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ning flash, which next moment annihilated them. Friend and foe, foe and friend, in one indiscriminate mass of struggling, shrieking fiends, we drove them before us; we carried them on our assegais, we brained them with the poles of our shields, we walked over the brook on their bodies! A panic had seized them; and the plain, which in the morning was black with living people, two days after was white with their bones.

"Slowly we returned, glad for our victory, but sorrowing for the friends who were slain; and, leaving the crows to bury the dead, we commenced our homeward march with the spoil.

"We crossed the boundary, and everywhere were met by the rejoicings of the people. No moaning for dead men was there; they had died in their duty; they had died for their king, who liberally gave to his people the cattle we had brought, which were so great in number that no ten men could stop them at a ford.

"On arrival at the king's kraal, our father killed cattle for us, gave us beer to drink, and gave us permission to marry, as we had earned it by our deeds. The day we spent in dancing and feasting, and in the evening we fought our battles over again, as I have now been doing to you.”

NOTE. The Zulu style of speaking is very

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head that he was getting tipsy, and re fused to speak another word all the evening for fear of committing himself.

The other men laughed at Ferrers. And Welter chose to laugh too; he was determined that his wife should not make a fool of him. But now every one began to draw off and take their places for therace. Little Dick Ferrers, whose whole life was one long effort of good nature, stayed by Lady Welter, though horribly afraid of her, because he did not like to see her left alone. Charles forced himself into a front position against the rails, with his friend Mr. Sloane, who had turned up, and held on thereby, intensely interested. He was passionately fond of horse-racing; and he forgot everything, even his poor, kind old friend Lord Ascot, in scrutinising every horse as it came by from the Warren, and guessing which was to win.

Haphazard was the horse, there could be no doubt. A cheer ran all along the line, as he came walking majestically down, as though he knew he was the hero of the day. Bill Sykes and Carnarvon were as good as good could be ; but Haphazard was better. Charles remembered Lady Ascot's tearful warning about his not being able to stay; but he laughed it to scorn. The horse had furnished so since then! Here he came, flying past them like a whirlwind, shaking the earth, and making men's ears tingle with the glorious music of his feet on the turf. Haphazard, ridden by Wells, must win! Hurrah for Wells!

As the horse came slowly past again, he looked up to see the calm, stern face; but it was not there. There were Lord Ascot's colours, dark blue and white sash; but where was Wells? The jockey was a smooth-faced young man, with very white teeth, who kept grinning and touching his cap at every other word Lord Ascot said to him. Charles hurriedly borrowed Sloane's card, and read,

"Lord Ascot's Haphazard J. Brooks."

Who, in the name of confusion, was J. Brooks? All of a sudden he remembered. It was one of Lord Ascot's own lads. It was the very lad that rode

Haphazard the day that Adelaide and he rode out on to the Downs, at Ranford, to see the horse gallop. Lord Ascot must be mad.

"But Wells was to have ridden Haphazard, Mr. Sloane," said Charles.

"He wouldn't," said Sloane, and laughed sardonically. But there was no time for Charles to ask why he laughed, for the horses were off.

Those who saw the race were rather surprised that Ben Caunt had not showed more to the front at first to force the running; but there was not much time to think of such things. As they came round the corner, Haphazard, who was lying sixth, walked through his horses and laid himself alongside of Bill Sykes. A hundred yards from the post, Bill Sykes made a push, and drew a neck a-head; in a second or so more Haphazard had passed him, winning the Derby by a clear length; and poor Lord Ascot fell headlong down in a fit, like a dead man.

Little Dicky Ferrers, in the excitement of the race, had climbed into the rumble of Adelaide's carriage, peashooter and all; and, having cheered rather noisily as the favourite came in winner, he was beginning to wonder whether he hadn't made a fool of himself, and what Lady Welter would say when she found where he had got to, when Lord Welter broke through the crowd, and came up to his wife, looking like death.

"Get home, Adelaide! You see what has happened, and know what to do. Lady Welter, if I get hold of that boy, Brooks, to-night, in a safe place, I'll murder him, by!"

"I believe you will, Welter. Keep away from him, unless you are a madman. If you anger the boy, it will all come out. Where is Lord Ascot?”

"Dead, they say, or dying. He is in a fit."

"I ought to go to him, Welter, in common decency."

"Go home, I tell you. Get the things you know of packed, and taken to one of the hotels at London Bridge. Any name will do. Be at home to-night, dressed, in a state of jubilation; and keep a couple of hundred pounds in the house. Here, you fellows! her ladyship's horses-look sharp!"

Poor little Dicky Ferrers had heard more than he intended; but Welter, in his madness, had not noticed him. He didn't use his peashooter going home, and spoke very little. There was a party of all of them in Hornby's rooms that night, and Dicky was so dull at first, that his brother made some excuse to get him into the passage, and say a few eager, affectionate words to him.

"Dick, my child, you have lost some money. How much? You shall have it to-morrow."

"Not half a halfpenny, Bob; but I was with Lady Welter just after the race, and I heard more than I ought to have heard."

"You couldn't help it, I hope."

"I ought to have helped it; but it was so sudden, I couldn't help it. And now I can't ease my mind by telling anybody."

"I suppose it was some rascality of Welter's," said Sir Robert, laughing. "It don't much matter; only don't tell any one, youknow." And then they went in again, and Dicky never told any one till every one knew.

