posed to be nearly subdued. It is a singularly picturesque place, and I left it on the following morning at 5 A.M. with a regret that I should never see the Knysna again.

There was to have been a cart to take us; but the horse had not chosen to be caught, and we walked to the ferry. Then, at the other side, at Belvidere, the wicked eggs would not get themselves boiled for an hour, though breakfast at an appointed time, 6 A.M., had been solemnly promised to us. Everything about the George and the Knysna gratified me much. But here, as elsewhere in South Africa, punctuality is not among the virtues of the people. Six o'clock means seven, or perhaps twenty minutes after seven. If a man promises to be with you at nine, he thinks that he has done pretty well if he comes between ten and eleven. I have frequently been told that a public conveyance would start at four in the morning,-or at five, as it might be,—and then have had to walk about for half an hour before a horse has made its appearance. And it is impossible for a stranger to discount this irregularity, so as to take advantage of it. It requires the experience of a life to ascertain what five o'clock will mean in one place, and what in another. When the traveller is assured that he certainly will be left behind if he be not up an hour before dawn, he will get up, though he knows that it will be in vain. The long minutes that I have passed, during my late travels, out in the grey dawn, regretting the bed from which I have been uselessly torn, have been generally devoted to loud inward assertions that South Africa can never do any good in the world till she learns to be more punctual. But we got our breakfast at Belvidere at last, and returned triumphantly with our four mules to George.

In the neighbourhood of George there is a mission station called Pacaltsdorp, for Hottentots, than which I can imagine nothing to be less efficient for any useful purpose. About 500 of these people live in a village,— or straggling community,-in which they have huts and about an acre of land for each family. There is a church attached to the place with a Minister, but when I visited the place there was no school. The stipend of the minister is paid by some missionary society at home, and it would seem that it is supported chiefly because for many years past it has been supported.

The question has frequently been raised whether the Hottentots are or are not extinct as a people. Before the question can be answered some one must decide what is a Hottentot. There is a race easily recognized throughout South Africa,—found in the greatest numbers in the Western Province of the Cape Colony,-who are at once known by their colour and physiognomy, and whom the new-comer will soon learn to call Hottentots whether they be so or not. They are of a dusty dusky hue, very unlike the shining black of the Kafir or Zulu, and as unlike the well shaded black and white of the so-called "Cape Boy" who has the mixed blood of Portuguese and Negroes in his veins. This man is lanternjawed, sad-visaged, and mild-eyed,-quite as unlike a Kafir as he is to a European. There can be no doubt but that he is not extinct. But he is probably a bastard Hottentot, a name which has become common as applied to his race, and comes of a mingled race half Dutch and half South African.

These people generally perform the work of menial servants. They are also farm labourers,—and sometimes farmers in a small way. They are not industrious; but

are not more lazy than men of such a race may be expected to be. They are not stupid, nor, as I think, habitually dishonest. Their morals in other respects do not rank high. Such as they are they should be encouraged in all ways to work for hire. Nothing can be so antagonistic to working as such a collection of them as that at Pacaltsdorp, where each has land assigned to him just sufficient to enable him to live,—with the assistance of a little stealing. As for church services there are quite enough for their wants in the neighbourhood, of various denominations. The only excuse for such an establishment would be the existence of a good school. But here there was none. Pacaltsdorp is I believe more than half a century old. When it was commenced the people probably had no civilizing influences round them. Now the Institution hardly seems to be needed.

From George I went over the Montague Pass to Oudtshoorn. My travels hitherto had chiefly been made with the view of seeing people and studying the state of the country, and at this time, as I have explained above, my task was nearly completed. But now I was in search of the picturesque. It is not probable that many tourists will go from England to South Africa simply in quest of scenery. The country is not generally attractive, and the distances are too long. But to those who are there, either living in the Colony, or having been carried thither in search of health or money, the district of which I am now speaking offers allurements which will well repay the trouble of the journey. I am bound however to say that the beauties of this region cannot be seen at a cheap rate. Travelling in South Africa is costly. The week which I spent in the neighbourhood of George cost me £30, and would have cost me much more had I been alone. And yet I was not overcharged. The travellers

in South Africa are few in number, and it is much travelling which makes cheap travelling.

Montague Pass is a road through the Outiniqua mountains, which was made by Mr. White and called by the name of Mr. Montague who was the Colonial Secretary when the line was opened. It is very fine, quite equal to some of the mountain roads through the Pyrenees. There are spots on which the traveller will quite forget South African ugliness and dream that he is looking at some favoured European landskip. Throughout the whole of those mountains the scenery must be very grand, as they group themselves with fantastic intermingling peaks, and are green to the top. The ascent from the side nearest to George, which the tourist will probably walk, is about four miles, and the views are varied at almost every step,--as is the case in all really fine mountain

scenery.

From the foot of the hill on the side away from George the road to Oudtshoorn passes for about thirty miles through the Karoo. The Karoo is a great Institution in the Cape Colony and consists of enormous tracts of land which are generally devoted to the pasture of sheep. The karoo properly is a kind of shrub which sheep will eat, such as is the salt bush in Australia. Various diminutive shrubs are called "karoo," of which most are aromatic with a rich flavour as of some herb, whereas others are salt. But the word has come to signify a vast flowery plain, which in seasons of drought is terribly arid, over which the weary traveller has often to be dragged day after day without seeing a tree, or a green blade of grass; but which in spring becomes covered with wild flowers. A large portion of the Western Province is called Karoo, and is very tedious to all but sheep. That over which I passed now was "Karoo" only in its produce,

being closely surrounded by mountains. The sheep, however, had in most places given way to ostriches,-feathers at present ruling higher in the world than wool. I could not but hope as I saw the huge birds stalking about with pompous air, which as you approached them they would. now and again change for a flirting gait, looking back over their shoulders as they skipped along with ruffled tails; I have seen a woman do very much the same;that they might soon be made to give place again to the modest sheep.

Oudtshoorn, a place with a most uncomfortably Dutch name,—is an uninteresting village about two miles long; which would, at least, be uninteresting were it not blessed with a superlatively good hotel kept by one Mr. Holloway. Mr. Holloway redeems Oudtshoorn, which would otherwise have little to say for its own peculiar self. But it is the centre of a rich farming district, and the land in the valleys around it is very fertile. It must be remembered that fertility in South Africa does not imply a broad area of cultivated land, or even a capacity for it. Agriculture is everywhere an affair of patches, and frequently depends altogether on irrigation. Near Oudt shoorn I saw very fine crops, and others which were equally poor, the difference having been caused altogether by the quantity of water used. The productiveness of South Africa is governed by the amount of skill and capital which is applied to the saving of rain when rain does fall, and to the application of it to the land when no rain is falling. How far the water sent by God may, with the assistance of science, be made sufficient for the cultivation of the broad plains, I, at least, am unable to say. They who can measure the rainfalls, and the nature of the slopes by which the storms and showers may be led to their appointed places, will after a while