that he would be able to recognise and converse with those who had gone before, and that both he and they would have the keenest interest in the affairs of this planet. This planet, in some of his moods, seemed too small a sphere for his exhaustless energy.
“The world,” he said to me on one occasion, “is nearly all parcelled out, and what there is left of it is being divided up, conquered, and colonised. To think of these stars,” he said, “that you see overhead at night, these vast worlds which we can never reach. I would annex the planets if I could; I often think of that. It makes me sad to see them so clear and yet so far.”
Since Alexander died at Babylon, sighing for fresh worlds to conquer, has there ever been such a cry from the heart of mortal man?
When the end was imminent, his brother was brought to the bedside. He recognised him, and clasped his hand. Then releasing his grasp, the dying man stretched his feeble hand to the Doctor, and murmuring “Jameson!” the greatest of Africanders was dead.
After death his features regained that classic severity of outline which was so marked in the days before they had been disfigured by the malady to which he succumbed. After lying in state at Groote Schuur, the funeral service was held in the Cathedral at Cape Town, and then, in accordance with the provisions of his will, his remains were taken northward to the Matoppos, where, near the great African chief Umsilikatse, he was laid to rest in the mountain-top which he had named “The View of the World.” Seldom has there been a more imposing and yet more simple procession to the tomb. For
