"My dear friend, what do I owe you!" Then recovering his emotion, and
pushing on at a quicker pace, while he continues to speak, "But can you
not see that, just in proportion as my comprehension of right would
become clear and strong, so my conscience would become also more
sensitive and reproachful; and the better I understand my gallant
father, the more I must desire to be as he would have had his son. Do
you think it would content him, could he see me branding cattle and
bargaining with bullock drivers? Was it not the strongest wish of his
heart that I should adopt his own career? Have I not heard you say that
he would have had you too a soldier, but for your mother? I have no
mother! If I made thousands, and tens of thousands, by this ignoble
calling, would they give my father half the pleasure that he would feel
at seeing my name honorably mentioned in a despatch? No, no! You have
banished the gypsy blood, and now the soldier's breaks out! Oh, for one
glorious day in which I may clear my way into fair repute, as our
fathers before us!--when tears of proud joy may flow from those eyes
that have wept such hot drops at my shame; when she, too, in her high
station beside that sleek lord, may say, 'His heart was not so vile,
after all!' Don't argue with me,--it is in vain! Pray, rather, that I
may have leave to work out my own way; for I tell you that if condemned
to stay here, I may not murmur aloud,--I may go through this round of
low duties as the brute turns the wheel of a mill; but my heart will
prey on itself, and you shall soon write on my gravestone the epitaph of
the poor poet you told us of whose true disease was the thirst of
glory,--'Here lies one whose name was writ in water."'

I had no answer; that contagious ambition made my own veins run more
warmly, and my own heart beat with a louder tumult. Amidst the pastoral
scenes, and under the tranquil moonlight of the New, the Old World, even
in me, rude Bushman, claimed for a while its son. But as we rode on,