张兆华 《心理赛道获客变现训练营》

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张兆华 《心理赛道获客变现训练营》

Mr. Sauer was a convinced disciple of the teachings of Saul Solomon, who founded and preached the gospel of the Cape native policy. In our view that was a mistaken policy.  Its principal modern exponent has now been taken away, and if God, and not man, shapes the destinies of nations, we may be pardoned the belief that Mr. Sauer's death at this juncture means something more than the mere passing from the finite into the infinite of one human being. ==

If this is a brutal utterance, it is at any rate more frank, and therefore more manly, than the vacillating policy of the `Cape Times', the Ministerial organ of the Cape Colony.  It is said that "politics make strange bed-fellows", but not even the shrewdest of our political seers could have predicted that in 1913 the `Cape Times' would be found in the same camp as its Republican contemporaries which sing glees over the demolished structure of Cape traditions, and over the passing away of Victorian statesmen and the principles they stood for -- Victorian principles, which the `Cape Times' of other days helped to build up in another political camp!  How are the mighty fallen!

    Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,     Seats of my youth when every sport could please,     How often have I loitered o'er thy green,     Where humble happiness endeared each scene!

    How often have I paused on every charm:     The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,     The never failing brook, the busy mill,     The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill,

    The hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade     For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!     How often have I blest the coming day,     When toil remitting lent its turn to play!

    And all the village train, from labour free,     Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree;     With bashful virgins' sidelong looks of love,     The matron's glance that would these looks reprove.

    These were thy charms, sweet Province, sports like these,     With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please;     These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,     These were thy charms -- but all these charms are fled.

    Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,     Thy sports are fled and all thy charms withdrawn;     Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen     And desolation saddens all thy green:

    And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,     Far, far away, thy children leave the land.     Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,     Where wealth accumulates and men decay.

The Cape Native can thoroughly endorse these sentiments of Oliver Goldsmith, which, however, compared with his own present lot, are mild in the extreme; for it could not have been amid scenes of this description, and with an outlook half as bad as ours, that the same author further sings:

    A time there was e'er England's grief began,     When every rood of ground maintain'd its man;     But times are alter'd:  Trade's unfeeling train     Usurp the land and dispossess the swain.

    Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,     Those calm desires that ask'd but little room,     Those graceful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene,     Liv'd in each look and brighten'd all the green,     These far departing seek a kinder shore,     And rural mirth and manners are no more.

    In all my wand'rings round this world of care,     In all my griefs -- and God has giv'n my share --     I still had hopes my latest hours to crown,     Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down.