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e　bloodshed　you　annexed　the　country　beyond　the　Vaal。　Perhaps　it　had　been　better　to　leave　it；　since　“Death　chooses　for　himself；”　and　after　all　there　was　killing　—　of　our　own　people；　and　with　the　killing；　shame。　But　in　those　days　we　did　not　guess　what　we　should　live　to　see；　and　of　Majuba　we　thought　only　as　a　little　hill。
Enemies　have　borne　false　witness　against　you　on　this　matter；　Sompseu；　you　who　never　erred　except　through　over　kindness。　Yet　what　does　that　avail？　When　you　have　“gone　beyond”　it　will　be　forgotten；　since　the　sting　of　ingratitude　passes　and　lies　must　wither　like　the　winter　veldt。　Only　your　name　will　not　be　forgotten；　as　it　was　heard　in　life　so　it　shall　be　heard　in　story；　and　I　pray　that；　however　humbly；　mine　may　pass　down　with　it。　Chance　has　taken　me　by　another　path；　and　I　must　leave　the　ways　of　action　that　I　love　and　bury　myself　in　books；　but　the　old　days　and　friends　are　in　my　mind；　nor　while　I　have　memory　shall　I　forget　them　and　you。
Therefore；　though　it　be　for　the　last　time；　from　far　across　the　seas　I　speak　to　you；　and　lifting　my　hand　I　give　you　your　“Sibonga”18　and　that　royal　salute；　to　which；　now　that　its　kings　are　gone　and　the　“People　of　Heaven”　are　no　more　a　nation；　with　Her　Majesty　you　are　alone　entitled：
Bayete！　Baba；　Nkosi　ya　makosi！
Ngonyama！　Indhlovu　ai　pendulwa！
Wen’　o　wa　vela　wasi　pata！
Wen’　o　was　hlul’　izizwe　zonke　za　patwa　nguive！
Wa　geina　nge　la　Mabun’　o　wa　ba　hlul’　u　yedwa！
Umsizi　we　zintandane　e　zihlupekayo！
Si　ya　kuleka　Baba！
Bayete；　T’Sompseu！19
and　farewell！
H。　Rider　Haggard。
To　Sir　Theophilus　Shepstone；　K。C。M。G。；　Natal。
13th　September　1891。
18　Titles　of　praise。
19　Bayete；　Father；　Chief　of　Chiefs！
Lion！　Elephant　that　is　not　turned！
You　who　nursed　us　from　of　old！
You　who　overshadowed　all　peoples　and　took　charge　of　them；
And　ended　by　mastering　the　Boers　with　your　single　strength！
Help　of　the　fatherless　when　in　trouble！
Salutation　to　you；　Father！
Bayete；　O　Sompseu！
Here　is　the　touching　letter　in　which　Sir　Theophilus　acknowledges　it。　It　is　bound　up　with　the　manuscript　of　“Nada；”　and　is　the　last　that　I　ever　received　from　him；　for　he　died　during　the　following　year。
Durban；　Natal：　July　13；　1892。
My　dear　Haggard；　—　Your　gift　reached　me　when　I　was　very　seedy　and　unable　to　do　much　in　the　writing　way。　I　have　e　down　here　for　change　from　the　cold　of　Maritzburg；　and　am　much　better。
I　need　not　say　how　gratifying　to　me　that　gift　was；　nor　how　deeply　touching　to　me　the　kind　words　of　the　Dedication　were。　Indeed　you　give　far　more　credit　than　I　am　entitled　to。　Your　kindly　expressions；　however；　vividly　brought　to　mind　a　whole　chapter　of　the　pleasant　past　between　us；　the　exact　counterpart　of　which　will；　I　suppose；　never　occur　to　any　other　two。　I　feel　extremely　grateful　to　you　for　your　affectionate　remembrances；　and　for　your　plucky　avowal　of　them；　for　I　do　not　think　that　at　present　it　is　fashionable　to　look　either　upon　myself　or　my　work　with　much　approval。
