ging the words, "God Save the
King."

Then to bed, but not to sleep, for that is a difficult matter here--so I
laid and chatted with a trooper of Roberts' Horse, the latest occupant
of the next bed to me. He is, or rather was, a schoolmaster, wears
spectacles and is grey-headed; what induced him to join in this little
game heaven, and he, only know. In the midst of a discussion on the
Afrikander Bond and the South African League, the night sister came in
and imperiously bade us be silent and go to sleep. So the grey-headed
schoolmaster and my humble self, like guilty children, became silent,
and serenaded by the ubiquitous mosquito wooed sweet Morpheus.

Thursday, February 7th. Last night it rained steadily nearly all night;
and it has just recommenced. It is quite an agreeable change to see a
leaden sky and hear the rain softly pattering on the tent roof, after
many days of sweltering, dazzling heat, _when one is in a comfortable
tent_. But it makes me think of and wish for a comfortable room at home,
a good book, pipe, and an easy chair, the prospect outside beautifully
dreary and rainy, a fire in front of me and my slippered feet on the
library mantelpiece.

A rather amusing incident occurred just now. One of the Devon Yeomanry
who went up to the tent which is our post-office, on the off-chance of
getting a letter, to his great astonishment got one. He came back eyeing
the address suspiciously, and remarking, "It's tracts, I'm thinkin." His
conjecture turned out correct. It appears that a certain thoughtful and
religious society at home looks down the lists of the wounded and, now
and again, sends some of the worst cases tracts. The title of one of the
pamphlets was, "I've got my ticket," which amused us immensely, for to
get one's ticket means to be booked for home. Another title was "The
finger of God"--this to a man who has had an explosive bullet through
his forearm seems rather rough.

I fear my letters are becoming dreadfully reminiscent and anecdotal, but
adventures and wanderings are not for the man who loafs in hospital.

Wednesday, February 13th. I am all _kiff_ (military for "right"). This
morning we had a mild joke with a new night orderly. As you may be
aware, it is this gentleman's duty to wash all the bad bed patients.
When he came in soon after _reveille_ and asked if there were any bed
patients to be washed, we all feebly replied, "Yes, all of us," and he
had ablutionised three before he discove