, , ^ o ^^mmyi^ '^-SOJIIV] :Q .^WEUNIVER%. ^lOSANCElfjV. ^OFCAIIFO^. ■^Aa3AiNn-3Wv* ^(?AavnaiH^ '^ommn ^. ^Odiivj'j^i ^^UIBRARYQ/: ,^WtUNIVERS//^ jOV' - ^'> nhibraryq^^ 3 ^ - -^ ^ ^^l•LIBRARYQ^ ^.!/0JllV3JO'f^ ^OFCAJJFO/?^ ^«i/0JnV3J0'^ ^•OFCAIIFO/?^ '^AHvaan-i^ "^(^Aavaan^iS^? ^\\FUNIVERjy/i ^^^ji S V AWEUNIVERi'//) O MLIBRARY(9^ ^\WEUN1VEW/^ ^10SANCEI% jUlTiiyiTi ii^liTrt:! THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE AND OTHER ESSAYS I! THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE AND OTHER ESSAYS BY SOUTH AFRICAN WRITERS EDITED BY PROFESSOR NOBLE CAPE TOWN J. C. JUTA 1869 SAUL SOLOMON AND CO , CAPE TOWN. ur 66c f/. PREFACE BY THE EDITOR. Some twelve months ago it was first suggested to me, by the publisher of this volume, that a periodical work might be produced under the title of " The Cape Literary Annual," consisting solely or mainly of light literary sketches, which might prove useful in fostering and developing whatever literary abilities, as well as tastes, exist in the Colony, and at the same time meet with a favourable reception from the reading public generally. I undertook the task of editing the first volume as a sort of experiment. After communicating with many corres- pondents through the country, the idea then in view was considerably modified ; and the heartiness with which the original project was received by gentlemen of marked distinction in their respective departments induced me to aim at something higher, not to say more ambitious, than a mere collection of light fugitive sketches. The object of this volume, therefore, has been to present within a moderate compass a fair repre- sentation of the ideas of some of our principal thinkers and writers in South Africa on questions of literary, -A r- f-*i> r: fc ^";i .-1 VI PREFACE. scientific, and social interest. It will be seen that, with but one or two exceptions, the topics discussed have special relation to South Africa ; but those exceptional subjects are of such universal human interest that no apology is required for their introduction. Should this volume meet with the public favour which is anticipated for it, and of which the established reputation of its writers justifies the expectation, it is probable that it may be followed by others of a similar character hereafter. The field for South African inquiry is very extensive, and as yet but little explored. Much work remains to be done in the literary, scientific, and social, as well as other departments of our existence ; and I am glad to state that there is no deficiency of competent and willing workers. For the present I need only add an expression of my hearty acknowledgment to the several contributors who have joined in this undertaking so readily and so entirely as a labour of love. RODERICK NOBLE. CONTENTS. THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. BY LANGHaM DALE, LL.D. OUR CLIMATE : IN ITS RELATION TO HEALTH AND DISEASE. BY W. H ROSS, M.D. . ...... OUR VILLAGE. BY THE REV. R. RIDGILL .... THE CONFESSION. BY W. G. THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE IN NATURE, AND ITS RELATIONS TO SPECULATIONS IN NATURAL THEOLOGY. BY DR. JOHN SHAW, COLESBERG ....... SPEECH-MAKING, BY A. W. COLE, ESQ. .... INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA. BY R. TRIMEN, M.E.S. PREJUDICE AGAINST COLOUR. BY L. D. THE CITY OF MOZAMBIQUE. BY REV. DR. STEWART, F.R.G.S., LOVEDALE REVERENCE: AND THE WANT OF IT IN THIS COLONY. BY T. B GLANVILLE, ESQ. ....... THE VISION. BY JAMES ADAMSON, D.D. .... THE NATURAL HISTORY OF A MOSS. BY DR. JOHN SHAW, COLESBERG MODERN GREECE. BY THE REV. DR. STEWART, F.R.G.S., LOVEDALE CLEOMBROTUS. BY W. G. ACCLIMATIZATION. BY E. L. LAYARD, F.Z.S. . IN MEMORLA.M E. B. WATERMEYER. BY L. D. . TABLE MOUNTAIN : AN ART STUDY. BY THE REV. T. E. FULLER THE BOTANY OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. BY J. McGIBBON, F.H.S. LION HILL CLIFF, TABLE BAY. BY J. ADAMSON, D.D. THE BUSHMAN LANGUAGE. BY DR. W. H. I. BLEEK . CLASSICAL STUDIES : AND THEIR RELATION TO COLONIAL EDUCATION BY THE REV. PROFESSOR CAMERON .... 47 59 6; 79 88 104 10? 1Z9 i6i i6s 177 2iO 221 232 i33 455 264 269 28s vni CONTENTS. WITHIN AND WITHOUT. BY C. . . . . . . • iH WAR AND PEACE: REMINISCENCES OF TRAVEL ON THE FRONTIER. BY J. NOBLE, ESQ. ........ 306 DE PROFUNDIS. BY W. G. J41 IRRIG.'ITION AND TREE-PLANTING. BY DR. RUBIDGE, F.G.S., PORT ELIZABETH. ......... 