steamer and the mythical meals of a Lorenzo Marques hotel, the roast
venison, the fresh milk and eggs of Mathis were as welcome as the odour of
the roses that filled the valley.

The beginning of the second day's journey was characterised by a ride up
and along the sides of a magnificent gorge through which the waters of the
Crocodile River rushed from the lofty plateau of the high veld to the
wildernesses of the fever country and filled that miniature South African
Switzerland with myriads of rainbows. A long, curved, and inclined tunnel
near the top of the mountain led to the undulating plains of the
Transvaal--a marvellously rapid transition from a region filled with
nature's wildest panoramas to one that contained not even a tree or rock
or cliff to relieve the monotony of the landscape. On the one side of this
natural boundary line was an immense territory every square mile of which
contained mountain passes which a handful of Boers could hold against an
invading army; on the other side there was hardly a rock behind which a
burgher rifleman could conceal himself. Here herds of cattle and flocks of
sheep, instead of wild beasts, sped away from the roar of the train; here
there was the daub and wattle cottage of the farmer instead of the
thatched hut of the native savage.

Small towns of corrugated iron and mud-brick homes and shops appeared at
long intervals on the veld; grass-fires displayed the presence of the Boer
farmer with his herds, and the long ox-teams slowly rolling over the plain
signified that not all the peaceful pursuits of a small people at war with
a great nation had been abandoned. The coal-mines at Belfast, with their
towering stacks and clouds of smoke, gave the first evidence of the
country's wondrous underground wealth, and then farther on in the journey
came the small city of Middleburg with its slate-coloured corrugated iron
roofs in marked contrast to the green veld grass surrounding it. There