I have drawn a fresh horse from the remounts we are in charge of; my last gee-gee I called "Barkis," because he was willing, this brute I shall have to dub "Smith," because he certainly is not--Willing. N.B.--Our mounts are always known as "troop horses," those belonging to the officers though, however Rosinante-like, are invariably, politely and with dignity alluded to as "chargers." Thursday morning. We had to turn out and stand to arms this morning at three, an attack being expected on the railway. I, happening to have the stable picket, had the pleasure of arousing the recumbent forms of the sleepers with the joyous Christmas carol of "Christians, awake! come, salute the happy morn." You ought to have seen the "Christians" awake; to have heard them would have been too awful. So from three till six we stood to arms, a thick fog enveloping us, making it impossible to see more than fifty yards to our front or rear. But they did not come. I understand that we may have "the stand to arms" wheeze every morning now, so we have something to look forward to. COMRADESHIP. KRUGERSDORP. _Wednesday, December 12th, 1900._ As we are under orders to leave here and join Clements to-morrow, I am writing so as to catch the mail which goes out on Thursday. On Sunday we had a Church Service, and in the afternoon had a visit from Nobby--the Border Regiment has been resting at Krugersdorp for a few weeks--who entertained us till, what out here we should term a late hour, about nine. On Monday I heard that another of our Sussex fellows had died of enteric at Pretoria. Nobby has just looked in again, he is rather a swell, wearing one of our new war hats we had served out, and which I gave him, preferring to keep my old one; in his words, he looks as if he belonged to the "Yeomandry." It is wonderful how all our fellows get on with our professional brethren. Take for instance one of our men, a 'Varsity man, hight Pember, he is a dry, self-contained beggar, and lives his own life. Into this life has come a man of the Northumberland Fusiliers. They both hail from the same county. After the day's march, when the Infantry not on picket are in camp, a dark figure often slouches up our lines, and a voice inquires, "Is Pem 'ere?" and Pember of ours, late of Trinity Hall, calls out from the darkness, "Here you are, mate," and forthwith the man of the Fighting Fifth and the Imperial Yeoman sit down together and chat of Heaven knows what, and the latter gives the former half of his prized hard tack ration (he wouldn't give me a biscuit for his soul's salvation), for the Northumberlands do not fare well at their quartermaster's hands, at least they did not the last time we were on the trek. Then, at about the same time Nobby is leaving us, the Fusilier also arises and disappears with a "Good night, chummy," into the darkness.