345 BY THE SEA SIDE : A PHYSICIAN'S HOLIDAY. BY DR. W. G. ATHERSTONE, F.G.S., GRAHAM'S TOWN. . . . . . . .356 EARTH MEASUREMENTS IN THE NORTHERN HEMISPHERE AND THE SOUTHERN. BY SIR THOMAS MACLEAR, F.R.S. . . .381 THE CAf?E JJ^(D ITS fpEO^PLE. CHAPTER I. EDUCATION. Ut homo est, ita morem geras. Ter. Adelph. Some importance may be attached to the education of a community consisting of elements so strangely varied and so anomalous in their characteristics as the population of the Cape Colony. The Cape of Good Hope arrests atten- tion also by its unique geographical position, as being the half-way house of the world, and thus a convenient stand- point of observation of the older forms of Northern civi- lization, as well as of the recombination of old-world elements in the upspringing colonies of the South. Equidistant from the slowly-developed substantial insti- tutions and habits of Britain, and the speculative energy recently transplanted to Australian soil, the Cape has lived under the successive dynasties of Dutch and English Governors, offering the charm of a sunny healthy climate, without either the restlessness usually incident to Colonial life, or the absolute apathy of the Oriental character. B THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. Cherishing thus a humble ambition, auream mediocritatem^ and having no marked productions but wool and wine — wine unfairly mahgned as some vile Sab'inum — the Colony has seldom attracted much notice from the outer world ; and those who have migrated to its shores have found that to achieve success here, as elsewhere, demands pains and continuous industry. Many, disappointed at missing the magic wand, which was to convert hopes into realities, airy castles into sterling material, have gone further on, to prove that the rolling stone gathers no moss. Our shortcomings at the Cape are not a few : we need to husband, for our use, the rain that a short and genial winter freely bestows ; we need to intercept and dam back the torrents that rush through some almost rainless tracts to the ocean ; and laughing and glistering in the sun- shine, as their waters bound and flow, seem to tell how they would enrich us, if we would only rescue them from the greedy sea : water is the only natural medium wanted to convert millions of acres of Karroo land into luxuriant cornfields, vineyards, and gardens ; but the artificial helps, capital, enterprise, and persistent industry, are singularly deficient. The Cape enjoys a climate where the heat seldom debars the native from sunning himself during a long day- dream of idleness ; few his wants, and these are easily supplied ; where the cold never pinches, and the joint influences of hunger and climate are never available as incentives to toil. What wonder, if brief spasmodic bursts of labour and the balmy softness of a tempered air indicate, or rather develop, a corresponding desultory character in the people ? " Earth is here so kind, that just tickle her THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. with a hoe, and she laughs into harvest." The Colonists also, though of European origin, are amenable to the same influences j and it is to be observed that the gene- ration of employers of Slave-labour is not yet extinct : the effects of that system are deeply-rooted and concomitant causes of the inertness, physical, political, and moral, which characterizes the bulk of the inland Colonists. And who are the inhabitants of the Cape Colony, our southern Ultima Thule f — a question at first sight no more attractive, I fear, to general readers than the whereabouts and habits of the Britanni might have been to a citizen of Imperial Rome. (i) The larger section of the Colonists is of Dutch origin, and their colloquial language is Dutch, owing to the occupation of the Cape Peninsula by the Dutch East India Company, for the promotion of their Indian trade, from A.D. 1652 — 1795. A considerable influx of French Protestant refugees from A.D. 1685 — 1688 brought a useful body of vine-growers and other artisans, now to be distinguished from the Dutch only by their names : the slopes of Constantia were then first planted with the vine. The tide of European politics by the peace of Amiens, in 1802, restored the Cape to the Batavian Republic, after having been six years under British rule ; but sincd 1806 the Colony has remained a dependency of the British Crown. The white population is thus a composite of Dutch, French, British, and a fair number of German and other immigrants : these have contributed, in their order, during the last two centuries, to form a community, heterogeneous in its prime elements, but sufficiently amal- gamated for social and political purposes. B 2 THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. (2) The mixed native population