utensils to break, or keep as souvenirs.  Yet no wayward fragment of shell contributed its quota to the perpetual din of gem-land.  Better still, no exterior sound could be heard; no boom, no faint intonation of the shocks that blighted the earth’s surface ever ruffled its centre.  It was the solitary advantage the centre (as a residence) had over the surface; but it was a substantial advantage, though rather testily appreciated.

The town was as hushed as a cemetery; and it was not easy to gather knowledge of the damage done, or of its extent.  The hospital was the recipient of a grant-in-aid, which a gentleman resident in its vicinity participated in—­his face getting chopped by some startled pebbles.  One young lady who had left the mine, who could better hear the shells above than the confusion of tongues below, was penalised with a gash—­happily slight.  A little boy was wounded in the leg.  A number of empty houses were battered; and the headgear of the “Kimberley Mine” was hit by a passing missile, which occasioned not a little consternation among the families who, finding no room at the bottom, were quartered at the top of the shaft.  The Opera House was again struck; and at the Presbyterian Church a dextrous effort was made to discover the “lost chord,” which resulted in the organ’s being for ever incapacitated to shed the soul of any music whatsoever.  The caves dug out of the debris heaps were all inhabited; the teething community never let us forget it.  A number of the mine emigrants had returned to their native land and joined their friends in the debris heaps.  The protection of the debris heaps was not quite so good as that afforded by the mines, and the music of the cannon the troglodytes had always with them.  But there was more liberty and comfort in the caves, which were dry as dust and—­no slang intended—­not too dusty.

Signs and portents of the approaching revolution were not wanting.  Rumours transcended in sensationalism all past products of inventive fertility; but though men of weight were beginning to respect the fama the populace hi the mass were too “ware” to fondle her.  With the women hi the mines it was different; their newly-acquired appreciation of “Home, sweet home” had induced symptoms of their primeval predisposition to believe all they heard—­and they heard all sorts of loving lies.  The enemy, it was noticed, evinced signs of uneasiness at last; he cast furtive looks behind him, as if some danger lurked unseen.  The traditional stoicism of the Boer was perturbed, and an air of violent agitation was conspicuous in the portion of the cordon nearest to Modder River.  The “star” shining down on the Free State suggested an undesirable destiny; it was filled with reconnoitring Britons.  For ourselves, we noted the point from which the balloon had ascended, and the obvious confusion in the Boer ranks, with curiosity; and though we still resolutely adhered to belief in the folly of expecting relief, instinct whispered nil desperandum.  From out the camp at Alexandersfontein the enemy appeared to be clearing—­all of which phenomena were the more mysterious because of the silence that prevailed.