And oft, when the earliest shadows of night
Veil the earth, the bereaved one will gaze on that star;
There is joy in its glory and hope in its light,
For it seems like her child looking down from afar.
H. W. Bidwell.
Grahamstown, 1862.
THE “CHURL” OF THE PERIOD; AND ANOTHER.
A LEGEND OF THE PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE.
The Churl.
Wild, wild was the night on the wild, wild karoo—
Confoundedly wild near the kraal called “Barroo”
(Although after Kirkwood’s advertisement readin’,
You’d think “Barroo Kraal” Hottentot-Dutch for Eden);
Well, the storm monarch reigned in this wild wilderness,
And a trav’ler who hailed from the port Little Bess,
Reined his charger and then through the darkness did peer,
Twigged some lights and concluded a liver was near;
For he longed that he shortly some shelter might find,
Did this travel-worn Reed shaken by the wild wind.
The lightning was blazing behind and before,
So he thundered away at the house of the Boer.
In a crack and his crackers, mynheer did appear,
And exclaimed, “In de naam van de drommel, wie’s daar?”
Said the stranger, “I’m shaking from toe-tip to crown,
These roads shake me up, so I crave a shake-down!
Barroo Kraal’s some distance,—my steed is so weary,
He’d ne’er crawl to carry me near to friend Cary.
I don’t care-a-button how poor is your cheer,
But in mercy I pray you to put me somewhere.”
Mynheer gave a grunt, and he slammed to the door,
And our friend was “left out in the cold” as before.
Three months had passed by when quite early one day
This intractable Boer made tracks to the Bay.
He was met by our friend, who had now ceased to roam,
And kindly invited to go with him home.
So he went with our friend and entered his house,
And was thus introduced to his genial spouse.
“I’ve brought home a queer kind of homo, my dear,
Let not home-opathy curtail your cheer,
Get best things in season, in order to show
Hospitality’s here as well’s up by Barroo!”
The table soon groaned ’neath the daintiest store
That ever yet tickled the taste of a Boer—
Mynheer guzzled coffee with Hennessy’s “stick” in,
And stowed away no end of broiled ham and chicken;
The crevices filling up well with poached eggs,
Till, tight as a drum, he arose on his legs—
His host arose also—and cried, “You old beast!
You’ve sat at my table and gorged at my feast!
And you’re welcome. You taught me some three months ago
How you receive trav’lers who can’t reach ‘Barroo;’
I’ve returned you the compliment, old boy, to-day,
For I’ve shown you how guests are received at the Bay—
Lest the lesson be lost on so churlish a lout,
Take that, sir!—and that!” and he kicked him bang out.