of the towns and villages, which constitutes our lower orders., and furnishes the ordinary labourers, artisans, coolies or porters, and domestic servants, embraces individuals of all hues and sizes, from the dark, clean-limbed, Kafir to the tawny- skinned wiry descendant of the Hottentot : the pure Hottentot is now but a myth of African lore. The mixed offspring of white and coloured parentage, of Europeans, Mozambique Negroes rescued from slavers, and Hotten- tots, forms the majority of the dusky inhabitants of Cape Town, the Metropolis : to these must be added a few thousands of Malay origin, of a fairer complexion, Moham- medans by faith, who have brought the deftly-handed characteristics of the Asiatic amongst the duller souls of African mould. (3) The pure Native tribes, under the generic names of Kafirs and Fingoes (Amafengu), are found in large numbers only in the extreme Eastern Districts. The Fingoes, who since A.D. 1835 have been permitted to settle in locations over the grassy plains of Fort Peddie and the contiguous districts, as a reward for their attach- ment to the Colonial Government which released them from a state of slavery to the Amakosa Kafirs, have waxed- fat and numerous under the protecting aegis of the British Government; some thousands have taken out titles to their own plots of land ; and they appreciate British rule, if for no other reason, for the creature comfbrts which it secures to them. Those who dread the dying out of the Aborigines as a blot on our fame as civilizers and colonists, may be reminded that the overgrowth of these natives within the limits originally THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. assigned to them, compelled the present Governor, Sir Philip Wodehouse, to arrange the exodus of several thousand colonial Fingoes to ampler tracts beyond the river Kei, a policy dictated alike by prudence and humanity. The Kafirs, under various tribal names, as Gaika, 'Tslambi, Tembu (Tambookie), &c., live chiefly w^ithin and around the newly-annexed divisions of King Wil- liam's Town and East London, generally known as British Kaffraria : the authority of the native chiefs is restricted within certain limits by the presence of a resident British agent or magistrate. Not yet freed from the thraldom of their own savage rites and institutions, the Fingoes and Kafirs ofl:er a wide field for the exercise of the philanthropism of the day. The broad-hearted earnest Missionary, who puts little value on those lip professions of natives which find utterance in time-honoured symbols, unmeaning to them and evidencing no reality or depth of religious impressions, but strives to foster habits of industry, order, and obedience, and the love of truth, and on this prepared soil sows the seeds of a higher humanity, has our hearty sympathy in the attempt to elevate a race susceptible of high intellectual development. The distribution of these great sections of the popu- lation of the Cape Colony is thus roughly estimated ; 180,000 of European origin ; 220,000 of Hottentot and other mixed native descent; and 180,000 Kafirs. Any system of Education which claims to be public or national must embrace these three sections of the Cape population, and, whilst excluding none of any class, creed, or colour from participation in the advantages of the 7HE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. highest schools, must yet be framed to suit the peculiar needs of the peaceable mass, of mixed origin, just emerg- ing from a state of heathenism, and of the great and less settled number of tribal natives who have been scarcely reached, much less influenced, as yet by the teaching either of the Church or the School. The Cape Education Act of 1865 contains provisions liberal and comprehensive ; the Colonial Government acknowledges its obligations to promote the education of all, and seeks to do so among the higher and middle classes, not by compulsory enactments, but by putting them in the way of organizing their own schools, of securing competent teachers, and of providing school requisites. The poorer and coloured classes cannot be reached by this direct agency, and therefore the Gov- ernment avails itself of the co-operation of various Religious and Educational Societies to manage, and provide teachers for, their elementary and industrial instruction. The Orders of Schools aided by annual grants from the Colonial Treasury are three : (A.) Undenominational Public Schools. Class I. — The chief town of each of the forty-seven divisions of the Colony may have a First-class School, or what would be called in England