trench.  But the same leader jibbed again after another mile.  I must admit he was a most irritating brute, whose obstinacy had been increased by the cruelty of the driver.  It was now decided to put him in the “wheel,” where he would be obliged to do his work.  We crawled on again till our white friend literally threw himself down.  I have related this incident to show how cruel Kaffirs can be, for now the rage of the evil-looking driver burst forth.  He not only hammered the prostrate horse to any extent, but then made the rest of the team pull on, so as to drag him along on his side.  Of course this could not be allowed, and Major ——­ jumped out and commanded him to desist, take out the useless horse, and tie him behind.  At first the Kaffir was very mutinous, and it was only when a stick was laid threateningly across his back that he sulkily complied, looking the while as if he would like to murder the man he was forced to obey.  One hears so much nowadays of the black population having equal rights with the white inhabitants, that it is well to remember how ferociously their lack of civilization occasionally comes out.  Doubtless there are cruel men both white and black, but for downright brutality the nigger is hard to beat, and it is also quite certain that whom the latter does not fear he will not love.  I have personally experienced great devotion and most attentive service on the part of natives, and they are deserving of the kindest and most considerate treatment; but it has often made me indignant to hear people, who have had little or no experience of living in the midst of a native population, prate of the rights of our “black brothers,” and argue as if the latter thought, judged, amused themselves, or, in short, behaved, as the white men do, who have the advantage of hundreds of years of culture.

The day following our drive to Krugersdorp we left for Cape Town and England.  We made the voyage on the old Roslin Castle.  Always a slow boat, she had on this occasion, in sporting parlance, a “wing down,” having broken a piston-rod on her way out from England, when we had vainly awaited her at Cape Town, and I think it was nearly three weeks before we landed at Plymouth.  Again Randolph’s African journey was brought back to my recollection.  The captain of the Roslin Castle, Travers by name, had commanded the Scot, which brought his party home from Mashonaland, and he had very agreeable recollections of many an interesting conversation and of quiet rubbers of whist.

Numerous and exciting events had been crowded into the past six weeks, and in spite of revolutions and strife we had found our South African visit a very pleasant one.  A curious thing about that continent is:  you may dislike it or fall under its charm, but in any case it nearly always calls you back.  It certainly did in my case; and while recalling the people we had met and the information we had acquired it was impossible not to think a little of the Boers