ch, from time immemorial, they had
been partially concealed; the first crops were sown, and the work of
civilisation began. There was a ruinous "wattle and daub" edifice which
had been deserted by a Dutch Boer before the arrival of the settlers.
This was converted into a church, town-hall, and hospital.

The yell of the Kafir and the whizzing assagai afterwards disturbed the
peace of Salem, and at that time the settlers proved that, though on
peaceful plans intent, they could bravely hold their own; but it was
peaceful enough, and beautiful, when I first beheld it.

At the door of a moderately handsome residence--which had succeeded the
wattle-and-daub style of thing--I was heartily welcomed by my friend and
his amiable spouse. Here I had the pleasure of enjoying a South African
picnic.

A picnic is at all times interesting, doubly so when undertaken in
peculiar circumstances. One of the peculiarities of this picnic was
that the invitation to it was publicly given, and embraced the entire
population. Another peculiarity was that the population, almost in its
entirety, accepted the invitation. But there were still other
peculiarities which will appear in the sequel.

The morning of the day fixed was bright and beautiful. This, indeed,
was no peculiarity. Most of the mornings, days, and nights in that
splendid region were of much the same stamp at that time. The spot
fixed on for the scene of the picnic was about six miles from Salem,
where a wild buffalo had been killed the week before.

The killing of this buffalo was an "event," for that wild denizen of the
African Bush had long ago retired before the rifle of the settler to
safer retreats, and rarely returned to his old haunts. A band of
buffaloes, however, had apparently taken a fancy to revisit the home of
their childhood at this time. There was nothing to prevent them, for,
although the country is "settled," the original "Bush" is in many places
sufficiently extensive and impervious to afford safe shelter to the
wildest of animals. At all events, a band of buffaloes did come to the
neighbourhood of Salem, and there met with a farmer-Nimrod, who "picked
off" one of their number. I turned aside, during one of my rides, to
visit the head and horns, which lay near his house.

The place of rendezvous for those who dwelt in the village was an open
space in front of the church. Here, at an early hour, there assembled
numerous equestrians, as well as veh