T H E E U N. 249 



candelabra-shaped amaryllis are trodden down as though 

 the veriest weeds on earth. " Cluck, cluck click, click 

 nhlpr-nh!" Why is the Bushman so excited? Ah! he 

 knows all about it ; the buffalo has turned a little, and 

 is now making for some old game-pits, with a sharp 

 stake in the middle of each. Now, what a chance ! both 

 buffalo and horse may be engulphed all three perhaps 

 killed ! What a glorious finale this would be ! Fancy the 

 jollification of buffalo beef to commence with, and a 

 second course of horseflesh, while between the mouthfuls 

 a knife might be driven in spite between the ribs of the 

 broken-necked white man, whose body would be lying by ! 

 What would be a feast of turtle and venison compared to 

 this ? In England you don't know how to live and feast 

 like a Bushman. Unfortunately, and bad luck for " Cluck- 

 click," neither buffalo nor horse has yet broken his 

 neck. There is no one looking on to see how the horse 

 goes, no one to give another fifty for him, no one to 

 see how he crossed that old watercourse; and yet how 

 boldly the man rides. He is not riding in this style 

 merely to sell the animal : he does not look round to see 

 if any of the swells of the field are watching him, and 

 then for applause, or money in prospect, cram his horse 

 at a stiff rail, at which his craven heart would not dare 

 even to look were no man near. No ! it must really be 

 that the heart and soul of this desert rider are in his 

 sport, and that he feels 



" There is rapture to vault on the champing steed. 

 And bound away with the eagle's speed, 

 With the death-fraught firelock in his hand, 

 The only law of the desert land." 



