Mr. Buxton had been called away to Capetown just after Mr. Kipling's arrival, and my associates, hag-ridden by the confusion and annoyances consequent upon the lack of a practised head to the little institution, had thrust upon me the honour and hard work of what may be called the managing editor's place. Thenceforth it was my duty to deal with the gnomes in the dust hall, the retiring and reticent cashier in another building, and the inmates of the Home for Boer Compositors, otherwise known as the office of the late unlamented Express. When I saw the genius of the Master thrust to the bottom corner of the paper, or made grotesque by mis-spelling and exhibitions of "pi," I felt that I alone was to blame, and hid myself and vowed to produce better results if I had to set up the type myself.
From an able major of Engineers we received for this number a confident and well-studied reply to Mr. Gwynne's articles on the effects of the war upon military science.
The Dinner of the 28th of March 1900 at Bloemfontein.
