that hollow; and you indulge in your evening “tot,” and smoke more pipes, and talk or ruminate as the fancy takes you. And then at last up comes the splendid African moon like a radiant queen rising from a throne of inky cloud, flooding the whole wide veldt with mysterious light, and reveals the long lines of game slowly travelling to their feeding-grounds along the ridges of the rolling plain. Well, “one more drop,” and then to bed, having come to the admirable decision—so easy to make overnight, so hard to adhere to when the time comes—to “trek from the yoke” at dawn. And then, having undressed yourself outside the tent, all except the flannel shirt in which you are going to sleep—for there is no room to do so inside—you stow your clothes and boots away under your mackintosh sheet—for clothes wet through with dew are unpleasant to wear before the sun is up—creep on your hands and knees into your little tenement, and wriggle between the blankets. For awhile, perhaps, you lie so, your pipe still between your lips, and gazing up through the opening of the little tent at two bright particular stars shining in the blue depths above, or watching the waving of the tall tambouki-grass as the night-wind goes sighing through it. And then, behold! the cold far stars draw near, grow warm with life, and change to Eva’s eyes—if unluckily you have an Eva—and the yellow tambouki-grass is her waving hair, and the sad whispering of the wind her voice, which speaks and tells you that she has come from far across the great seas to tell you that she loves you to lull you to your rest. What was it that frighted her so soon? The rattling of chains and the deep lowing of the oxen, rising to be ready for the dawn. It has not come yet; but it is not far off. See, the gray light begins to gleam upon the oxen’s horns, and far away, there in the east, the gray is streaked with primrose. Away with dreams, and up to pull the shivering Kafirs from their snug lair beneath the waggon, and to give the good nags, which must gallop wilderbeeste all to-day, a double handful of mealies before you start. _Ah neu-yak-trek!_ the great waggon strains and starts, and presently the glorious sun comes up, and you eat a crust of bread as you sit on the waggon-box, and wash it down with a mouthful of spirit, and feel that it is a splendid thing to get up early. Then, about half past eight, comes the halt for breakfast, and the welcome tub in the clear stream that you have been making for, and, after breakfast, saddle up the nags, take your bearings by the kopje, and off after that great herd of wilderbeeste. And so, my reader, day adds itself to day, and each day will find you healthier, happier, and stronger than the last. No letters, no newspapers, no duns, no women, and no babies. Think of the joy of it, effete Caucasian, then go buy an ox-waggon and do likewise.