ozen miles of convoy has been proceeding
_en route_ for Rustenburg, and what with the yelling of the black man
and (a hundred-times-removed) brother--I allude to the blooming
niggers--the lowing of the oxen, and the dust--well, "it ain't all
lavender," neither is it conducive to letter-writing or good temper. But
to own up, the above would not trouble us a bit, if we had only received
our mails, which we have not. I had been looking forward to a fine batch
and relying on getting them with a faith which would have removed
kopjes, and now I am disappointed. The bitterness of the whole thing is
that some one has blundered, for the Fifes in front have theirs, and the
Rough Riders behind have theirs, but we, the Composite Squadron, are
without ours. _Donnerwetter und Potztausand!_ There, I had intended
writing and telling you how much I am really enjoying myself, of the
beauties of the veldt, its pretty little flowers, the multi-coloured
butterflies and insects, the glorious open-air life we are leading and
a' that; and here I am like a bear with a sore head, grumbling,
grumbling, grumbling. And now the companion of my shelter and sharer of
my mealie pap--I call him _Coeur de Lion_ (I don't mind him having the
heart of a lion, but I object to him having its appetite)--is growling,
and wanting to know "when the Yeomanry are going home. We came out for a
crisis, and if the authorities call this a crisis may he be--" etc.,
etc., as he certainly will. I have tried to pacify him with the
following offering of the muse--but failed:--

"Great Bugs of State. Imperial Bugs,
The time grows heavy on our hands;
Are the recruiting sergeants dead?
Does khaki fail, or martial bands?
Oh, teach the vagrant how to ride,
The orphan boy to meet the foe;
May Heaven melt your stony hearts,
To let the foolish Yeoman go."

[Illustration: I'kona.]

Being under the impression that I have not made any direct reference to
the nigger, of whom, of course, one sees a great deal, I will here give
you my condensed opinion of this being. Left in his true state, he is, I
believe, unobjectionable, but we have spoilt him. Our fellows have been
too familiar with him in camp and on the march, and you know what
familiarity breeds. He has sat or stood idle and watched with
indifference we white men in khaki doing work he should have been set to
do (I have borne huge sacks and other burdens, and cursed the officers,
who have not made use of the