“The scenery about here _is_ pretty I admit, especially at this time of year. Some of my moonlight treks between the King’s and this place were very delightful, and wakened a little enthusiasm and thoughts of former days, such as the usual dull uniformity of South African scenery fails to elicit. The ground is broken up into rugged crags, piled one upon another in such a manner that you can’t help wondering how the mischief they ever got there. The veldt is covered with long grass, like English mowing grass. The trees are, for the most part, like English woodland trees, but less in size; in some places forming a thick bush, in others scattered over the greensward like English park timber. Occasionally a remarkable tree occurs of unfamiliar aspect, but this is quite the exception. The kopjes are numerous; some, merely small piles of huge stones, with trees springing from the interstices; others, hills of respectable size, built up of crags, and sometimes shutting in the horizon on every side. Here and there a stream runs through its deep stony bed in a deep valley, and then comes the tug of war, and the moonlight scenery is forgotten, whilst one’s lungs are exerted in yelling to the oxen, calling each by his uncouth name. “My dogs always ride with me in my bed. One of them is a most faithful friend and agreeable companion to me. I should miss them very much. I had to sell my pony to the king, to keep in his good books, but was sorry to do it, although he may die now any time of horse-sickness. If he lives he is a valuable animal, and henceforth ‘salted.’ Birds are few here, and, for the most part, not striking in appearance. The same applies to flowers. “Old John Lee’s voice is droning away about some oxen, and the family circle surrounds me, as I write this letter. Lee wants to borrow my waggon for two months to send for some meal, and to do his best to make me comfortable here in the meantime, but I have made a mental vow not to let myself be talked into the arrangement.... I shall be very glad to hear recent news of how all are at home. “_P.S._--... I am adding this P.S. in the waggon, but I miss John Lee’s drone, which I find helps me to write. He discoursed on locusts to-night. As he says, Kafirs eat them, horses, sheep, and all sorts of game eat them, lions eat them, wolves eat them, birds eat them--they _must_ be very nice; only white men and vultures don’t eat them. I believe but for locusts an immense number of people would have died of famine last year at Mungwato.”