bald and hideous combination until kindly, luxuriant Nature has had time to step in and cover up man’s ugly handiwork with her festoons of roses and passion-flowers.  Most of the houses have, fortunately, red-tiled roofs, which are not so ugly, and mine is among the number.  It is so squat and square, however, that, as our landlord happens to be the chief baker of Maritzburg, it has been proposed to christen it “Cottage Loaf,” but this idea requires consideration on account of the baker’s feelings.  In the mean time, it is known briefly as “Smith’s,” that being the landlord’s name.  It has, as all the houses here have, a broad projecting roof extending over a wide verandah.  Within are four small rooms, two on either side of a narrow passage which runs from one end to the other.  By a happy afterthought, a kitchen has been added beyond this extremely simple ground-plan, and on the opposite side a corresponding projection which closely resembles a packing-case, and which has been painted a bright blue inside and out.  This is the dining-room, and evidently requires to be severely handled before its present crude and glaring tints can be at all toned down.  At a little distance stands the stable, saddle-room, etc., and a good bedroom for English servants, and beyond that, again, among large clumps of rose-bushes, a native hut.  It came up here half built—­that is, the frame was partly put together elsewhere—­and it resembled a huge crinoline more than anything else in its original state.  Since that, however, it has been made more secure by extra pales of bamboo, each tied in its place with infinite trouble and patience by a knot every inch or two.  The final stage consisted of careful thatching with thick bundles of grass laid on the framework, and secured by long ropes of grass binding the whole together.  The door is the very smallest opening imaginable, and inside it is of course pitch dark.  All this labor was performed by stalwart Kafir women, one of whom, a fearfully repulsive female, informed my cook that she had just been bought back by her original husband.  Stress of circumstances had obliged him to sell her, and she had been bought by three other husband-masters since then, but was now resold, a bargain, to her first owner, whom, she declared, she preferred to any of the others.  But few as are these rooms, they yet are watertight—­which is a great point out here—­and the house, being built of large, awkward blocks of stone, is cool and shady.  When I have arranged things a little, it will be quite comfortable and pretty; and I defy any one to wish for a more exquisite view than can be seen from any corner of the verandah.  We are on the brow of a hill which slopes gently down to the hollow wherein nestles the picturesque little town, or rather village, of Maritzburg.  The intervening distance of a mile or so conceals the real ugliness and monotony of its straight streets, and hides all architectural shortcomings.  The clock-tower, for