made yet. Allow me to introduce my two
brothers, James and Robert Skyd; my own name is the less common one of
John. This young man of six feet two, with no money and less brain, is
not a brother--only a chum--named Frank Dobson. Come, fill up and
drink, else you'll catch a cold, or a South African fever, if there is
such a thing. Whom shall I pledge?"

"My name is Jerry Goldboy," said the Englishman; "your health,
gentlemen."

"'Am Sandy Black," said the Scot; "here's t'ee."

"Well, Mr Black and Mr Coldboy"--Goldboy, interposed Jerry--"I speak
for my brothers and friend when I wish you all success in the new land."

"Do talk less, Jack," said Robert Skyd, the youngest brother, "and give
our friends a chance of speaking--Have you come ashore lately!"

"Just arrived," answered Jerry.

"I thought so. You belong to the Scotch party that goes to Baviaans
River, I suppose?" asked Frank Dobson.

This question led at length to a full and free account of the
circumstances and destination of each party, with which however we will
not trouble the reader in detail.

"D'ee ken onything aboot Baviaans River?" inquired Sandy Black, after a
variety of subjects had been discussed.

"Nothing whatever," answered John Skyd, "save that it is between one and
two hundred miles--more or less--inland among the mountains, and that
its name, which is Dutch, means the River of Baboons, its fastnesses
being filled with these gentry."

"Ay, I've heard as much mysel'," returned Sandy, "an' they say the
craters are gey fierce. Are there ony o' the big puggies in the Albany
district?"

"No, none. Albany is too level for them. It lies along the sea-coast,
and is said to be a splendid country, though uncomfortably near the
Kafirs."

"The Kawfirs. Ay. H'm!" said Sandy, leaving his hearers to form their
own judgment as to the meaning of his words.

"An' what may _your_ tred be, sir?" he added, looking at John Skyd.

The three brothers laughed, and John replied--

"Trade? we have no trade. Our _profession_ is that of clerks--knights
of the quill; at least such was our profession in the old country. In
this new land, my brother Bob's profession is fun, Jim's is jollity, and
mine is a compound of both, called joviality. As to our chum Dobson,
his profession may be styled remonstrance, for he is perpetually
checking our levity, as he calls it; always keeping us in order and
snubbing us, nevertheless we couldn't do without him.