to her income-tax.

Of course, railway communication with Delagoa Bay would do much, but it would also cost much. "The game was hardly worth the candle." We broke up mutually pleased with each other; and the next day the two officers departed with a bullock-cart on their road to the sea, which they reached in safety in time to be picked up by a steamer and borne to their different destinations. Captain Warren had time to make the acquaintance of many of the inhabitants of Lydenberg, where he is still remembered and spoken of as "the clever Englishman."

Our next guest, and the most notable of all, was Sir Arthur Cunynghame, who, accompanied by his aide-de-camp, came to the hills in the early part of July 1877. So great a man, and her Majesty's representative, of course could not be received in the homely way that majors and captains were entitled to claim. Ancient valises were unpacked, and dressclothes aired and brushed that had not seen daylight for months. The General took up his quarters in the largest house in the town a stately mansion-consisting of four rooms, a kitchen, and a closet, which had been erected, regardless of expense, at a cost of £1700 by a Mr Dekker, who ruined himself in the effort, and became expatriated. This gorgeous abode was floored throughout, but had no ceiling, except a rag of calico dragged loosely across the rafters. It, however, boasted of many windows opening to the ground, had glass doors, and was sheltered by a veranda, the pillars of which, however, were of unpainted, sharp-edged 3-inch scantling. The roof was, as usual, of grass, the little torn ends of which were prevented tumbling into the rooms by the ingenious use of millions of the straw envelopes

usually seen on Hennessey's brandy-bottles. The thatching, in fact, was lined throughout with these highly suggestive and agreeable reminders of past convivialities.

This house-Captain Clarke's temporary quarters-afforded the General a comparatively comfortable resting-place. He held a levée in a room furnished at all events with a lounge, three chairs, and a table, where he was as honestly and warmly congratulated on his arrival as if he had been able to receive his visitors in the palace of Aladdin. He had enjoyed himself very much amongst the game on the road, had been treated everywhere with proper respect and hospitality, and was himself well pleased with his journey, and full of anecdote and good-humour. The people were so much taken with his open-hearted and engaging manner, that, even at the risk of exciting ridicule, they determined to entertain him at a public dinner. The invitation was given and accepted, and in two days the feast was prepared. It was laid out on tables capable of accommodating sixty persons, in the biggest room of the brick barrack that Captain Warren had slept in but a few nights before.

I don't think English people will have a just idea of our town if I don't describe the banquet-hall. It had no ceiling, and was roofed with corrugated iron. The walls were, of course, whitewashed, and the floor consisted of thick slabs of coarse, grey slate, let into the mud floor in a reckless and irregular sort of manner, as if the place were a sort of store or tool-shed in a respectable graveyard, for which use it was eminently fitted, if it had not been originally intended. Now this big room had three windows, but the door, as usual, opened directly on the world at large. However, with a little trouble, flags were wreathed round the naked rafters, devices of various kinds were introduced to take away from the bare appearance of the walls, the window-openings were concealed with suitable hangings, while point was given to the improvised decorations by the erection of a trophy behind the seat of honour. Everything was done, and done in the most loyal and hopeful spirit by both English and Dutch, filibusters and civilians, to do honour to the first great representative of England's greatness that had ever visited that distant and almost unknown village.