Such a life here as “leeraart” (chaplain) full of dull, oppressive, burdensome, wearying, saddening hours.  O the monotony, the horrible monotony of my work.  How welcome the hour of sunset!  How blissful to lay me down to sleep!  Thank God for his unspeakable gift of sleep—­that period of forgetfulness, of rest, of void.

And yet let me confess, can there be any work grander, more glorious, than just this work of mine?  How one can revel in it!  The unspeakable bliss of being able to ease the burdens of one’s fellow-men—­the supreme honour of being able to be a blessing.  Surely the purest pleasure here on earth—­to bear one another’s burdens.

To-day a grievous, burdensome day—­full of worry and trouble.

Found that my tent had been unceremoniously pulled down and removed during my morning visit in camp.

Hurried home to find things lying in dire confusion, and unprotected.

“Ai, maar dit was ook genoeg om’n mens regtig moeilijk en nukkerig te maak” (Ah, but it was enough to rouse and irritate a person).  But what an utter absence of the faintest traces of some respect and deference.  There are men whose cold-blooded brutishness and irreverence knock one over completely.  One’s person, one’s profession, is no guarantee, no safeguard—­nay, I verily believe some glory and revel in the act of making a fellow-creature miserable.

So I sent in my resignation on the spot.  “The indignity which I had suffered at the hands of the authorities makes it impossible for me to continue in my office.”

And of course this made a mighty change, and there were explanations and apologies, etc., and at 1 p.m.  I had another tent, and my resignation safe in drawer.

May I never have occasion to undergo such a mental, internal struggle again.  One positively has need of extra grace each day, so much as regular supply and so much extra.

But now day is over and the turmoil is over.  Thank God!

Funerals four; “In het huis mijns vaders” (In my Father’s house); felt offish; visited old Thomas du Toit; fear he won’t make it.

Thence old Mr. Van der Merwe; dying.

Too dead beat to go to Mrs. Van der Berg, who I believe is dying.

Girlie 169 also in Death’s throes; horrid, cruel, wicked fever.

168, girlie, pneumonia; wishes to die.  “Minheer, ik wil tog liever bij Jezus wees, hier is dit al te zwaar” (Sir, I would much rather be with Jesus; here it is too hard).

Visited Mrs. Van der Walt, 184, who lost three children some weeks (in twenty-four hours); also old Mr. Venter; alone; wife and two daughters died few weeks ago; poor old fellow! what cup of suffering.

At the graves spoke to mother, “Dit is nou mij zesde, minheer” (This is now my sixth, sir).

Several in hospital dead too.

Very sorry about old Mr. Hockins (he had died); did not visit him during last few days.