think it was made of candle and milk boxes.

That reminds me, what queer pastimes some folks can have. One man
casually informed me that he attends all the funerals! But some folks
unconsciously delight to wander in the sombre shadows of life. A
funeral to me is a most fatiguing duty; more so when one has to give
an address at the graves, and there is no time for preparation except
on the march to the burying ground. I am getting reckless, for I am
forced absolutely to rely on impromptu grace. I tremble, when I think
what I risk each day.

Visits only a dozen, owing to funerals.

Sad about 91; very bad.

599, 602, 606, 16, 238, 327, all new tents, with great affliction;
must go soon again.

Called to 117; Nel; young wife; just received tidings of her
husband's death in Ceylon; desperately stricken; hard, hard case.

Called to hospital; Annie Bothma[19]; strong young girl (twenty);
very bad; just struggling to live; mother holding hand. Foeitog!
(alas!) So well and strong; horrid pneumonia; have visited her again,
and cannot get reconciled that she should die. And yet she yearns to
be "ontbonden" (loosed), and begs of me to pray to that effect. Now,
God forgive me, but this dying girl's request I cannot, cannot accede
to. Humanly speaking, she simply cannot live; it is only her
abnormally strong constitution that fights so grimly. I have wrestled
with God for her life. Oh, she must not, may not, die! Think of the