ecially the poorer
farms. But yet probably as years pass they will tend to lapse once more
into Dutch hands, for it is difficult to believe that men of our race
will ever submit to such a life of absolute stagnation. In dealing with
the future of the country, it will always be a point that will have to
be borne in mind, that the natural conditions of life outside the towns
are such as favour the Dutch character very much more than they do the
English.

LETTER XXIII

WRITTEN FROM HOSPITAL

HOSPITAL, KRONSTADT, _September 6_, 1900.

It is only a bad attack of influenza. I lie here in a dim, brown holland
coloured twilight. A large marquee of double folded canvas keeps out the
sun; a few shafts of light twinkle through here and there. Through three
entrance gaps I catch glimpses, crossed by a web of tent ropes, of other
surrounding tents, each neatly enclosed by a border of whitened stones,
the purpose of which is to prevent people at night from tripping over
the ropes. Everything is scrupulously neat and clean. Orderlies run from
tent to tent minding their patients. Every now and then a pretty little
nursing sister, with white cuffs and scarlet pelisse, trips across the
open spaces between the straight lines of marquees, or stops to have a
moment's chat and a little quiet bit of a flirt (they can always find
time for that, I notice) with one of the officers or doctors. I watch
with faint interest and a feeling of vague recollection. She looks up
sideways and shades the sun off her eyes with her fingers. They keep it
up still then!

Some way off, among the Tommies' quarters, I can see groups of patients
in clean, dark-blue clothes walking about, or sitting on seats, taking
the air; some hobbling on crutches, some with arms in slings, heads
bandaged, or patched and mended in some way or other. You feel like some
damaged implement tossed aside a moment for repair. "Mend me this
lieutenant!" The doctors get to work, deft and quick; a little
strengthening, repairing, polishing, and out you are shot again.

It has been the only glimpse of absolute peace and rest I have had this
eleven months. Every one is kind and sympathetic; a cool breeze blows
through the looped-up tents; it is all very luxurious and pleasant for
wearied-out soldiers. I like to lie and watch the little pictures
through the tent openings of low blue veldt hills in the distance (which
somehow remind one of the background glimpses in old Italian