We do cling to our old love, who left us with much misgiving to your tender mercies. Mr. Englishman, fain would he have stayed to protect us, but that he had his command to go;--and this is another thing which you, who think so much of discipline, should be able to appreciate. Though for fear of your displeasure we must hide our feelings, you are hateful to us, oh slayer of our brothers and taker of our home!
We will not forget, Mr. Englishman, and are truly grateful to you, that you behaved to us with common courtesy, and stood aside to let us pass; but surely you, the politest of polite men, would not take credit for that, which should be the birthright of all gentlemen. We dwell not in times of Sabine sisterhoods, good sir!
And if little Miss Uitlander bathe you in smiles, and lisp pretty nothings into your much-astonished ear, call but to mind that she comes from your own "far countree," and has here learned this way of welcoming the conqueror.
I am no Boadicea, say you. Oh, sir, you mistake grievously. I would smite you with mine own hands, were I able. Did you perhaps not catch a glimpse of me in General Cronje's laager, whither I went to share the danger with my brother, and cheer him in his arduous task?
True it is that homely comfort abounds in our cottages, and should it not be so? Perhaps there was a time too when your stately sister did not scorn to keep house, instead of attending theatres, soirées, musicales, at-homes. Evidently, Miss Uitlander forgot the divine music of Queen's Hall and Covent Garden, when she crowded to do justice to the awful and untuneful melodies, to which your English bandsmen treated her on the Market Square. But you see "It is so long since she left 'home,' and it is sweet to hear those sounds which come straight from dear old England." I, sir, stopped my ears with cotton wool (for, whatever Miss Bloemfontein is, she is musical, and even had I been pleased to see you, I could never have allowed myself to be tortured with those fragments of the divine art). Poor Pan! he stood afar on the topmost steeple of the Dutch Church, and played his pipes and wept, and had you not been so absorbed in "tripping to your gay tunes," you might have heard faintly stealing over our ancient towers "Heeft burghers t'lied der Vrijheid aan," while the organ within our "piously Presbyterian" edifice echoed the anthem, which was caught up by the instrument in your exclusively English cathedral, and Miss Bloemfontein heard the echo and was comforted.