I used to be led before; but now,
Mother, O Queen, I am able to walk myself. Let God bless you as long as
you live on earth; let God bless Mother! Thou must not be tired to bear
our infirmities, O Queen Victoria.'
To Sir George, Lot Hrayi's despatch was a State paper. 'Native races,' he
laid down, 'understood personal rule, and the great thing was to make the
Queen vivid, a reality, to them. England? Yes, it was a place far
distant, where there were no dark-skinned peoples. The Queen of England?
Ah, yes, they could comprehend her! She sat on a throne, so beautiful
that its place must be where all was beautiful and good. Her heart beat
for her folk, irrespective of their colour; she would minister to their
happiness. Nothing could more delight her, than to secure the well-being
of those who claimed her powerful protection. That was intelligible!
'Thus, when I had a measure of mercy, of justice, or of guidance to
announce, I did it directly, in the Queen's name, and in the native
languages. It was the Queen's utterance, though spoken by me, and it
would be difficult to indicate how well the charm worked. Go into a
cottage, in almost any part of England, and you will, I judge, find a
portrait of the Queen hanging on the whitewashed walls. There were no
portraits in the Kaffir kraals, yet the Queen entered them, a beneficent
influence in many a crisis.
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