I　cannot；　however；　help　thinking　that　if　some　of　my　views　and　advice　had　been　acted　on　we　should　have　avoided　both　the　national　disaster　and　disgrace　that　took　place　after　the　“pleasant　past”　that　you　and　I　spent　together　in　the　Transvaal。
The　Boers　did　not　really　want　to　fight；　and　we　are　always　pusillanimous　enough　before　we　make　up　our　minds　to　begin；　so　we　did　not　want　to　fight　either；　but　it　appears　that　the　Home　Government　did　want　to　undo　the　annexation。　Nothing　could　have　been　done　more　easily；　or　have　looked　more　gracious　to　those　concerned。　Why　not　have　plainly　told　me　their　wish　and　authorised　me　to　carry　it　out？　We　should　have　parted　with　embraces　and　the　best　of　mutual　good　feeling；　as　it　is　we　have　earned　the　contempt　as　well　as　the　hatred　of　the　Boers；　and　very　much　puzzled　the　native　races；　who　from　considering　us　their　staunchest　and　most　powerful　protectors　have　e　to　look　upon　us　as　the　most　unreliable　of　friends。　And　very　good　cause　they　have　for　their　change　of　view：　look　at　the　last　twelve　or　fourteen　years’　history　of　Zululand。　But　I　did　not　want　to　go　into　polemics。　As　the　Zulus　would　say；　it　is　only　my　way　of　thinking。
I　hope　the　good　little　wife　and　all　the　children　are　well；　my　love　to　her；　please。　I　was　much　interested　the　other　day　by　an　account　of　you　all　that　appeared　in　the　Strand　Magazine；　which　someone　sent　me　from　England。　The　pictures　were；　I　thought；　very　good　indeed；　and　reminded　me　strongly　of　my　visit　to　Ditchingham；　when　I　had　the　pleasure　of　spending　a　few　days　with　you。
Please　remember　me　kindly　to　all　the　members　of　your　family。　They　were　all　so　extremely　kind　to　me。
Yours　affectionately；
T。　Shepstone。
These　were　his　last　words　to　me　—　words　which；　I　think；　will　be　read　with　interest　in　the　future；　seeing　that　they　sum　up　his　views　of　his　Transvaal　policy　as　he　held　them　just　before　his　death。　But　I　will　not　attempt　to　reopen　that　matter；　upon　which　I　have　already　said　my　say。
Vale；　Sompseu；　Vale！
I　used　to　know　a　good　many　interesting　people　during　those　years　when　I　lived　in　London。
Lord　Goschen；　then　Mr。　Goschen；　dined　with　me　at　a　dinner　I　gave　at　the　Savile　Club；　and　we　always　remained　friendly　till　his　death。　He　was　a　most　able　and　agreeable　man；　also　there　was　something　rather　attractive　about　the　low；　husky　voice　in　which　he　addressed　one；　his　head　held　slightly　forward　as　though　he　wished　to　be　very　confidential。　Besides　a　number　of　literary　men；　Mr。　Balfour　was　my　guest　at　that　dinner；　and　I　think　Lord　Lytton　also。　I　remember　that　it　was　a　most　pleasant　feast；　at　which　seventeen　or　eighteen　people　were　present；　and　one　that；　to　my　great　relief；　went　off　without　a　hitch。
It　was　Lang　who　introduced　me　to　Mr。　Balfour。　Of　this　circumstance　I　was　reminded　the　other　day　when　I　met　Sir　Ian　Hamilton；　mander…inChief　of　the　British　forces　in　the　Mediterranean　stations；　on　the　Orient　liner　Otway　when　I　was　returning　from　Egypt　（April　1912）。　He　asked　me　if　I　remembered　a　little　dinner　that　Lang　gave　at　the　Oxford　and　Cambridge　Club　somewhere　about　1886　or　1887；　at　which　Balfour；　he；　and　I　were　the　only　guests。　Then　it　all　came　back　to　me。　Lang　asked　me　to　meet　Mr。　Balfour　because　he　knew　that　already　I　wished　to　escape　from　novel…writing　and　re…enter　the　public　service；　a　matter　in　which　he　thought　Mr。　Balfour　might　be　of　assistance。　Ian　Hamilton；　his　cousin；　he　asked　because　he　had　escaped　from　Majuba；　and　I　also　knew　a　great　deal　about　Majuba。
