mand the sandy bed for at least a hundred yards each way. Meantime the beaters enter the bush, the indispensable "Office" accompanying, but not, on this occasion, preceding them. For a few minutes nothing is heard save the sound of crashing drift and breaking sticks, as the men slowly force their arduous passage: then comes a wild shout from the look-out up the tree-just visible from our position,—accompanied by much pointing and such violent gesticulation that the security of his position would seem to be in some danger. Everyone takes up the cry, the dogs bark, and I fancy that I can see something rustling through the thick stuff opposite, perhaps twenty-five paces distant. There is barely time to raise the rifle and put in a single shot before all is still again, but nevertheless it seems good policy to plant a few more bullets in the direction whither the movement seemed to have been tending. It takes some minutes before the beaters have converged on the place, and we all then advance with due precaution. Alas! nothing rewards our eager scrutiny of the ground for blood spoor. True, the undergrowth is so thick that a few gory spots might easily escape detection; indeed the animal himself might be crouching close by without any one being the wiser. The latter thought is one that is so apt to seize upon the imagination when the first excitement is over, that it supplies the motive for the order to beat an immediate retreat. A possibly wounded leopard, and covert like this, is about the nastiest combination it is possible to conceive. At this moment the undaunted "Office" springs forward, betraying every sign of excitement-he has been sniffing round for the past few minutes-and disappears in a sort of tunnel of grass and dead sticks. Unwilling to let him gamble further with fortune to-day, we call him back energetically,-absolutely no good-the dog is as full of fire as at the beginning of the hunt and now the barks change to growls, and sounds as of worrying. The men exchange glances, and a forward move is simultaneous. At first nothing can be seen. Then the dog's hindquarters can be distinguished, as he pulls and tears at something which is evidently lying on the ground, and a moment later we are standing over a fine male leopard, stone dead. By some extraordinary freak of chance one of the random bullets had hit him behind one ear, and almost lifted off the top of the skull, of course killing him instantly. He must have dropped in his tracks without uttering a sound, in the act of attempting to creep away in the long grass. It is the kind of luck that might perhaps occur once in a million times, and certainly reflects credit upon the marksman. Still, there is no necessity to give oneself away to one's followers, and an attitude of calm indifference seems most fitting to the occasion. Mutual congratulations are the order of the moment: the ancient Likoma alone strikes a jarring note, when, having at length hobbled up to the edge of the bush, whither we have had the dead beast dragged, he shakes his head with senile solemnity and hopes it may not prove to be "mtagati," that is to say, may not be a were-leopard-man at one time and beast at another,-not uncommon superstition amongst many Bantu races. Dire disaster is said to fall upon the head of any one who thus offends the spirit by depriving it of a bodily tenement. an small "Office's" wounds are now syringed with disinfectant-fortunately they are not serious, and he will lick them well in a few days,-and the leopard is slung upon a pole and so borne homewards; nor is the reed-buck meat from the big tree forgotten. At the forthcoming feast, nevertheless, it will take second place to the leopard. which will form the pièce de résistance. All our natives are exceedingly fond of cat meat, from the flesh of the lordly lion down to that of the humble mouse-catcher; in fact, amongst the Zulu-speaking tribes of the Eastern Transvaal it probably occupies the very first place among dainty dishes. The fat with which the bodies of animals of this family are covered is, of course, a great attraction for external use; and in the case of the lion and the leopard there are, in addition, the virtues of courage and cunning in hunting, which may be absorbed into the system through eating the meat. wit There is now nothing to do but to follow on quietly; and, as the afternoon is slipping away, by the time we shall have regained camp it will be almost the hour for a cup of tea. On the way we bethink ourselves of an old friend who lives in the neighborhood,-"Father William." to though this is no white-bearded sage, full of stories of the chase as he remembers it in days of yore, but merely an elderly and very lonely waterbuck bull with a twisted horn, who, these many months, has taken up his permanent residence about three-quarters of a mile from the village, and may be seen on almost any afternoon standing in the shade of the same thorn-tree. whence, with pathetic air, he watches his younger and more successful rivals as they daily pilot their fair charges to and fro between grazing-ground and water. Again and again have we endeavored to confer upon him immortality through the medium of the camera, but to this, it seems, he maintains a rooted objection. Two hundred yards is the limit to which we may approach; outside that distance he merely placidly observes as with grave curiosity, but the moment we endeavor to draw any nearer, quietly, and without betraying any undue haste or nervousness, but without any hesitation, the patriarch slowly directs his steps in the opposite direction so that the regulation distance may be observed. But upon this particular day is to occur