Funerals this afternoon five; all children; "Heere, maak mij bekend
mijne einde" (Lord, make me to know mine end). May those graveside
addresses bear fruit!

Called to 104, Hugo's; great sorrow; baby died this morning; poor
mother; talk about tears rolling down! Let me not think on it!

179, Roelvert's baby; convulsions after measles; also dying.

A mother's heart: the most delicate, mysterious, profound piece of
architecture in creation. Let a man not attempt to fathom its depths;
there are mazes which he can never pass through; and there are
recesses (illuminated, I guess) which he can just barely know of, let
alone enter.

* * * * *

Thursday, September 19.--Two women cleared last night; burghers
evidently in near neighbourhood. There are always numbers of women
who go to hills to collect wood, and for long, weary distances they
carry their loads of oven wood, like so many Kaffir girls. It hurts
to watch them return.

Camp continually getting bigger; there must be some 800 tents now,
and quite 5,000 souls.

Feel bad at thought of so many thousands whom it is impossible to
reach just now, because of the sickness all about.