taboo. And, curiously enough, although the world was ringing with
criticism of Methuen we in Kimberley blamed nobody. Even the "Military
Critic" was dumb. Lord Methuen rose in our estimation to the level of a
hero, who had driven the enemy before him from Orange River, to fail
only in the last lap. Even now, perhaps, the people of Kimberley,
looking back at the events of the past, would be reluctant to join in
the criticism his name evokes. The facts, of course, speak for
themselves; and it did seem strange to see soldiers like Buller and
Warren being arraigned, and Gatacre getting recalled, while others
passed through the fire officially unscathed. Speaking of Gatacre,
we--having just been made acquainted with the Stormberg affair--were
saying nasty things of him. Monday was altogether a miserable day, with
the outlook far less bright than our fancy had painted it.

On Tuesday the muffled booming of the British guns at Modder River was
heard again. It was hard to credit the evidence of our senses, that
Methuen had retreated. Still, we were not to be entirely disheartened
while there remained the possibility of a drive to the sea for
Christmas. At a meeting of the Town Council a new Mayor (Mr. Oliver) was
chosen for the year 1900. General Clery, we were informed, was getting
towards Ladysmith; the news was vague, but we were glad to hear it. Any
news not bad was good. The old proverb is wrong; for who would dare
after all the suspense we had endured to put "no news" in the "good"
category.

The shopkeepers--wise men--had found comfort in hard work, and were
making elaborate preparations for Christmas. The jewellers cut a fair
show, and the drapers, too, But the grocer took, or rather would have
taken, the cake if the "Law" allowed it to be baked. His enterprise knew
no limits; his display of holly (and indeed of everything else) was