For it came out soon that Lord Ascot had been madly betting, by commission, against his own horse, and that forty years' rents of his estates wouldn't set my lord on his legs again. With his usual irresolution, he had changed his policy-partly owing, I fear, to our dear old friend Lady Ascot's perpetual croak ing about "Ramoneur's blood," and its staying qualities. So, after betting such a sum on his own horse as gave the betting world confidence, and excusing himself by pleading his well-known poverty from going further, he had hedged, by commission; and, could his horse have lost, he would have won enough to set matters right at Ranford. He dared not ask a great jockey to ride for him under such circumstances, and

so he puffed one of his own lads to the world, and broke with Wells. The lad had sold him like a sheep. Meanwhile, thinking himself a man of honour, poor fool, he had raised every farthing possible on his estate to meet his engagements on the turf in case of failure-in case of his horse winning by some mischance, if such a thing could be. And so it came about that the men of the turf were all honourably paid, and he and his tradesmen were ruined. The estates were entailed; but for thirty years Ranford must be in the hands of strangers. Welter, too, had raised money, and lost fearfully by the same speculation.

There are some men who are always in the right place when they are wantedalways ready to do good and kind actions-and who are generally found "to the fore" in times of trouble. Such a man was General Mainwaring. When Lord Ascot fell down in a fit, he was beside him, and, having seen him doing well, and having heard from him, as he recovered, the fearful extent of the disaster, he had posted across country to Ranford and told Lady Ascot.

She took it very quietly.

"Win or lose," she said, "it is all one to this unhappy house. Tell them to get out my horses, dear general, and let me go to my poor darling Ascot. You have heard nothing of Charles Ravenshoe, general?"

"Nothing, my dear lady."

Charles had brushed his sleeve in the crowd that day, and had longed to take the dear old brown hand in his again, but dared not. Poor Charles! If he had only done so !

So the general and Lady Ascot went off together, and nursed Lord Ascot; and Adelaide, pale as death, but beautiful as ever, was driven home through the dust and turmoil, clenching her hands impatiently together at every stoppage on the road.

To be continued.

432

A ZULU FORAY.

"True, 'tis pity; pity 'tis, 'tis true."

"IMAGINE yourself, my dear Bob, after
having toiled for an hour up the sunny
side of a South African hill, among
stones and sand, trees and rank under-
growth, holes and ant-heaps, with the
sun beating on your back until it almost
calcines your vertebræ and fries your
spinal marrow, not a breath of wind to
cool the over-heated air, not a sound to
disturb the stagnant atmosphere, except
the laborious breathing of your Kaffir
attendants, and now and then the rustle
of some snake or lizard hastening to hide
itself from man, the destroyer-imagine
yourself, I say, arrived at the summit at
last. What a glorious breeze! What a
lovely prospect! How cool, how delicious!
You feel as if all nature were re-animated.
"You look down before you and see
a country covered with black mimosa
trees, appearing even more dark and
rugged because it lies in the deep shade
of the lofty mountain on which you
stand. Beyond that again the land rises
on all sides; the trees are scattered in
picturesque clumps; and the same sun
which you had felt to be an unmitigated
torture on the other side, now enhances
the beauty of the prospect, by enabling
you to mark the striking difference be-
tween the bright and happy-looking
country behind, and the dark, gloomy
valley in front. On the right you have
hills and valleys, rivers and plains,
kraals, kloofs and trees, until the view
is bounded by the Drackensberg moun-
tains. On the left you have the same
description of landscape, with the sea
in the distance, looking bright and
ethereal, as if as if"

""As if! As if!'-So you have got out of your depth at last, have you? Well, that's one comfort, at any rate. I asked you what he said, and how he told it, and you bolt off into a rambling, ranting description of country, that I can neither make head nor tail of. Now, what did he tell you?"

"Well, confound it, I was just coming to that," said I, by no means pleased with the interruption; "but, since you're in such an unreasonable hurry, I'll give in to your whim and tell you, without any more preface. I turned to go down the hill, expecting to get some 'mealies' and milk at the next kraal."

"Did he say that?"
"No, of course he didn't."
"Oh! I beg your pardon-go on-"
"Come now, none of your nonsense

-no sarcasm, or no story."

"As I was saying, I felt as if the slightest sensation of dinner would not come amiss, and the smallest donation in that way, even although it was only a few mealies, was sure to be most thankfully received. So I made for a kraal at a little distance off, intending to stay over night there, but found, on reaching it, that there was no room, and nothing wherewithal to refresh my inner man. This, although at the moment very provoking, proved in the sequel to be a very fortunate circumstance, as it compelled me to move farther on, and had thus the effect of bringing me into contact with an old warrior, who gave me the best description I have ever heard of a Zulu foray into the territories of a neighbouring potentate. Indeed, I quite despair of being able to give it to you with anything like the effect of the original delineator. You know too well the extraordinary descriptive powers of the Kaffirs, their natural eloquence and expressive action, to expect that. But, when you consider the external circumstances the mise en scène, so to speak-you will at once perceive the impossibility of my being able to give you anything but an outline of the wordpicture.

"Imagine the scene-a Kaffir kraal, with the dramatis personæ, consisting of the old warrior, your humble servant,

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