By　the　way；　General　Hamilton；　whom　I　had　not　met　from　that　day　to　this；　gave　me；　while　we　were　on　the　ship　together；　a　long　and　full　account　of　his　experiences　and　sufferings　in　that　dreadful　rout；　but　as　these　tally　very　closely　with　what　I　have　written　in　this　book　and　elsewhere；　I　will　not　repeat　them　in　all　their　painful　detail。　He　was　shot　through　the　wrist　and　struck　on　the　head　with　splinters　of　stone。　The　Boers　dismissed　him；　telling　him　that　he　would　“probably　die。”　He　passed　a　night　in　the　cold；　and；　had　it　not　been　for　a　kindly　Boer　who　found　him　and　bound　up　his　wrist　—　I　think　he　said　with　a　piece　of　tin　for　a　splint　—　he　would　probably　have　perished。　That　Boer；　Sir　Ian　Hamilton　—　who；　by　the　way；　is　now　the　only　officer　in　the　British　Army　who　was　present　at　Majuba　—　met　at　Bloemfontein　the　other　day。　Naturally　they　were　the　best　of　friends；　and　Sir　Ian　has　sent　him　a　souvenir　of　the　event。　Finally；　as　he　lay　unable　to　move；　he　was　found　by　a　British　search…party　and　taken　back　to　camp；　where　in　due　course　he　recovered。
I　see　that　in　“Cetywayo　and　his　White　Neighbours”　I　stated　that　Majuba　was　attacked　by　two　or　three　hundred　Boers；　adding　that　I　did　not　believe　the　story　which　the　Boers　told　me；　that　they　rushed　the　mountain　with　not　more　than　a　hundred　men　—　a　version　which　subsequently　I　adopted　in　“Jess。”　Sir　Ian　told　me；　however；　that　the　smaller　figure　was　quite　correct。　He　even　put　it　somewhat　lower。　A　dreadful　story；　in　truth！
Talking　of　the　Boer　War　reminds　me　of　Sir　Redvers　Buller。　I　knew　him　and　his　wife；　Lady　Audrey；　very　well。　We　used　to　dine　at　their　house；　where　we　met　a　number　of　distinguished　people；　among　whom　I　remember　Lord　Coleridge；　the　Chief　Justice。　He　was　a　brilliant　conversationalist　with　a　marvellous　memory。　I　have　heard　him　tell　story　after　story　without　stopping；　till　at　length　I　began　to　hope　that　the　stock　was　running　low。　Sir　Redvers　was　always　very　kind　to　me；　but　he　was　not　a　man　to　cross　in　argument。　Once；　at　his　own　table；　I　heard　him　differ　from　the　late　Lord　Justice　Bowen　in　a　way　that　made　me　glad　that　I　was　not　Lord　Justice　Bowen。　What　struck　me　was　the　extraordinary　patience　with　which　the　Judge　submitted　to　the　scolding。　He　must　have　had　a　very　sweet　nature；　indeed　I　always　thought　that　this　was　so。
It　was　about　this　time　that　I　first　made　the　acquaintance　of　Mr。　Rudyard　Kipling；　who　had　recently　arrived　in　England；　I　suppose　from　India。　He　was　then　a　young　fellow　about　five…and…twenty；　and　in　appearance　and　manner　very　much　what　he　is　today。　I　cannot　recall　under　what　circumstance　we　first　met。　Perhaps　it　was　at　a　dinner…party　I　gave　at　my　house；　24　Redcliffe　Square；　to　some　literary　friends。　I　remember　that　Kipling　arrived　late　and　explained　the　reason　by　pointing　to　a　cut　upon　his　temple。　Whilst　he　was　driving　towards　my　house　his　hansom　collided　with　a　van　in　Piccadilly；　and　there　was　a　smash　in　which　he　had　a　narrow　escape。　From　that　time　forward　we　have　always　liked　each　other；　perhaps　because　on　many；　though　not　on　all；　matters　we　find　no　point　of　difference。
