“One spring day, a tent-maker who lived by us, had placed a large and light frame tent upon the edge of the road, without fastening it in any way to the ground. He was warned not to leave it so exposed, but it being a calm day, the advice was neglected. About an hour after, he was inside, busy decorating its walls with red tape, when a sudden and violent whirlwind swept off the claims in all its dusty majesty, and careering down the road, encountered the unfortunate tent. A moment more, it rose in the air like a balloon, the astounded tent-maker vainly hanging to its ribs, until, seeing it was bound to go up, he dropped out, like an apple from a tree. Up it went, whirling with frightful velocity, and pursuing the course of the road, until it knocked fiercely against the gable of a neighboring canteen. In went the roof, while out came the inmates, amidst the smash of bottles and the running of brandy. On and on, and round and round, went the tent, until, espying a jaunty little canvas house which defied wind and rain, in a fit of jealousy it went into it, and, with a grand smash, both lay in ribbons on the ground, while the disgusted tent-maker settled a bill for two ruined houses, instead of being paid for erecting one. “During the summer months, rain-storms, with heavy thunder and lightning, are frequent. They generally approach with a violent breeze, sharp lightning, and loud thunder. The clouds are all in motion, crossing and meeting each other, while along the face of the nimbus, or storm-cloud, is a heavy gray pall of vapor. This is much lower than the rain-cloud, and when close to the earth, portends a fearful storm. The gathering blackness, increased by clouds of dust, the zigzag lightning, the hoarse, reverberating sound of the thunder, and the moaning wind, all strike the spectator with awe. He gazes around him out on the distant plain, where all is dreary and somber; at the immense gray mounds of the claims, deserted, and looking ghostly and unearthly against their pitchy background—and the storm is upon us. Some ominous rain-drops strike the tent, a flash of lightning blinds, a peal of thunder stuns, and the gates of heaven open. The war of the tempest drowns all other sound, the tent shakes and trembles beneath the blast, while rivers of water course down the street, cutting great gullies in the road, and quickly undermining any protective earth-work the digger has placed around him. Soon the canvas begins to leak, and the inmates of the tent stand in dripping silence, listening to the war of the elements. One night, our Caffres were drowned out by one of these heavy storms. They generally slept in a large, circular fire-place of three feet deep, just sufficient to keep the cold from them, and thus were snugly ensconced when it began to rain. Above the fire-place was a hollow which drained into it. As this drainage was very unpleasant, and often, in heavy rains, flooded out the fire, we built a dam against it as a protection.