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so as to complete my narrative as to the West before I speak of the East. In this way my story may be more intelligible than if I were to follow strictly the course of my own journeyings. I have already alluded to the political division of the Cape Colony, and to the great desire which has pervaded the men of the East to separate themselves from the men of the West;—and when, a few chapters further on, I shall have brought myself eastwards I shall have to refer to it again. This desire is so strong that it compels a writer to deal separately with the two Provinces, and to divide them almost as completely as though they had been separated. South Africa is made up of different parts. And as there are the four divisions which I have named above, so are there the two Provinces of the Cape Colony, which are joined under the same Parliament and the same Governor but which can hardly be said to have identical interests. The West no doubt is contented with the union, having the supremacy; but the East has been always clamorous for Separation.

After a very long coach journey from Bloemfontein down to Fort Elizabeth, of which I shall have to say a few words further on, I went by steamer to Mossel Bay on my way back to Capetown. Mossel Bay is the easternmost harbour in the Western Province, collecting a Custom Revenue of £20,000. It is fourth in importance of the ports of the Colony, those ranking higher being Capetown itself, Fort Elizabeth, and East London,-the two latter belonging to the Eastern Province. It contains about 1,400 inhabitants, and has three hotels, a bank, a Custom House, and a Resident Magistrate. I doubt, however, whether all these attractions would have taken me to Mossel Bay had I not been told of the scenery of the Outeniqua mountains and of the Knysna river. It had

been averred to me that I should do injustice to South Africa generally if I did not visit the prettiest scenery known in South Africa. Having done so I feel that I should have done injustice at any rate to myself if I had not taken the advice given me.

Of all the beneficent Institutions of Mossel Bay which I have named I became personally acquainted with but one, the Resident Magistrate, who was so beneficent that at a moment's notice he offered to make the trip to the Knysna with me. By this I gained a guide, philosopher, and friend,—and a very pleasant companion for my excursion. In such tourings solitude will often rob them of all delight, and ignorance of all instruction. It is impossible to see the things immediately under the eye, unless there be some one to tell you where to look for them. A lone wanderer may get up statistics, and will find persons to discuss politics with him in hotel parlours and on the seats of public conveyances. He may hear, too, the names of mountains and of rivers. But of the inner nooks of social life or of green hills he will know nothing unless he can fall into some intimacy, even though it be short-lived, with the people among whom he is moving.

We had to be in a hurry because a Cape Colony Resident Magistrate cannot be absent long from his seat of justice. If he be not on the spot there is no one to whom misfortune can appeal or whom iniquity need dread. In an English town a Mayor has his aldermen, and the Chairman of the Bench his brother magistrates;--but at Mossel Bay the Resident is as necessary at ten o'clock on a Monday morning as is the Speaker to the House of Commons at four o'clock in the afternoon. So we started at once with a light cart and a pair of horses,-which

was intended to take us as far as George, a distance of 30 miles.

We went through a country teeming with ostriches. Ostrich-farming on a great scale I will describe further on. Here the work was carried on in a smaller way, but, as I was told, with great success. The expenses were small, and the profits very great,—unless there should come misfortunes, as when a valuable bird will break his leg and so destroy himself, or when a hen supposed to be worth £50 or £60 won't lay an egg. I think that in ostrich-farming, as in all commercial pursuits, the many little men who lose a little money,—perhaps their little all,—and then go quietly to the wall, attract less attention than the prosperous few. I am bound however to say that in this district I saw many ostriches and heard of much success.

As evening was coming on, when we had got half way to George, we found that our horses were knocked up. We stopped therefore at a woolwashing establishment, and sent round the country to beg for others. Here there was also a large shop, and a temperance hotel, and an ostrich farm, all kept by the same person or by his son. Word came to us that all the horses in the place had done, each of them, an extra hard day's work that day; but, so great a thing is it to be a Resident Magistrate, that in spite of this difficulty two horses were promised us! But they had to be caught. So we walked up to see the woolwashers finish their day's work, the sun having already set.

Their mode of woolwashing was quite new to me. The wool, which seemed to have been shorn in a very rough manner,-cut off in locks after a fashion which would have broken the heart of an Australian Squatter, wool chopped as you would chop a salad,-was first put South Africa. 1,

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into a square caldron of boiling, or nearly boiling water. Then it was drawn out in buckets, and brought to troughs made in a running stream, in which the dirt was trodden out of it by coloured men. These were Hottentots, and Negroes, the children of the old slaves,-and one or two Kafirs from the East. The wool is then squeezed and laid out on drying grounds to dry. The most interesting part of the affair was the fact that these coloured men were earning 4s. 6d. a day wages each. Some distance further on the next day we came on two white men,-navvies,-who were making a dam and were earning only Is. 7d. a day, and their diet. That might together be worth 2s. 6d. They explained to us that they had found it very hard to get any job, and had taken this almost in despair. But they wouldn't have trod the wool along with the black men, even for 4s. 6d.

Just as the night was set in we started at a gallop with our tired horses. I know so well the way in which a poor weary brute may be spirited up for five minutes; not, alas, without the lash. A spur to a tired horse is like brandy to a worn-out man. It will add no strength, but it will enable the sufferer to collect together and to use quickly what little remains. We had fifteen miles to do, and wearily, with sad efforts, we did twelve of them. Then we reached a little town, Blanco, and were alive with hopes of a relay. But everybody in Blanco was in bed, and there was nothing for us but to walk, the driver promising that if we would allow the poor animals twenty minutes to look about them, they would be able to crawl on with the cart and our portmanteaus. And so we

walked on to George, and found our dinner of mutton chops ready for us at eleven o'clock. A telegram had been sent on so that a vehicle might be prepared for us before daybreak on the morrow.

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As I entered George,-the geographers I believe call the place Georgetown, but the familiar name is George, -by star light, just able to discern the tops of the mountains above it, I felt that it was a pretty place. On the following morning, as I walked up and down its socalled principal street, waiting between 5 and 6, for the wicked mules which were an hour late, I swore that it was the prettiest village on the face of the earth, the prettiest village at any rate that I had ever seen. Since that I have moderated my enthusiasm so far that I will admit some half a dozen others to the same rank. George will probably resent the description, caring more for its importance than its prettiness. George considers itself to be a town. It is exactly what in England we would describe to be a well-to-do village. Its so-called street consists of a well made broad road, with a green sward treble the width of the road on each side. And here there are rows of oak trees,—real English oak trees, planted by some most beneficent because patient inhabitant of the earlier days. A man who will plant a poplar, a willow, or even a blue-gum in a treeless country, -how good is he! But the man who will plant an oak will surely feel the greenness of its foliage and the pleasantness of its shade when he is lying down, down beneath the sod!

In an English village there are gentlemen's houses, and cottages, and shops. Shops are generally ugly, particularly shops in a row, and the prettiness of a village will depend mostly on the number of what may be called gentlemen's houses, and on the grouping of them. Cottages may be lovely to look at;-sometimes are; but it is not often. 15s. a week and roses form a combination which I have seen, but of which I have read in poetry much more than I have seen. Perhaps the ugliest col

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