My wife is now sitting at my elbow, sub-editing my remarks. This is needful; for although we have been three years in the colony, I stand second to her in knowledge of Kaffir character, and particularly of Kaffir language. This cannot, of course, be referred to any inferiority in my mental calibre, but to the fact that I am engaged in business in the town all day; while my wife is brought more in contact with the domestic Kaffir. He is named Sam, and has been with us for over two years and a half. Well do I remember the first time I saw him. He was drawing water, for an ungracious mistress, out of the _sluit_ or rivulet-gutter that runs down the side of the Pietermaritzburg streets or roads. I thought I had never seen a happier mortal. He was dressed in an old shirt and trousers. In the latter, appeared a great rent; frayed patches were visible all over his raiment; yet his face beamed with a grin unrivalled in expressive extent by anything outside of a Christy Minstrel entertainment. Our hearts instantly warmed towards Sam, and we invited him to our hearth at the munificent rate of one pound a month. He posed as bashfully as a maiden receiving an offer of marriage. He shoved the back of his horny hand into his capacious mouth, coquettishly paddled in the dust with his right big toe, and took sly, sidelong glances at us with his large and rolling left eye. All this we took to mean ‘Yes.’ A few days afterwards, Sam appeared at the back of our cottage, carrying his sticks—no Kaffir ever goes about without two or three _knobkerries_ in his hand—a rolled-up mat to sleep on, and a wooden pillow. His attire was as ragged as ever; but by means of some of my old clothes he assumed a more respectable air. I must explain that, to suit European ideas of decency, the Kaffirs are not permitted to wear their kraal costume in the town. Whenever they come within the municipal boundary, they have to doff the _moochee_ or fur-kilt and don trousers. They do so with great reluctance. If you happen to be on the outskirts of the town, you will see the departing Kaffirs joyfully throwing off shirt and trousers, tying these in a bundle, re-assuming their _moochee_, and trotting happily homewards.