第89部分(第1/8 页)

y　laughed　at　me；　an　unknown　young　man。　And；　years　later；　when　the　war　was　on；　they　dug　up　the　book　and　printed　these　paragraphs　and　said；　“Dear　me；　what　a　remarkable　prophecy！”　Three　men　were　right：　Sir　Bartle　Frere　was　right；　and　they　disgraced　him；　my　old　chief；　Sir　Theophilus　Shepstone；　was　right；　and　they　disgraced　him；　and　even　I；　humble　as　I　was；　was　right；　and　they　mocked　at　me。　We　know　the　end。

Thus　my　residential　and　official　connection　with　South　Africa　came　to　an　end　—　I　would　not　stop　there　any　longer。　I　came　home　and　went　to　the　bar；　where　I　had　fair　prospects。　And　then　a　sad　thing　happened　to　me　—　I　wrote　a　successful　book。

I　do　not　know　whether　to　be　sorry　or　glad　that　I　wrote　it。　Other　things　might　not　have　happened；　and；　after　all；　as　Job　the　Patriarch　says：　“Man　knoweth　not　his　own　way。”　You　go　as　destiny　drives　you。　So　it　was；　gentlemen；　I　took　to　fiction。　Having　begun；　I　had　to　go　on。　And；　after　all；　there　is　something　to　be　said　for　it。　After　all；　it　is　not　a　bad　thing　to　have　given　pleasure　and　amusement　to　many　who　are　weary　or　sick；　and；　perhaps；　some　instruction　also。　You　might　do　worse　than　to　write　a　good　novel。　Not　that　I　for　a　moment　wish　to　state　that　all　of　mine　are　good。

Of　course；　the　time　es　to　every　writer；　I　suppose；　when　he　has　an　inspiration　and　does　something　which　he　knows　to　be　better　than　he　ever　did　before。　Perhaps　he　sees　a　little　higher　up　into　heaven　perhaps　he　sees　a　little　lower　down　into　—　the　other　dep