ll things; he is even so in
love. The old story concerning the 'opzit' candle may have applied in
former days, but the Boer of the present day does not waste his time
in any such fashion. He has probably become cognisant of the
match-making methods practised by other nations, and he has,
therefore, abandoned that affected by his forefathers. It is still a
common thing, however, to see him astride a horse with a sleek skin
and noble appearance and plenty of life in it, cantering gaily towards
the residence of his beloved or intended. Sometimes, too, in order,
perhaps, to add more lustre to his own appearance, he is to be seen
suffering untold agony under the unyielding brim of a tall, white felt
hat, trimmed with green veiling. He likes to look imposing, and so he
gets under that hat. This in many instances may account for the
restiveness of his steed, which is as yet unaccustomed to the weight
of a person with such a grotesque headgear.

The Boer has several methods of courting. There is one thing he
objects very strongly to, however--he doesn't like courting in a
drawing-room; he prefers a dark and quiet corner on the veranda. Let
us picture a little scene in this connection. Observe young Piet,
dressed in his best Sunday suit, and wearing a worried look in
addition, sitting on one end of a long form that stands on the veranda
of the house; and observe also a fair young damsel, who has just been
initiated into the art of doing her hair up on top, sitting on the
other extreme end of that form. The night may be dark and only the
stars visible, or the moon may be shining brightly overhead, casting
shadows awry here and there, and endeavouring to catch a furtive
glimpse of the lovers under cover of the veranda.

A painful silence takes the place of conversation at the outset, and
young Piet occasionally coughs in an apologetic manner. When he does
sum up sufficient courage, the moon has travelled a considerable
distance; but then Piet is not so sentimental as to make any reference
whatever to the moon.

'That's a fine horse your father has bought of Dirk Odendaal,' says
Piet, in a tone which suggests that his new paper collar, purchased
for the occasion, is choking him.

A two minutes' pause ensues.

'Ja! Piet,' agreeably assents the maiden after an interval which Piet
reckons must be at least half an hour--and he has forgotten about the
new horse altogether.

'Your father's oxen are looking well after the rain,' c