its name from the many lions which a few years ago made it their home. Eleven have been killed within the last seven years, but now there are none within many miles. Near the kop is a large stretch of veldt, known far and near as the Lion's Ride, which was once the scene of a very novel hunt.

A very large fierce lion had for some time been making frequent ravages in the flocks of a small colony of Dutchmen who were then encamped some miles from the kop, and at last they determined to make up a party, and, following up the spoor, destroy it. The lion was tracked by the boys into a narrow gorge, thickly grown over with bush. At the entrance to this gorge the Dutchmen drew up their tent waggon, and getting inside to be out of reach of danger, sent the boys with the dogs to the other end of the gorge, to drive the beast out towards them. Some time they waited patiently in the waggon, with rifles ready prepared to salute the lion with a volley the moment he emerged from his lair; but at last getting tired of waiting, they relaxed their vigilance. Suddenly there was a terrible rush and a roar, then the whole earth seemed suddenly overwhelmed with an avalanche, as the lion, driven from his hiding-place, and finding his exit stopped, had precipitated himself into the waggon. But even quicker than the entrance of the lion had been the flight of the terror-stricken Boers, who, regardless of their property, went flying out of the waggon, and scattered themselves through the bush. The roar of the lion had made the oxen aware of the presence of their dreaded enemy; and their noses, ever quick

to scent the danger, had told them how near he was; the crashing and roaring in the waggon behind them put the finishing touch to their terror, and the whole span with one accord dashed forward, and before the lion-now probably more terrified than either Boers or oxen-had time to extricate himself, they were tearing over the veldt at such a pace as oxen never before or since have equalled. The road home was open, and never did the oxen slacken their mad stampede until they drew up panting and dead beat in the middle of the camp. The instant they stopped out leapt the lion, and before any of those who came running out to see what had happened could lay hands on their guns, even if they wished to, the monarch of beasts, howling with terror and dismay, set off as fast as his legs would carry him, and is supposed to have straightway left that locality, as the Boers were never troubled by him again.

Leuw Kop, the joint property of Sir Morrison Barlow and Mr. Whitehead, is quite the best cared for farm I ever saw in either Free State, Natal, or Transvaal. The house, paddocks, gardens, and mealie-ground, are all well walled, and in that is quite unique amongst farms in the Free States. The Boers regard the owners as madmen for going to such expense, but the cattle reap the advantage in having protection through the cold winter nights, and increased prices for their stock more than repay the outlay. When Sir Morrison Barlow first settled down in the Free State, the Boers had so violent an objection to an Englishman being amongst

them that they on two separate occasions made attempts to burn him out; but by wonderful luck the wind both times suddenly veered round, and the would-be destroyers had their evil plans recoil on themselves, for their own farms were burnt to the ground.

Land in this district sells at about 6s. an acre, including a house of some sort on the farm; and, but for the difficulty of obtaining a market, would be worth far more. Wool is of course the staple article ; but the wool-farming, like all other kinds of farming, is carried on in a most slipshod manner. There is not a single wool-shed, such as those to be seen on any small farm in Australia and New Zealand, in the country. With the enormous rates of carriage to the coast, in a land where there are no railways, it is impossible to conceive how the wool raised in the interior can ever compete, even if brought to the same perfection, in the world's mart, with that brought from the Australasian colonies, where many of the largest stations have a railroad through their

centres.

During the day, as if they were aware of our disinclination to shoot on Sundays, a large herd of spring-bôk passed the waggons within a hundred yards, and stayed quietly grazing all the afternoon within easy range. We also saw a flock of what are called " African turkeys," a black bird twice the size of a crow, with a bald white head and long red beak. They are excellent eating, but very hard to kill.

Of late years they have had little or no trouble

Killed by Kaffirs.

91

from Kaffirs in the Free State, but the manager at Leuw Kop had a terrible loss, and narrow escape from Basutos before he came there. In those days he was farming on his own account; a married man, with a couple of children, and a good stock of horses, cattle, and sheep. One night, while in bed, a band of Basutos suddenly attacked the house; his resistance was in vain; and while he was defending the door, a party forced an entrance at the back, and assagaied his wife and children before he could go to the rescue. Hearing their shrieks, he burst through the murderers, but only to see his dear ones dead. He laid more than one low before he sprang through the window, and escaped in the darkness, soon lit up with the flames of his burning home. When he returned with a party of friends not a post remained upright; the charred remains of his wife and family were recovered from the mass, but all his stock were driven off. He had to begin life again and alone: homeless, wifeless, childless, penniless, after having tasted the delights of a happy home of his own. What wonder if a man so treated hates a black skin with a bitter, rancorous hatred, and feels no pity when he sees them writhing under the lash, or being defrauded of their rights; yet the same man to another white man is as considerate as a woman. Seeing that I was somewhat an invalid, he was as anxious as if he had been a brother that I should not overtire myself after the bôk, and so throw myself back in health, and daily sent me down any little delicacy of the farm, such as new-laid eggs, cream, vegetables, and butter.

CHAPTER XII.

Rhy-bôk Hunting-The Boys show the White Feather-On Trek -Flogging by the Field Cornet-Wandering on the VeldtBlesse-bôk-Squareface v. Old Tom-Boer DishonestyVaal River-Coranne Shooting-Scarcity of Trees--Watches useless.

NEXT morning we were up by break of day, and while the others went to the top of the kop to have the first shot at the bôk while they were feeding, I went round to the head of a gully, through which they would probably pass when disturbed. Soon after I had taken up my position, I heard the crack of the Martini-Henry which P. carried, ring out sharp and clear in the morning air, and directly after the duller report of the carbine with which A. was armed, and then followed several shots in quick succession; but not a living thing approached the spot where I was in ambush. So after waiting until all the firing had ceased, I retired to the waggon; and soon after the others came down the hill, dragging between them a fine rhy-bôk, about the size of a donkey, and not unlike it in colour and appearance.

The Macatee boys, who were working on the farm, had been frightening our boys with stories of the fighting going on up north, and of other fighting only existing in the imagination of the Kaffirs themselves; and we could see that the boys were excited