Maritzburg, August 1.

The brief winter-season seems already ended and over, so far as the crisp bracing atmosphere is concerned. For many days past it has been not only very hot in the sun, but a light hot air has brooded over everything: not strong enough to be called a hot wind, it is yet like the quivering haze out of a furnace mouth. I pity the poor trees: it is hard upon them. Not a drop of rain has fallen for three months to refresh their dried-up leaves and thirsting roots; and now the sun beats down with a fiercer fire than ever, and draws up the drops of moisture which haply may linger low down in the cool earth.

Cool earth did I say? I fear that is a figure of speech. It almost burns one's feet through the soles of thin boots, and each particle of dust is like a tiny cinder. I think regretfully of the pleasant sharp frosty mornings and evenings, even though the days are lengthening, and one may now count by weeks the time before the rain will come, and fruits and vegetables, milk and butter be once more obtainable with comparative ease. What I most long for, however, is a good pelting shower, a down-pour which will fill the tanks and make water plentiful.