a sight which Crystal-Palace-goers would give half-a-crown for a front place to see.  As I have said, all day long there are casual veldt-fires springing up in this country.  Just now two or three began down in the valley, tracing fine golden lines in spirals and circles.  The grass is short, so that there is no great blaze, but the effect is that of some great unseen hand writing cabalistic sentences (perhaps the “Mene, Mene” of De Wet!), with a pen dipped in fire.  This night there was scarcely a breath of wind to determine the track of the fires, or quicken their speed, and they wound and intersected at their own caprice, describing fantastic arcs and curves from which one could imagine pictures and letters.  The valley gradually became full of a dull, soft glow, and overhung with red, murky smoke, through which the moon shone down with the strangest mingling of diverse lights.  Very suddenly a faint breeze began to blow in from the valley directly towards our camp.  At once the aimless traceries of fine flame seemed to concentrate into a long resolute line, and a wave of fire, roaring as it approached, gained the foot of the hill, and began to climb it towards us.  Watchful eyes had been on the lookout.  “Drivers, stand to your horses,” was shouted.  “Out with your blankets, men,” to our gunners and the infantry behind, and in an instant the chosen sons of Cork were bounding out of their lines and down the hill, and belabouring the fire with blankets and ground-sheets and sacks.  They seemed to think it a fine joke, and raised a paean of triumph when it was got under.  “Wan more victory,” I heard one say.

July 10.—­Slack day, most of it spent in grazing the horses.  For this duty each man takes four horses, so that only half of us need go; but on the other hand, if you stay, you may come in for a “fatigue,” which it requires some insight to predict.  Beyond that, our whole energies were concentrated on cooking our meals, raw meat only being served out.  Williams and I borrowed a camp-kettle from the Munsters, and cooked our mutton with a pumpkin which we had commandeered.  The weather is a good deal warmer.  We are camped near the scene of a hard stand made by the Boers, dotted with trenches and little heaps of cartridge-cases, and also unused cartridges.  I found one complete packet sewn up in canvas roughly and numbered.  In most cases they are Lee-Metfords, and not Mausers.  The Boers have, of course, captured quantities of our rifles and ammunition in convoy “mishaps” of various dates.  Spent the evening in trying cooking experiments with mealy flour and some Neave’s Food, which one of us had.  One longs for a change of diet from biscuit and plain meat, which, without vegetables, never seem to satisfy.  Even salt has been lacking till to-day, and porridge has ceased.  It was announced that a convoy was to leave for Kroonstadt the same night, taking wounded and mails, and I hurriedly wrote two notes.  I am afraid we are here for some time.  I wish I could hear from Henry.