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 sharp as the point of a carving knife. "It can't come here," said I. "It must," said the driver surlily. "But it won't," said I decidedly. "But it will," said the driver angrily. I bethought myself a moment and then declared my purpose of not leaving the vehicle, though I knew that breakfast was prepared within. "May I trouble you to bring a cup of tea to me here," I said to one of my fellow victims. "I shall remain and not allow the tin box to enter the cart." "Not allow!" said the custodian of the mails. "Certainly not," said I, with what authority I could command. "It is illegal." The man paused for a moment awed by the word and then entered upon a compromise, "Would I permit the mail bags to be put inside, if the tin box were kept outside?" To this I assented, and so the cart was packed. I am happy to say that the clouds passed away, and that the bonnets were uninjured as long as I remained in their company. I fear from what I afterwards heard that they must have encountered hard usage on their way from Newcastle to Pretoria.

The mail cart to Newcastle was, I have said, fairly comfortable, but this incident and other little trifles of the same kind made me glad that I had decided on being independent. Three of my fellow passengers were going on to Pretoria and I found that they looked forward with great dread to their journey,—not even then expecting such hardships as did eventually befall them.

The country from Pieter Maritzburg to Newcastle is very hilly,—with hills which are almost mountains on every side, and it would be picturesque but for the sad want of trees. The farm homesteads were few and far between, and very