But there was never a blush on the face of the subaltern. The pony he rode was, he admitted, of a very common type as regards colour and height. And he discussed at great length the difficulty of recognising horses. He told us that one of the greatest horse-dealers in London failed to recognise a horse that he had himself ridden a whole year. And then he drowned me in dates. The pony he was riding was bought for the remount of December 13th, kept at Stellenbosch till January 4th, arrived at De Aar on January 6th, was used there by a staff officer who did not like him and sent him up to Orange River on February 1st. On February 5th he became the property of the subaltern, who appeared to have tethered the beast at night to his waist, so positive was he that "he had never lost sight of the pony since." What could I say? I couldn't call him a liar, for he was a tall, well-made subaltern, and he might have knocked me down, so I let him ride my pony away, and I trudged home to my camp beside the river. Early next morning I collected all the servants and I addressed them as follows: "I have not got a single riding-horse left, and I want some; go and get some." It was a laconic speech, but wonderfully effective. By five o'clock that afternoon three grand beasts were standing under the shelter of the river bank close to my camp, undergoing the different processes of hogging, tail-cutting, dyeing and other forms of transformation used by horse-stealers. In ten days I could have mounted a whole troop of cavalry. I will confess that I was a bit frightened, when, at five o'clock one morning, they brought me two magnificent chargers, for I recognised them as the property of the Commander-in-Chief. But although I delayed His Excellency's departure to Kimberley for an hour, I succeeded in sending them back to his lines unperceived. I now possess a splendid stud of saddle-horses. I find it so difficult to feed them all, however, that it is my intention to offer them for sale next Wednesday. The conditions of sale are the usual ones, but it is to be distinctly understood that if any person dares to claim one of the animals as his own he will be turned out of the enclosure with ignominy. * * * * * TO THE SOLDIERS' POET. BY B. CHARLES TUCKER. So you've come, Mynheer Kiplin', so you've come: Wot a chap you are to foller up the drum! S'pose yer's gwine to make some verse? Well, there's lots wot does it worse, You'd 'ave made a better Laurrytte than some. We 'ave read your latest rimin' in the "FRIEND," But it's finished up too soon toward the end; But the paper's raither small, Sure it's 'ardly none at all, If 'twere larger now 'twould be the bigger friend. Now I arsks yer, Mister Kiplin', ain't yer proud Of the "absent-minded beggars," how they've ploughed Through 'ard ground to "Bobsfontein," Dorp of late departed Steyn, Ain't yer proud of this great ragged Kharki crowd?