A soft rain fell as we lowered the coffin by thin ropes into the grave.

The Boer searchlight on Bulwan was sweeping the half circle of the English defences from end to end, and now and then it opened its full white eye upon us, as though the enemy wondered what we were doing there.

We were laying to rest a man of assured, though unaccomplished genius, whose heart had still been full of hopes and generosity.

One who had not lost the affections and charm of youth, nor been dulled either by success or disappointment.
"From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure; and now can never mourn A heart grown old, a head grown grey, in vain-- Nor when the spirit's self has ceased to burn With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn." _January 16, 1900_.
A day of unfulfilled expectation, unrelieved even by lies and rumours.
From the top of Observation Hill I again watched the Dutch in their clustered camps, fourteen miles away across the great plain, whilst our heliograph flashed to us from the dark hill beyond them.

But there was no sound of the expected guns, and every one lost heart a little.
At the market, eggs were a guinea a dozen.