We entered Bloemfontein on March 13th. Two days later I was asked by Mr. F. W. Buxton, of the _Johannesburg Star_, to attend a meeting of some other correspondents and Lord Stanley in Lord Stanley's office on that day. I had caught up with the army by a dangerous journey with only two companions across the veldt from Kimberley, where an injury to my leg had laid me up. I had reported myself to Lord Stanley, the censor. I had previously carried on some correspondence with him, but our personal acquaintance had not been of more than five minutes' duration. I could not, therefore, know at that time that he was to prove himself the most competent of all the censors appointed to supervise the work of us correspondents. In saying that he was the "most competent" I mean that he ranked above all the others in every quality which goes to make up fitness for this unceasing and exacting work. He had quick intelligence, great breadth of judgment, unfailing courtesy, unbroken patience, and all the modesty of a truly able man. Hardly can the average reader estimate the degree of satisfaction with which we correspondents came quickly to realise the admirable qualities of this first and only fair and considerate censor that most of us had known in the war. At one place we knew a censor who read the letters which came to officers and privates from their wives in England, and who used to regale his chance acquaintances with comparisons between the sterling virtues and deep affection of the letters to Tommy, and the colder, more selfish, and even querulous messages of the wives of officers. At another place we had a censor who obliged us to hand to him our letters to our wives and sweethearts unsealed, and in one case this censor kept for twenty-four hours a letter I had written to my family. Still another censor showered his contempt upon certain correspondents who, in every way which goes to make up refinement, self-respect, and dignity, were many times better men than he. It amused him to take the despatches of a Colonial lad, who was doing his best to enter upon an honourable career, and throw them in his waste basket daily for ten days without informing the youth of their fate. It pleased him to insult me by telling me that the only message I could send to England must be a description of a sandstorm; while to Mr. E. F. Knight, a man Lord Methuen said he "was proud to have with his army," this censor said, "There is only one thing I will allow you to write--that is, a description of a new Union Jack which has just been run up over the headquarters."