and of this class, I venture to think, were Lord Chelmsford and his lieutenants. And when we are ourselves in the "sere and yellow leaf," or have joined, mayhap, that "larger majority" which Gladstonian tactics and energy cannot hope to rival, our children and children's children, when they read of such names as Bartle Frere, Chelmsford, Wood, Pearson, Buller, and Piet Uys, may look back to English History and see that our "island mastiffs" have not become degenerate, either in courage or generosity, since the days of Harold, the Black Prince, or that knightly Sydney who fell at Zutphen! Some experience of the Kaffir tribes and their characteristics, of the physical and geographical difficulties which attend upon a campaign in South Africa,--dating, indeed, as far back as a score of years ago, and the interest which I have since taken in colonies where, as an Adjutant, I passed some very happy years among Boers, Bôk, and Kaffirs, had at the commencement of the late war prompted me to follow its various phases, with a view to write the story of the campaign. In this purpose I was encouraged by the offers of many old comrades who were about to start with their regiments for the seat of war, and who promised me by each available opportunity the assistances of their several journals, notes, and sketches. "But one I would select from that proud throng, · · · · · And partly that bright names will hallow song, And his was of the bravest." And to those who have known that most accomplished gentleman and gallant soldier, young, brave, cheery, and _débonnaire_, Edmund Wyatt-Edgell, I need not say how delighted I was at his undertaking to correspond with me, and, as far as time and opportunity permitted, to keep me _au courant_ with the march of events. From the time of his arrival at Natal to the fatal day on which he fell, he fulfilled that promise, and if any merit be due to the narrative I now present to public notice, it will, I believe, come through those descriptions which I received from my dead comrade and friend--_Sit tibi terra levis!_ Another motive, or perhaps more than one, "pricked the sides of my intent," and invited me to wield the pen upon a soil where erst I had drawn a "regulation" sword. In the "unvexed silence of a student's cell," i.e., London chambers, I could only watch the progress of the campaign, without hoping to share in its toils or its dangers. I might envy, but I could not participate-- "For who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek To wear it?"