the temporary rejuvenescence of our old friend. As he stands motionless in his favorite spot, doubtless comparing the triumphs of the past with the gray monotony of the present, a troop of five cows, escorted by the usual male protector, comes into sight. Whether this bull is a stranger or an old enemy, there is at least something in his appearance which brings the light of battle to "Father William's" eyes, and so, after a good, steady stare, he bears down upon him, first at an animated walk, which presently increases to a high-stepping trot. The escort to the ladies has already seen him, and drives the latter in front of him at a gallop; but the pursuer also increases his pace, and is rapidly closing up. After a hasty glance round, the younger bull thereupon abandons his charges, dashes ahead of them, and circles round in the direction whence he originally came. Hotfoot after him goes our friend, while the placid cows simply remain where they are, cropping grass, and unconcernedly awaiting the issue. The chase brings both pursuer and pursued close past our tree, and as they pass at their lumbering gallop it is plain that the younger draws away from his opponent. A little farther on he seems to gather courage, and swings sharply round with lowered head; but the sight of the adversary coming steadily on is too much for his nerves, and, swerving from the shock, he receives the horns in another part of his person. He then makes off at redoubled speed, and subsequent proceedings are lost to us. Half an hour later the patriarch returns with conquering air, and it is difficult to refrain from greeting him with a cheer. The cows do not display any particular feeling one way or another at the change of escort, and continue on their way as if nothing had happened. Alas, that success should be so shortlived! Within a week the old fellow is seen once more under his accustomed tree as dismal and lone-looking as ever. It was not far from here, too, that we once witnessed the unavailing endeavors of an unfortunate half-grown wildebeeste, by some mischance out of touch with his own herd, to attach himself to a body of strangers. Tentatively, and with every possible demonstration of friendliness, he slowly approached. Arrived within fifty yards, a couple of bulls walked out to take his measure. There was a short but apparently fairly close inspection, and then both proceeded to assault him violently. Away fled the unhappy intruder, nor rested until he had put several hundred yards betwixt himself and his assailants. Thereafter, having apparently plucked up courage, and doubtless hoping for better luck next time, he proceeded once more to put fortune to the test. On this occasion every animal in the herd seemed emulous to do him injury; and when he at length emerged from out of the midst of that cloud of dust and whirl of tossing horns and stamping hoofs, it was at his best pace and evidently with but one idea -that of getting as far away as possible. By the time we have got back to Malahana's the leopard has been skinned: the pelt has been pegged out to dry, and most of the meat is already simmering in the cooking-pots. Everyone is in a cheerful frame of mind. Mfundisi, indeed, has been so excited in anticipation of the splendid feast that he has quite forgotten to boil the water for tea; in fact, on inquiry, it leaks out that it has not yet been fetched from the stream. The temper is apt to be short in Africa; and on the present occasion, in addition, we are tired and hungry, and so it is to be feared that the language used partakes rather of the forcible than of the polite, so that the expectant grin quite vanishes from the youth's ebon countenance as he sets about making up for lost time. A little later, the inner man duly refreshed, and a deck-chair placed coinfortably within the shade of a darkgreen tree, things wear a distinctly encouraging aspect, and the world, as typified by Africa, seems a pleasant and desirable place wherein to dwell. It is ever thus in the veld. As one reclines luxuriously in the shade, or at a later period of the evening gazes reflectively into the depths of a glowing camp-fire, are the toils and struggles of the day, the heat, the insects, the thirst, the thousand and one petty discomforts, all forgotten? Far from it. On the contrary, to recall them from a present haven of ease is to invest such episodes with a halo of attraction and of distinction, and to cause one to look forward with eager anticipation to further experiences of the same kind on the morrow. And SO we recline and smoke, while the sun sinks low to the horizon, and, their roosting-time at hand, the ringdoves come speeding overhead on the way to their evening drink. Down by the spruit the francolins are busy calling to one another, and beyond it the bush knorhaans are practising those aërial gymnastics so familiar to the sportsman who has visited their haunts. Straight up from out of the sea of bush into the quiet evening air rises the cock bird, to pause at a sufficient altitude with flapping wings, and then to fall headlong, the pinions held fast to the sides, until just as it seems that he must be dashed to pieces the wings are extended, and he lights easily upon his feet, to rise immediately again and react the scene. 