And what of these English? Are they afraid to die? Who would say such a thing or think it for a moment--of these splendid fellows who have led England's ranks against every fanatic on earth except the Turk? They are as ready to die as any men, and they rank above their foes as towers rise above the lowly grass, because they risk their lives with a full knowledge of what they are doing, and because in risking themselves they risk the most enviable lot of which any man can boast.

The incomes and homes, the wives and sisters, the companions and sports and clubs of these men, the comforts and the luxuries with which they can surround themselves whenever they will, are ties which must make life dearer to them than the bare, hard lot of most of the poor wretches whom historians and poets have glorified for not fearing death; but every one of those, I honestly believe, fears it more than these splendid, dashing fellows, who keep on carving empires out of the map of the world to swell the British Empire.

"Been to Government House?" I asked one of these men yesterday.

"No," said he, "and I'm not going. I am afraid they might send me somewhere out of the thick of things. I don't want them to know I'm

here. I'm going to wherever it's liveliest. I'll be certain to find somebody under whom I have served, or with whom I have fought, and so I'll see the best of it."

And that was the man who told me that out of a hundred men with whom he studied for the service seventy-five are dead already-fifteen of illnesses, and sixty of bullet wounds and spear

thrusts!

.

It is disgusting to leave these men, and turn into any one of the Capetown hotels to find yourself surrounded by the rich refugees from Johannesburg, and to hear them cry like children as they tell you what they will lose if the British do not hurry up and take the Transvaal, before the Boers destroy Johannesburg.

In their dismay they actually weep over their plates at dinner, and half-strangle themselves by sobbing as they drink their whisky at bed-time. The Mount Nelson, the Queen's, and the Grand Hotels are all full of these merchants and millionaires, faring on the fat of the land, idle, loafing all of every day, and discussing what per cent. of their losses the British Government will pay when they put in their claims at the end of the war.

Some came here as clerks, some as labourers in

the mines, and some are merchants who brought

10 worth of goods out from Birmingham a dozen years ago. They tell you that they have left £100,000 worth, or £80,000 worth of goods in their shop, and that altogether £25,000,000 is in danger of destruction in Johannesburg.

"Oh, mine Got!" one has just been saying to me; "I can'd dell how much I shall lose by dis peezness. I shpeak mit much feeling, my frent. Blease excoose me grying. Vot do you dink? Do you dink I can git back dirty-dree per cent. of vot I lose from de British Government? Oh, Got! den I lose £60,000-ain'd it derrible ?"

They are pulling their long faces all over the place, and shedding their tears wherever you meet them. It is enough to make a statue ill to have to hear and see them and move among them. Why don't they equip a regiment of rough-riders or make up a battalion of volunteers among themselves? Why don't they fight? The war has jeopardised their property, and they have a keener interest in it than any Tommy, or any officer now at the front. How can they see the cream and flower of English manhood rushing down here to spill its precious blood for them, and never feel a blush of shame, or a pang of any emotion except

grief over personal losses which will still leave many of them rich?

Really, Capetown is a wonderful place. It is worth the journey to see the streets blocked by able young men, and the hotels crowded by rich refugees, while each night's train takes out the fearless gentlemen who are deliberately risking not only their lives but more of worldly advantage than can ever come to these skulkers, who cling to the shelter of England's guns, and weep while they wait for men to die, that they may rush up to the British Treasury with their claims.

If the exhibition these refugees are making in Capetown were as important as it is conspicuous, one would think the Englishmen in charge here would drop the contest where it is, and go home in disgust. But it is only a phase of a side issue, quite apart from the principle at stake.

CHAPTER IV

THE BOER AT HOME

A

GERMAN correspondent took me aside in the City Club one day and said: "You see, the Boers have been playing us all for fools. They have allowed the world to believe that they can only fight behind rocks, and while the British acted on this belief they have come right out in the open and given them a huge surprise, bottling up Kimberley and cutting off all communication with it, besides capturing trains, destroying bridges, and all the rest."

Almost as he spoke out of his dense ignorance, an American born in Natal, and now a man of wealth and position in South Africa, drifted to our group and told us his very different opinion of the enemy.

"The British talk about keeping on the defensive until their whole force is in position in