a Grammar School^ or in Germany a Gyfnnasiumj of two departments ; the Principal and Assistant receiving guaranteed salaries of ^^250 and ;^I50 per annum, respectively, of which one half is provided by Government. Class II. — Other towns and villages have a Second-class School under one teacher, with a salary ranging from ;^I00 to ;^I50 per annum, the THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. grant-in-aid not exceeding the half salary. Class III. — A cluster of farms where twenty to thirty children can be assembled at one place for daily instruction is accepted as a school-station ; the teacher's salary must be not less than j^6o per annum, with a residence, the grant being j^30 per annum. The resident householders, or those among them who are willing to share in the guarantee for the maintenance of a teacher, elect the Managers, with whom rest the nomination of the public teacher and the general disci- pline and control of the school, subject to the approval of the Superintendent-General of Education, who, on behalf of the Government, exercises the right of inspection and of satisfying himself that the school is efficiently con- ducted, and that the grants are duly appropriated to the payment of the teachers' salaries. These Public Schools are frequented chiefly by children of European descent ; a moderate fee is levied, except in cases of acknowledged inability to pay : and the Managers are at liberty to provide for the religious instruction of the scholars, at an hour to be set apart by them, not being during the four ordinary school-hours ; but no scholars are to be compelled to attend for religious instruction, without the consent of their parents or guardians. The cope-stone of this graduated series of Public Schools consists, at present, of two Colleges, the one in the Western and the other in the Midland Districts, each having a Government grant of ;^400 per annum, and of an Examining Board, authorized by law to issue certi- ficates of attainments in Literature and Science, and in Law and Jurisprudence. THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. Order B comprehends the numerous Mission Schools for the education of the children of the poorer class, which lives by manual labour, and cannot from social position and'want of means form and manage its own schools : these are under the direction of the Missionary Societies, whose congregations are largely, and in most cases wholly, composed of the mixed coloured races. The religious education of the poor is the acknowledged object of these Societies ; but the Government aid is expressly given to promote the secular instruction of all the children of the locality in which the Mission is placed ; and the restrictive religious clause secures the public from the oppressiveness of a denominational management. A series of separate infant, juvenile, and female industrial departments is aided by a grant of £j^ per annum, which can be applied only to pay the salaries of teachers. Order C consists of Day-schools, Boarding, and Indus- trial Institutions, for the civilization of the tribal Natives along the Eastern Frontier, some 700 miles from Cape Town. Schools, where Kafir only is taught at first, are formed at Out-stations under Native teachers, receiving each a salary of ^20 to ^30 per annum, with a residence ; in due course a superior Native, qualified to teach the ordinary subjects in English, and receiving a salary of £^0 to ^^60 per annum, supersedes the former ; the more promising youths are drafted to the Main Station, where provision is made not only for the day-school instruction of all within a reasonable distance, but also for Native boys and girls to live within the influence of the Mis- sionary's home, and to learn some trade, as carpentry, wagonmaking, tailoring, shoemaking, and, in some cases. rHE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. printing and bookbinding ; many boys are also trained as schoolmasters, and girls for domestic service. The rates of maintenance money, as paid by the Government, are from j^io to ^15 per annum for each Boarder, and liberal grants towards the salaries of the teachers at the Main Stations are also made. The Church of England, the Free Church of Scotland, and the Wesleyan Society are most conspicuous for their labours in this wide and, as regards the security of the Colony, signally important branch of the Colonial System of Education. This brief outline may, it is hoped, convey even to those unacquainted with the Cape, some idea of the efforts now exerted by the Government and the Colonists to keep the