The sight of what appeared to be a balloon (and we soon discovered that it was nothing else) excited tremendous interest.  It ascended and descended repeatedly during the battle, apparently for the purpose of locating the enemy and directing the fire of Methuen’s guns.  We had been inundated with narratives of the extraordinary strength of the positions into which Boer ingenuity had converted the kopjes of Magersfontein.  No further attention was paid to these tales, for lyddite was a terrible thing—­that could move kopjes.  It was but a matter of hours until the Column would be with us, unless, indeed, it paused for rest.  The next day, we felt, would end the Siege of Kimberley, and bring again into vogue good dinners, buttered bread, and—­something to drink.

When firing ceased at length, the Beaconsfield Town Guard determined to make a noise on their own account.  The easiest way to do it was to sound the alarm; and they did sound it, with right good will.  They had observed a large party of the enemy clearing out of Alexandersfontein, and were possessed of an hallucination that it portended an attack on Beaconsfield.  These wolf-cries, however, were venial faults; they denoted watchfulness; we were not disposed to take umbrage at small things; it was a day of victory.  No suspicion of the truth flashed through our minds to upset our comfortable conclusions.  Our ignorance was bliss; the folly of wisdom was to manifest itself all too soon.

The Advertiser had news at last—­authentic news and fresh; and forth from Stockdale Street was launched a three-penny “Special,” to tell of the balloon “we” had seen and of the cannon “we” had heard.  That was all.  We put down our tickeys without a murmur.  In the fulness of our hearts we said the paper had to live.  The revenue from its advertising columns was a cypher, since there was so little to advertise about, and so little need to advertise anything that was about.  The “ads.” had fallen off only in the sense that they were no longer paid for.  They were still printed (to fill up space); and very annoying reading they made.  Before, there was some truth in them; now, there was none.  How we sighed for the times of extreme individualism.

In the afternoon a football match was played.  The gate-money was handed over to the Widows’ and Orphans’ Fund.  Our happy speculations on what happened at Magersfontein served a good purpose here in stimulating the generosity of the spectators.  A team of our visitors (the Lancashire Regiment) lined up against the pick of the Citizen Soldiers.  The game was well contested, but the superior discipline of the Colonel’s lot told, and they won.