The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, 1895-08-03

nv mind. At last it came to al end,
and we reached Africa, which l 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 hathrs,
near to where the town Of Cradock now
stands, ard here | grew to manhood.
There were few Bocr farmers IN the
neighborhood, and graduallya little set
tlement of whites gathered around cur
mission station. \ drunken Scotch
blacksmith and wheclwright was aDo::5
the most interesting character, who,
when he was sober, could quote the
Scottish poet Burns and the ''l2-
goldsby Legends literally by the page.
It was from him that l contracted
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-
pelled me. What little education got
Was frn.,. ,,,s,-fA thar hiit t1.A0He"-had
much leaning toward books. nor he
much time to teach them to me. On the
other hand, I was always g keen Oh
server of the ways of men and nature.
By the time I was twenty I could speak
Dutch and three or four Kafflr dialects
perfectly, and I doubt if there was any
body in South Africa who understood
native ways OF thought and action more
completely than I did. Also l was
really very good shot and horsenan,
and I think-as, indeed, my subsequent
career proves to have been the Casa
great deal tougher than the majority o.
men. Though I was then, as now, a
light, small mar, nothing seemed to
tire ne. I could bear any amount Of
exposure and privat;on, and [ nevcS met
the native who was my master in feats
of endurance. Of course all that is diff
ferent now; am speaking of my early
manhood.
1t may be wondered that 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 J
ever met: even the most savage haftir
loved him, and his influence was very
good one for me. He used to call 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 praycr-book, and, sit
ting on the little stoop Of our station,
would read the evening psalms to him
self. Sometimes there was not light
enough for this, but it made no dif-
ference; he knew them all by heart.
When he had finished he would look out
across the cultivated lands where the
mission katf:rs had their hutS.
But knew it was not these he saw,
but rather the gray English church, and
the graves ranged side by side before the
yew near tho wicket gate.
1t was there or the stoop that he died.
He had not been we'll. and one evening
| was talking TO him and his mind went
back to Oxford hire :,nd my mother.
He spoke Of her I good deal. saying that
she had never h22n cut Of his mind for
4 single day during al these years. and
that he reioiccd to thiEk he vas draw
ing near that land whittier She had
zone. Then he asked me Il | rcmem-
bered that night when squire Carson
came into the study at the Ticarage. and
told him that his wife had run away,
and that he was going to change his
namc and bury himself in some remote
land.
said that l remembered it perfect
ly.
II wonder where he went to-" said my
father, "and if he and his daughter
Stella are still alive. Well, well! /
shall never meet them again. But life
is a strange thing, Allan. and you may
If you ever do, give them my kind
love"
After that l left him. We had been
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