children of the higher and middle classes up to the standard of their peers in Europe, and to raise the Natives to an appreciation of the humanities of civilized life. The prospect of the evangelization of the teeming hordes of savages in Central Africa gave lately a vent to the pent-up enthusiasm of philanthropists at home : Oxford and Cambridge felt the summons from this other Macedonia to come over and help ; but whilst the Universities' Mission is struggling to secure a stand-point in Eastern Africa, and in an intermittent way to civilize the tribes about Zanzibar, amid every discouragement of climate, language, and foreign rule, the thousands of Kafirs settled in the healthy and lovely vales of our Amatolas wait the accession of men of energy, prudence, and faith, to bring the elements of civilization among them. Where duty calls, the hearts of such evangelists as Livingstone and Mackenzie will ever respond ; but 10 THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. whilst labour in such a clime can lead to little result beyond the sad repetition of the fate that struck down the apostolic Mackenzie, the great work at our feet is overlooked, or only partially done. And yet the future of Central Africa will be more surely influenced by working from the Cape upwards, by civilizing the tribes who are our neighbours and fellow- subjects, than by all the fitful bursts of enthusiasm, however well meant, to carry the banner of evangelism direct into the heart of the African Continent. We would fain wean earnest men, leaders of public opinion, and promoters of Missions, From reveries so airy ; from the toll Of dropping buckets into empty wells, And growing old in drawing nothing up. CHAPTER II. SOCIETY, RELIGIOUS AND POLITICAL. Black's not so black, nor white so very white. Anti-Jacobin. Those who are favoured by nature with white skins hug themselves in the notion that it is their business to whitewash that moiety of humanity which is of darker hue. The notion would not be so much amiss if they had settled among themselves some standard of moral and religious whiteness. The Natives who are the objects of all this solicitude must be sorely mazed with the lessons they have to learn, no less than with the diverse 1HE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. 1 1 shapes in which the Christianity that comes to them is clothed — lessons and shapes so conflicting, Ut nee pes nee caput uni Reddatur formae. It is difficult to anticipate the resultant, either in degree or direction, of the evangelizing forces now brought to bear on a heathen mind. Sic itur ad astra^ explains one teacher to the inquiring Kafir, whilst another puts in a caveas against the sic. The grave subject of the polygamist Kafir being compelled to put away all his wives but one, before he can be admitted within the Christian pale, is still open ; and he hits hard who argues that Christianity cannot require a man to injure others — his wives according to law and conscience, and their children^ legitimate and having corresponding rights — for the sake of spiritual benefit to himself. What of the wives so put away ? What is their status ? These are the remarks of one who believes that " Man's work on earth is something more than, at a loss to others, to save his own soul." The Church of England blows hot within our borders and cold beyond ; reaching in one place after the materialism of mediaeval ceremonials against which she once became Protestant ; in another place, so zealous for the high prerogatives of humanity, as to lose a clear apprehension of the divinity that stirred within Him, her Founder. There is no doubt that her ecclesiastical polity and unity of interests with monarchy chime in with the traditions and aristocratic institutions of the Kafir tribes, and the bond of coherence, happily not yet a rope of sand, between the State and the Church, 12 THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. lends undoubted dignity to the latter in Native eyes, and conciliates respect and submission to the former. Protestant Societies of various denominations, the Moravian, the London, the French, the Rhenish, the Berlin, the Free Church of Scotland, the Wesleyan, and the Church of England, have entered South Africa w^ith their respective Missionary forces, to do battle w^ith heathenism : but the abnormal condition of the Christian Church, at one only in the jealousy vi^ith w^hich each section regards the w^ork of every other, w^eakens the moral strength of the teacher, and puzzles the Native's mind, keen enough to v/onder why he should be the object of a