September 8th) our squadron and the Fifes had to go back about half-a-dozen miles to meet Ridley. Our troop acted as advance party. It was rather an interesting sight to see the two parties meet; the advance of Ridley's force was Kitchener's Horse. When we met, we halted and chatted, waiting for orders. As we did so, the merry snipers started a desultory fire, which gradually became more rapid. Several suspected houses in the vicinity, whose owners had, as usual, taken the oath of neutrality and broken it--_Punica Fides_ will have to give way to a new phrase, Boer Faith--were then burnt down. War is not altogether a game, it has its stern aspect. The women and children were loud in their lamentations as the red flames blazed and the dense smoke rolled away on the fresh breeze which was blowing. They cursed us and wept idle tears, but they had their own dear friends, husbands and sons, to thank after all, as nearly all the sniping in this lovely valley is being done by the farmers who live in it. We brought about 25 Boers in camp with us, either suspected or to save them from temptation. To see them, with their roll of blankets, saying good-bye to their weeping families would have touched anything but the hardened, homesick heart of a "Gentleman in Khaki," for he knows full well that the simple peasant in this, as in other localities, usually combines business with pleasure by sniping you in the morning and selling you eggs in the afternoon, as our troop leader puts it. [Illustration: Hate.] Sunday, September 9th. A late _reveille_ (6 o'clock). A lovely, lazy day in camp, during which I have been stewing fruit, smoking, and, alas, my bad habits still cling to me, perpetrated for my own amusement a little rough-and-ready rhyme, which I have the temerity to enclose. We had a short service, at which our O.C. Major Percy Browne, a real good man, presided. Ridley, who works with Clements, the same as Mahon did with Ian Hamilton, has with him Roberts' Horse, Kitchener's Horse, some Australians, the 2nd and 6th M.I., some artillery and two pom-poms. We advance to-morrow. ANOTHER VERSION. Into our camp, from far away, Somebody's darling came one day-- Somebody's darling, full of grace, Wearing yet on his youthful face, Soon to be hid by a stubbly growth, The fatted look of a life of sloth. Thus to our camp, from far away, Somebody's darling came one day. Parted and oiled were the locks of gold, Kissing the brow of patrician mould, And pale as the Himalayan snows; Spotlessly clean were his khaki clothes. It was a cert', beyond any doubt, Somebody's darling had just come out. Wond'rous changes were quickly wrought. Somebody's darling marched and fought. Somebody's darling learned to shoot, Somebody's darling loved to loot; Somebody's darling learned to swear, And neglected to part his hair.