Of late my addresses have been many and varied. The above is the latest. I have filtered through into Maitland, which has changed considerably since last April. On Thursday last I left Wynberg for the convalescent camp at Rondebosch without any regret, for, as a matter of fact, I was getting hungry. On the afternoon of that day I found myself one of a very unselect-looking band of khaki men, parading before the terrible R.A.M.C. Sergt.-Major of the Wynberg Hospital. Just before parading, I saw the gun carriage, alluded to in my last, being used; going past our ward, in slow time, with reversed arms, went the perspiring and, let us hope not, but I fear 'twas so, the angry Tommies told off as the escort. Then came the gun carriage with its flag-covered burden. Only another enteric, only another broken heart or so at home, another vacant chair to look at and sigh, and the small but strictly regimental and unsympathetic procession had passed; and the half-interrupted conversation in the ward went gaily on. Having paraded and answered to our names, a doctor strolled down the ranks questioning us, "Are you all right?" All those who answered said "Yes." The question was supposed to be put individually, but by the time he got to where I was, the worthy man was slurring over about three or four at a time. I didn't trouble to reply, it being obviously unnecessary. About half-an-hour later, the ambulance carts came up, which were to bear us to Rondebosch, and we were ordered to carry our kits down and get in. So the halt and the broken picked up their kits--some of them were very heavy--and staggered with them to the carts, a distance of about fifty yards. In particular, I noticed one poor fellow, a gunner of the 37th Battery, R.F.A. A water cart had gone over him at Mafeking, and fractured three ribs and affected his spine. The poor, emaciated, bent figure of what had once been a smart soldier lifted a rather heavy kit and tottered towards the carts. I felt disgusted at seeing such unnecessary labour thrust on a man, who never should have left the hospital save to go home. But he had been turned out by the powers which be, and--I was going to say shouldn't, but the R.A.M.C. are all honourable men--when I saw a sprightly, well-fed R.A.M.C. Lance-Corporal walking smartly after him, and in a relieved voice I remarked to the man on my left: "The Corporal is going to carry it for him," to which my neighbour remarked: "He can't, he's got a stripe." And, begad, he didn't! He passed him, apparently not having noticed him. I shall have a little more to tell you of the gunner presently.