Indeed, it does not require any great knowledge of
agriculture to see that a country like this, a lofty table-land, dry and
barren, with no market handy, or chance of irrigation, is a wretched
poor farming country. Hence the pity it seems of wiping out the
burghers. They may not be a very lofty type of humanity, but they had
the advantage in nature's scheme of filling a niche which no one else,
when they are turned out, will care to fill in their place. The old
dead-alive farm, the sunny stoep, the few flocks and herds and wandering
horses sparsely scattered over the barren plain, the huge ox-waggon,
most characteristic and intimate of their possessions, part tent and
part conveyance, formed for the slow but sure navigation of these
solitudes, and reminding one a great deal of the rough but seaworthy
smacks and luggers of our coasts, that somehow seem in their rudeness
and efficiency to stand for the very character of a whole life, all
these things are no doubt infinitely dear to the Boer farmer, and make
up for him the only life possible, but I don't think it would be a
possible life for any one else. It seems inevitable that large numbers
of farms, owing to death of owners, war indemnity claims, bankruptcy,
and utter ruin of present holders, &c., will fall into the hands of our
Government when the war is over, and these will be especially the poorer
farms.
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