Another　man　very　well　known　in　his　day　with　whom　I　was　acquainted　was　the　great　and　acplished　doctor；　Sir　Henry　Thompson；　by　birth　an　East　Anglian　like　myself。　Once　I　was　present　at　one　of　his　famous　octave　dinners。　If　I　remember　right；　we　were　received　in　a　room　hung　round　with　beautiful　pictures　by　Etty；　as　were　others　in　the　house。　It　had　a　couch　in　it　on　which　Sir　Henry　slept；　or　rather　tried　to　sleep；　at　nights。　He　suffered　terribly　from　insomnia；　and　told　me　that　one　of　his　plans　to　induce　slumber　was　to　count　thousands　of　imaginary　sheep　running　through　a　phantom　gate。　Also　he　would　rise　and　walk　about　the　streets　to　cause　weariness。
A　very　interesting　gentlemen　whom　I　knew　was　the　late　Mr。　Meredith　Townsend。　He　was　one　of　the　editors　and　part　owner　of　the　Spectator；　out　of　which　journal　he　told　me　he　drew　a　fortable　5000　pounds　a　year。　His　conversation　was　particularly　delightful　and　informing；　especially　when　he　spoke　of　India。
I　have　before　me　a　letter　that　he　wrote　to　me　before　I　visited　Iceland；　in　which　he　says：
It　would　be　worth　living　to　read　your　account　of　a　Berserk；　a　white　Umslopogaas；　with　a　vein　of　pity　in　him　for　women　only。　。　。　。　You　are　aware　that　the　Berserks　when　they　left　their　Aryan　home　on　the　northern　slope　of　the　Hindoo　Koosh　took　with　them　hemp　and　the　dangerous　knowledge　of　its　quality　of　producing　the　temporary　fury　of　battle。　The　secret　still　remains　in　India；　and　natives　who　mean　killing　swallow　bhang。
I　think　that　this　hint　gave　me　the　idea　of　my　Norse　character；　Skallagrim。　Mr。　Townsend　told　me　that　he　would　live　to　be　eighty；　which　he　did。　I；　he　said；　should　die　at　sixty；　as　by　then　my　highly　strung　temperament　would　have　exicans　say。
Another　person　whom　I　knew　very　well　was　Miss　Marjorie　Barber；　who　has　since　bee　famous　on　the　strength　of　her　delicately　written　and　arresting　booklet；　“The　Roadmender；”　which　was　published　after　her　death。
My　intimacy　with　Marjorie　was　brought　about　by　the　fact　that　her　sister　Agnes　—　a　woman　with　as　fine　a　literary　sense　and　more　all…round　ability；　although　circumstances　and　a　family　have　allowed　her　but　little　time　to　make　use　of　them　—　became　my　sister…inlaw　as　I　have　said；　and；　before　that　event；　for　some　years　lived　in　our　house。　While　she　was　here；　or　shortly　afterwards；　Mrs。　Barber；　her　mother；　and　Marjorie　came　to　live　at　Bungay；　a　mile　away；　so　that　I　saw　plenty　of　the　latter。　She　was　a　tall　and　pretty　girl；　very　pleasant；　very　witty　—　I　think　one　of　the　most　amusing　afternoons　I　ever　had　in　my　life　I　spent　with　her　alone　in　the　British　Museum；　it　was　our　last　meeting；　I　believe　—　and　with　all　the　eccentricity　that　so　usually　acpanies　a　touch　of　genius。
At　the　time　of　her　residence　in　Bungay　she　was　under　the　sway　of　a　Low　Church　mania；　and　used　to　appear　dressed　as　a　deaconess　and　with　a　large　Bible　pressed　against　her　mid