my having no aid from him, but all will come right at last.  It is pretty hard work, and almost enough to drive love out of my head, but it is not situated there; it is in my heart, and won’t come out unless you behave so as to quench it!...

     “You must try and get a maid of some sort to come with
     although it is only old Moyimang; you can’t go without some
     one, and a Makhatla can’t be had for either love or money....

“You must excuse soiled paper, my hands won’t wash clean after dabbling mud all day.  And although the above does not contain evidence of it, you are as dear to me as ever, and will be as long as our lives are spared.—­I am still your most affectionate

     “D.  LIVINGSTON.”

A few weeks later he writes: 

“As I am favored with another opportunity to Kuruman, I gladly embrace it, and wish I could embrace you at the same time; but as I cannot, I must do the next best to it, and while I give you the good news that our work is making progress, and of course the time of our separation becoming beautifully less, I am happy in the hope that, by the messenger who now goes, I shall receive the good news that you are well and happy, and remembering me with some of that affection which we bear to each other....  All goes on pretty well here; the school is sometimes well, sometimes ill attended.  I begin to like it, and I once believed I could never have any pleasure in such employment.  I had a great objection to school-keeping, but I find in that as in almost everything else I set myself to as a matter of duty, I soon became enamored of it.  A boy came three times last week, and on the third time could act as monitor to the rest through a great portion of the alphabet.  He is a real Mokhatla, but I have lost sight of him again.  If I get them on a little, I shall translate some of your infant-school hymns into Sichuana rhyme, and you may yet, if you have time, teach them the tunes to them.  I, poor mortal, am as mute as a fish in regard to singing, and Mr. Englis says I have not a bit of imagination.  Mebalwe teaches them the alphabet in the ’auld lang syne’ tune sometimes, and I heard it sung by some youths in the gardens yesterday—­a great improvement over their old see-saw tunes indeed.  Sometimes we have twenty, sometimes two, sometimes none at all.

“Give my love to A., and tell her to be sure to keep my lecture warm.  She must not be vexed with herself, that she was not more frank to me.  If she is now pleased, all is right.  I have sisters, and know all of you have your failings, but I won’t love you less for these.  And to mother, too, give my kindest salutation.  I suppose I shall get a lecture from her, too, about the largeness of the house.  If there are too many windows, she can just let me know.  I could build them all up in two days, and let the light come down the chimney, if that would please.  I’ll do anything for peace, except fighting for it.  And now I must again, my dear, dear Mary, bid you good-bye.  Accept my expressions as literally true when I say, I am your most affectionate and still confiding lover,

     “D.  LIVINGSTON.”