| Take heed of the words that hastily fly, |
| Lest sorrow should weep for them by and by, |
| And the lips that have spoken vainly yearn, |
| Sighing for words that can never return! |
Our African Driver
BY
J. H. Spettigue
A glimpse of South African travel, with some of the humours of the road.
"Here comes the wagon to be packed!" called the children, as with a creak and groan of wheels, and shouts from the Kafirs, it was brought lumbering to the door.
"The vor-chiest is ready, Lang-Jan," said Mrs. Gilbert, coming to the door. "Everything that can, had better be put in place to-night."
"Ja, Meeses," agreed Jan. "It's a long trek from this here place to the town in one day, and I will start early, while the stars are still out." Lang-Jan was our driver, so called to distinguish him from the numerous other Jans about the place.