Among the first men in Bloemfontein and the first to make the acquaintance of this maiden was Mr. Gwynne, of THE FRIEND. Foreseeing Sunday, and scenting a chance to revive the best memories of civilised life, he proposed to gather two army friends if she would invite two of her feminine friends for a drive and a luncheon on the veldt on Sunday. He invited James Barnes, the talented American correspondent, and myself. In two Cape carts we called for the young ladies at their homes. They proved to be the very blond young woman, a fourteen-year-old friend, and a little girl of ten or eleven years of age. I confess that I never would have asked mere children upon such an outing; but it is equally true that I could not have experienced either the same or as great and peculiar pleasure with others of older growth. They were frank and free, and merry as grigs. They came as near to having us killed or captured by the Boers as I wanted to be, and from them we learned most interesting and valuable information about the enemy and about the town as it was before we captured it. We proposed to visit the home of one of the girls, a farm which the girls said was "quite close." It proved to be miles beyond the British outposts in a country that seemed to us to be uncomfortably peopled with Boers and which proved afterwards to have been alive with them. Of the danger to us which lay in such a situation the girls took no account. They had been born there. They had seen nothing of war, and did not understand it. The Boers were their lifelong neighbours. And, in a word, they were going to visit friends and to have fun, and nothing else entered their minds. When we were miles away and among some very suggestive little kopjes we discovered that our friends had lost their way and that we were adrift on the veldt. Boers dashed up to the crests of the hills, saw us and disappeared. Boers were on every hand. Why we were not gobbled up and sent to Pretoria none of us can explain. Eventually, with only one mishap--the overturning of one of the carts--which seemed for a moment more terrible than capture by the enemy--we reached the farm-house, and aided by several tiny boys and the farmer and his wife, spent a happy hour and a half. We made our way back to Bloemfontein in the evening, and within a day or two Colonels Crabbe and Codrington and Captain Trotter were wounded and the Honourable Edward Lygon was killed, at the Glen--a rifle shot from where we had picnicked! The adventures and hairbreadth escapes in war are apt to take only three or four well-ordered forms. This adventure was in no way like those of the stereotyped kinds.