( Late Corporal 69th Sussex Company I.Y. ) ILLUSTRATED by the AUTHOR. "And you, good Yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not." Shakespeare. THIRD EDITION. LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & Co., LIMITED. 1901. PRINTED BY BURFIELD & PENNELLS, HASTINGS....

"More khaki," sniffed a bored but charming lady, as she glanced at a picture of the poor Yeomanry at Lindley, and then hastily turned away to something of greater interest. I overheard the foregoing at the Royal Academy, soon after my return from South Africa, last May, and thanked the Fates that I was in mufti. It was to a certain extent indicative of the jaded interest with which the War is now being followed by a large proportion of the public at home, the majority of whom, I presume, have no

Orange Grove, Near Johannesburg. Saturday, June 2nd, 1900. On Monday, May 28th, at mid-day, we reached the Vaal River, where we stopped and took all our superfluous kit off the horses, which left us with one blanket per man; were provided with four biscuits each, rations for two days, and so with light hearts and saddles, we forded Viljoen's Drift; into the Transvaal—at last! We had a long march to catch Roberts, but this country provides one with heaps of things to break any monotony that might

Dasspoort, Outside Pretoria. Tuesday, July 31st. "Good morning! Have you used Pears' soap?" No, nor any other for about a fortnight, but in a few minutes I am going to have a most luxurious shave and bath in a tin teacup. As you can see by the above, we are all back at this historic town again after a very warm fortnight of marching and fighting under General Mahon. We marched through the town past Roberts yesterday, and are now camped awaiting remounts, in order to proceed with the game in some

Hekpoort, September 5th, 1900. We've stood to our nags (confound them!) We've thought of our native land; We have cussed our English brother, (For he does not understand.) We've cussed the whole of creation, And the cross swings low for the morn, Last straw (and by stern obligation) To the Empire's load we've borne. Monday, September 3rd. Reveillé at three o'clock, and coming after a few days of welcome rest in the camp by the Pretoria Racecourse, a camp resembling a vast rubbish field with the

Imperial Yeomanry Hospital, Pretoria. Tuesday, December 18th, 1900. Dulce et decorum 'tis to bleed for one's country, especially to a small extent, and that is my case. So here I am taking my ease with a slightly stiff leg, caused by a flesh wound acquired during a lively rearguard action we had on the 14th, and my hand tied up in a manner to render writing rather a slow and fumbling ceremony. I always find it easier to write of the present than the past, so will get through the events of last w