It must be owned, that Ormsby had no taste for the sublime or the romantic; indeed, there are not many men in the world who would have found food for contemplation in the desert scene before them; and as for our young sub, I am forced to admit, that by the time he had smoked three cigars, he began to wonder what he should do with himself when breakfast was over. Frankfort had stocked the wagon with many more luxuries on Ormsby's account, than he would have thought of providing for himself; and the meal, spread out on the shady side of the wagon, was by no means despicable. Excellent tea, devilled biscuits, cold tongue and honey, an offering from Vanbloem, and added to these were savoury slices of porcupines, a viand from which, in its raw state, Ormsby had turned away in disgust, but to which, when cooked, he addressed himself with a keen relish. The panting oxen had been turned loose to seek what provender they could among the tufts of grass on the sandy plain--the sun shone upon a _vley_ (pool), about a hundred yards from the outspan; the place had been selected by May, because he knew there was no better bivouac for miles in advance. Like many other bright things, the pool shone with a delusive lustre; it offered but a muddy draught to the thirsty traveller--but drivers, _foreloupers_ (leaders of the draught cattle), guides and oxen, plunged therein their parched lips, and drank thankfully of the slimy waters... "There is certainly nothing like judging of things by comparison," observed Frankfort, as, after a thorough enjoyment of his breakfast, he laid his head on his saddle under a stunted bush, and, taking out a book, prepared to indulge himself, as he called it, till it was time to assist May in re-packing and preparing for advancing. May trudged on with the dogs, and halted again in due time, in a similar locality, where the solace Ormsby sought was another meal, combining dinner and supper. An omelette from the egg of an ostrich, whose nest had been raked out of the sand by the keen and persevering May, was not a bad wind-up to a refection of game; a cigar and coffee followed, and while the ostriches were still stalking in the light, the wearied party were glad to make ready for the night, and lay their limbs at rest. For two succeeding days nothing occurred to distinguish the one from the other; there were the same arid tracts, the same glaring bivouacs, the chilly midnights and dewy dawns--the same porcupine breakfasts, venison dinners, and omelette remove. On the third day they found themselves on the borders of a river, rapid and circuitous in its course, and fringed with bush, and here Ormsby, in a fit of _ennui_, determined that May should get up a regular porcupine hunt by moonlight--midnight was the time chosen.