As we intended to make this visit to Natal our farewell to South Africa, we spent much of our time in extensive rides to various parts of the country. We owned six horses and a light running two-seated Cape cart that served to make our excursions into the surrounding country delightful. Our leaders were famous hurdle racers. Our wheelers were famous for having been used by the Empress Eugenie during her sad visit to Zulu Land. She came in her loneliness to visit the spot where her noble son, the Prince Imperial, had fallen, pierced through by the cruel assegais of the Zulus, who had surprised him in the tall Zulu grass when hunting. He fought single handed, and returned backwards to his horse. When found dead it was proved on examination that he had met death bravely, having received every wound with his face to his black foe. We started one fine morning for a drive to some famous falls several miles distant from Maritzberg. It took half an hour to climb the long town hill, and we were on the downward grade when the brake of our cart broke. The horses were soon on a run down the steep, rocky road, and it seemed as if nothing could save us from being mixed up with the horses' heels. No one uttered a word, but we soon saw that our only hope lay in keeping the horses in hand. The long whip whistled over their heads and struck the leaders a sharp cut, for upon those two horses depended everything; if they would only leap and jump away from their flying companions in the rear we were safe. The dear creatures seemed to know what had occurred, and they just lifted their beautiful heads and fairly skimmed the earth, going as far to one side of the road as they could, and then across to the other side, thus keeping the cart from rolling down upon them. Not more than ten minutes elapsed from the time we started on that downward grade until we reached the level road. Here a wheel came off, and down we all went, and the horses came to a standstill. We were only too glad to come to a halt, no matter how sudden. On our return journey we met two native witch doctors, with their peculiar musical instruments in the shape of a mandolin, and made by their own hands. Mr Watson, editor of the Natal _Witness_, was of our party, and requested them, in their own language, to dance for us, which they did, playing on their instruments and keeping perfect time with head and feet, and certain undulations of the body. The faces of the dancers grew more and more serious as the dance proceeded.