'Mid a babel of bird voices, melodious and harsh, noisy and gentle, intoning successively and in united chorus every note of the gamut, the sun at length sinks blood-red over the western ridges; and then to the sound of many tongues succeeds that strange hush which follows sunset, Blackwood's Magazine. and forms, as it were, neutral ground betwixt the voices of the day and those others peculiar to the hours of darkness. It becomes chilly, and the brilliant stars foreshadow a touch of frost. The pony has been rugged up and fed, and nothing now remains but to discuss the fare provided by the penitent Mfundisi, and then to seek the welcome blankets. J. Stevenson-Hamilton. HARDY-ON-THE-HILL. CHAPTER III. BY M. E. FRANCIS As Stephen passed through the yard of the Little Farm on the following morning, he was struck by unusual signs of activity. The shutters of the upper rooms were thrown open, Cox was laboriously cleaning windows on the ground floor; Louisa, with flushed cheeks and a ruffled head, was galloping in and out shaking mats, trailing fragments of carpet over the grass, and otherwise making herself very busy. "My young ladies be a-comin' whoam-along to-day," she announced gleefully, as Stephen passed her on his return from the granary, where he had been inspecting the condition of certain potatoes reserved for seed. "Are they?" said he, pausing. "Ees," said Louisa, nodding, "the wold gentleman, he be a-bidin' a bit longer in London, but Miss Leslie an' Miss Bess, they be both a-comin' whoam-along. I did get the letter yesterday, an' Mr. Cox an' me have a-been so busy as anything ever since. They're to be here at three o'clock." "There was peace while she was away," he said to himself. "Why should she come back now?" Then other thoughts intruded themselves. What would Kitty feel when she heard how things were between him and Sheba? She would scorn him more than ever. He had picked up a mate from the fields; he had extended the hand which he once deemed worthy to clasp hers to that brown one of Sheba's, a hand used to rough work, to turnip-picking, hauling hurdleswork which was unfit for women to do. That vision of Kitty's little white hand still haunted his thoughts. She would wonder at his insolence. Then he checked the thought with fierce remorse. Sheba's hand was browned with toil, but honest-faithful; he should pray Heaven to make him worthy to hold it in his. At tea-time, when he and his step-mother were sitting opposite each other, somewhat silently, for even good-natured Rebecca could not immediately readjust her ideas to the prospective change in their lives, there came a timid tap at the Stephen passed on without replying; door, and Kitty walked in-Kitty, he felt angry. rather pale and very nervous, wear ing a pretty dress of what Mrs. Hardy inwardly designated as a "new-fangled fayshion," and looking very shy and sweet. "We've just come home," she said, kissing Rebecca, "and I couldn't help running across to see you." "And you'm welcome, too, Miss Leslie," cried Rebecca, warmly. "I'm sure you be." Kitty turned towards Stephen timidly and extended her hand. "How do you do, Mr. Hardy?" He muttered a response, and dropped it coldly. Kitty raised her eyes which she had involuntarily dropped in greeting him; there was reproach, even entreaty, in her glance. "There, sit ye down, my dear," cried Rebecca joyfully. "I'm sure it be a pleasure to see ye again-lookin' so nice an' dressed so pretty too. And how did you like London, my dear?" "I didn't like it at all," said Kitty. "I wasn't a bit happy. I was longing all the time to get home." Stephen's lip twitched. Just so had Bess been wont to speak, with a rol! of limpid eyes and an affected sigh. Every one knew how much Bess's contempt of worldliness and hollow shams and aspirations after the simple life were worth. He had been amused at the little creature's play-acting, but had deemed her sister to be of a different stamp. Yet here was Kitty play-acting too, and for what purpose?" "I think I was made to be a country girl," went on Kitty, still in a tone that was unconsciously appealing, and with a reproachful glance now and then at Stephen's grim face. "I felt lost in London-such a small, small, insignificant waif. Everything was so dazzling and so noisy, and so-so heartless," she added with a sigh that in Stephen's ears was the echo of Bess's He pushed back his chair and rose suddenly: own. "I have one or two things to see to outside," he said, and, nodding curtly towards the visitor he went out. Kitty sat in blank silence until his figure passed the window and then sprang up too. "I want to ask Mr. Hardy something," she cried. "I'll come back presently to have a long chat with you." She had flown from the room before Rebecca could rejoin her, and, darting eagerly out of the house, caught sight of Stephen in the rick-yard, standing still and prodding viciously at a weed with the point of his stick. The bright afternoon light showed the strong lines in his face; the brows were drawn, the lips compressed. "Mr. Hardy," called Kitty, falteringly. He looked up quickly, and came towards her: "Do you want me?" "Only for a minute. I want to ask you something." He halted opposite to her and waited, still with a clouded face. She was about to carry out a resolution which had formed itself during her exile in London, and to make one more effort to break down the barrier which had arisen between herself and her former friend. She had often imagined the scene, and rehearsed the words she meant to use, but now that the time had come for speaking them her courage almost failed her. "Mr. Hardy," she said, tremulously. "I want to ask you if we can't be friends again. I've thought of it so much while I was away. I—I—you and Mrs. Hardy have been such kind neighbors. I can't bear you to think me ungrateful." Stephen looked away over the lines of golden stacks to where the birch trees which shaded the Lovers' Walk moved lightly in the breeze. "I see you do think me ungrateful," said Kitty. "I can't help it, I suppose. I must submit to it. But there's one |