The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1890-02-01


and we reached Africa, which was not
to leave again for many, many years.
In those days civilization had not made
any great progress in Southern Africa.
MY father went up the country and be-
came missionary among the Kattirs,
| near to where the town Of Cradock now
stands, and here l grew to manhood.
! There were a few Boer farmers in the
neighborhood, and gradually a little set
| Element of whites gathered around our
mission station. A drunken Scotch
| blacksmith and wheelwrigh t was a bout
the most interesting character, who,
| when he was sober, could quote the
Scottish poet Burns and the I "ln-
| goldsby Legends" literally by the page.
1t was from him that l contracted a
fondness for the latter amusing writ
| ings which has never left me. Burns
| i never cared for so much, probably be-
cause of the Scottish dialect which re-
PEELED me. What little education got
was from my father, but never had
much leaning toward books, nor he
| much time to teach them to me. On the
other hand, I was always a keen OBJ
!
| BY the time I was twenty could speak
Dutch and three or four Kafir dialects
perfectly, and / doubt if there was any
body in South Africa who understood
native ways Of thought and action more
completely than I did. Also was
really a very good shot and horseman,
and thinks, indeed, my subsequent
career proves to have been the Casa
great deal tougher than the majority OF
men. Though I was then, as now, a
light. small man, nothing seemed to
tire me. I could bear any amount OF
exposure and privation, and never met
the native who was my master in feats
| Of endurance. OF course all that is dit
ferent now; I am speaking Of my early
| manhood
It NAV be wondered that I did not run
| absolutely wild in such surroundings,
but was held back from this by my IA
! theirs society. He was one OF the
!. gentlest and most refined men that !
| ever met: even the most savage kaftir
! loved him, and his influence was very
good one for me. He used to cali him
self one Of the worlds failures. Would
that there were more such failures!
Every evening when his work was done
| he would take his pray book, q and, sit
ting on the little stoop OF our station,
1 would read the evening psalms to him
4 self. Sometimes there was not light
! enough for this, but it made no diff
ference; he knew them all by heart.
4 When he had finished he would look out
across the cultivated lands where the
mission Kafirs had their h11ts
But / knew it was not these he saw,
but rather the gray English church, and
4 the graves ranged side BY side before the ll
\ yew near the wicket gate.
1t was there on the stoop that he died.
/ He had not been we'll, and one evening
1 Twas talking to him and his mind went
/! hack to Oxfordshire and my mother.
He spoke OF her q good deal, saying that
/ she had never been out Of his mind for
single day during all these years, and
that he reioiced to think he was draw
4 ing near that land whither she had
zone. Then he asked me il I remem-
y bered that night when Squire Carson
came into the study at the vicarage, 81 and
told him that his wife had run away,
! and that he was going to change his
name and bury himself in some remote y Z 4
land. Es 81. ~
/ said that I rom cred II perfect.
wonder where he went e, 81 said ~ y. my
Il .fa ther and Sc he and his daughter
Il stella are ali
jsla never meet But q i IS
III. I, =. srrf1 I'm ~
i If you ~: iId
II love.