his words with a power that was most
impressive, and with the interspersion of those indescribable "clicks"
with which the native language abounds.

But to return to the picnic.

As we advanced, groups and couples of cavaliers and carts and wagons
joined the line of march from outlying farms, so that when we reached
the rendezvous we must have formed a body of two hundred strong, or
more.

The spot chosen was the summit of a woody knoll, from which we could
survey all the country round, and look down upon the river with its
miles and miles of dense bush, in which the buffaloes had vainly fancied
themselves free from the danger of human foes.

Was there plenty of food at that picnic? I should think there was.
South Africans do not live upon air, by any means--though air has a good
deal to do with their living. These comely maidens and strapping boys
had not been brought up on water-gruel. These powerful men and ruddy
matrons, to say nothing of the aged and the juvenile, would not have
gone to that knoll on the plain without a prospect of "strong meat" of
some sort. There were pies and joints, buns and beef, cakes and coffee,
tea and tongues, sugar and sandwiches, hams and hampers, mounds of
mealies, oceans of milk, and baskets of bread and butter. I'm not sure
whether there were wines or spirits. I culpably forget. Probably there
were not, for "Good Templars" are powerful in that region, and so is
temperance.

Did we do justice to the viands? Didn't we? My notions of human
capacity were enlarged that day. So was my own capacity--out of
sympathy, coupled with the ride. But we did not linger over our food.
Seated in groups near the margin of, and partly in, the bush, we
refreshed ourselves in comparative silence. Then we grew noisy over our
milk and tea. Some of us even got the length of singing and
speech-making, but the younger portion of the band soon lost their
appetites and dispersed--some to romp, some to ramble, others to engage
in games.

A few of the more reckless among us extemporised a game of polo.

Most people know, though some may not, that this is a game played on
horseback with a club and ball--a species of equestrian "hockey," as it
is styled in England, "shinty" in Scotland. To be well done it requires
good and trained horses, a wide expanse of level country, and expert
riders. Our state of preparation for the game may be understood when I
say that we had indifferent and untrained