CHRISTMAS IN AFRICA. 
229 
were not so good as I could wish, but the best that 
chance afforded me. 
Christmas Day .—What a contrast to the many 
merry ones spent in dear old England amongst my 
own family and friends ! The comparison makes me 
melancholy. Here I am in the deserts of South 
Africa, having been toiling from the first dawn of 
day under a broiling sun until sunset, and I am pretty 
considerably fagged. A bit of rhinoceros, cold, and 
so fat as to make the strongest stomach bilious, and 
a small portion of half-baked dough, have been our 
fare—not exactly our English notions of a Christmas 
feast; but these are among the hardships of a hunter’s 
life, and we have, at times, pleasures that abundantly 
compensate; and, to look upon it in the light of a 
philosopher, it is all for the best, for, had we the 
4 heavy wet’ and 4 feeds’ of England, we should be in 
but poor trim and wind for the toil of the chase. I 
must own, however, I should like to drink my 
friends’ health and 4 a happy Christmas’ in a good 
tankard of home-brewed, followed by a bottle of old 
port. Don’t mention a mince pie ; I have entirely 
forgotten the taste since I left home to wander 
amongst the denizens of the forest. I will, however, 
drink to the health of absent friends in a cup of 
coffee, the strongest beverage the wagon affords. 
We made all possible despatch from this place, 
travelling day and night, as the moon was at the 
full, and the sun did not quite bake us alive, snatch¬ 
ing two or three hours’ sleep when and wherever 
