ate
perfection, but now (I am writing on its last day) it is getting very
hot and trying. If ever people might stand excused for talking about
the weather when they meet, it is we Natalians, for, especially at
this time of year, it varies from hour to hour. All along the coast
one hears of terrible buffeting and knocking about among the shipping
in the open roadsteads which have to do duty for harbors in these
parts; and it was only a few days ago that the lifeboat, with the
English mail on board, capsized in crossing the bar at D'Urban. The
telegram was--as telegrams always are--terrifying in its vagueness,
and spoke of the mail-bags as "floating about." When one remembers the
vast size of the breakers on which this floating would take place, it
sounded hopeless for our letters. They turned up, however, a few days
later--in a pulpy state, it is true, but quite readable, though
the envelopes were curiously blended and engrafted upon the letters
inside--so much so that they required to be taken together, for it
was impossible to separate them. I had recourse to the expedient
of spreading my letters on a dry towel and draining them before
attempting to dissever the leaves. Still, we were all only too
thankful to get our correspondence in any shape or form, for precious
beyond the power of words to express are home-letters to us, so far
away from home.

But to return to our weather. At first it was simply perfect. Bright
hot days--not too hot, for a light breeze tempered even the midday
heat--and crisp, bracing nights succeeded each other during the first
fortnight. The country looked exquisitely green in its luxuriant
spring tints over hill and dale, and the rich red clay soil made a
splendid contrast on road and track with the brilliant green on either
hand. Still, people looked anxiously for more rain, declaring that not
half enough had fallen to fill tanks or "shuits" (as the ditches are
called), and it took four days of continuous downpour to satisfy these
thirsty souls even for the moment. Toward the middle of the month the
atmosphere became more oppressive and clouds began to come up in thick
masses all round the horizon, and gradually spread themselves over the
whole sky. The day before the heaviest rain, though not particularly
oppressive, was remarkable for the way in which all manner of animals
tried to get under shelter at nightfall. The verandah was full of big
frogs: if a door remained open for a moment they