competitive system of proselytism. The sentimentality of levelling Christians is not un- known, and has ere this produced its fruit ; " we . we band of brothers" are inconvenient watchwords, even if incorporating a latent truth, among a half-tamed popu- lation ; on the other hand, the judicious working and sober influence of several great Missions, as keeping in view the practical and the useful, whilst not heedless of the spiritual, has been and is an evidence that there is no necessary connection between equality as Christians and insubordination as Citizens. Earnest workers are most of the Missionaries. Of the fruits of labour it is not safe to speak ; Societies and Mis- sionary Meetings at home have their own measures ; good men and women, who live at home at ease, expect some return for their contributions ; and the return reads well and looks well in print : Colonists accept much of it as news. He who would honestly measure the results of missionary teaching and influence must extend the THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. I3 horizon of his obsen^ation some thirty or forty years back ; taking a retrospect of what the Eastern Districts, for instance, were at that time j of the then lonely, yet as now lovely, slopes of the Kat River heights ; of the untenanted wastes that stretched over where Queen's Town now flourishes, — untenanted save where here and there some Native kraals dotted the more fertile spots, the observer will have found nothing but what charac- terizes the lowest types of humanity ; now, the Mis- sionary proudly points to Churches and Schools that have risen chiefly from the self-reliant efforts of the Christianized Natives ; neatly-dressed and well-behaved congregations of coloured races throng churchwards at the call of the Sabbath-bell, and the voices of thousands rise to God in devotional hymns, where superstition and debasing rites had encrusted the particle of inborn Truth. And if the Native has come to look on Christian truth objectively and the material blessings, the loaves and fishes, subjectively, who shall judge him ? The teacher has, however, other hindrances to success besides the natural repugnance of the Native to a religion of self-denial : it is sometimes doubted whether the Euro- pean Missionary can do as much good for the soul, as the habits of so-called civilized life, introduced by demo- ralized Europeans, traders and others, do harm to the body. The Cape community, as a whole, is essentially reli- gious ; almost puritanical in its notions about literature and amusements, and a little too pharisaic in type to be able to live at peace with itself. The Calvinist keeps wide the gulf between himself and the Episcopalian, as does 14 THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. our Low Churchman between himself and the Ritualist, — a gulf too wide even for the larger-hearted sympathy of him of the Broad Church to span. With all the freedom of action and thought that is commonly associated with Colonial life and manners, the Cape religionists have not learned the true tolerance which disdains to measure a man's worth by the lights and shadows of his faith. This their idiosyncrasy, for America and Australia are pre- sumed to differ from the Cape widely in this respect, is to be attributed to the peculiar tone and religious feeling introduced by the early immigrants of Dutch and French origin, and handed down from generation to generation of a people, secluded from the European world, and thus inaccessible to the influences of the newspaper and the serial. These adherents of the Dutch Reformed Church constitute the large conservative element in the Cape world of politics. Ignorant of and uninterested in the stirring politics of Europe, and having little intercourse, either by reading or by travel, with older and more culti- vated communities, the inhabitants of the inland districts have long settled down to an apathy and inertness of life, which is a great bar to progress ; and those who are apt to look at colonies as nurseries of republicanism, rowdyism, and similar types of a restless society, need to be told that no such elements exist in the political creed of our Dutch Colonists. Those who remember the Cape Colony one-and-twenty years ago, when the See of Cape Town was founded, and the first Bishop of the Church of England settled amongst us, will acknowledge the marked and inspiriting influence exercised by that Church on our religious and THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. 1 5 social atmosphere. It is true that religious rivalry has become more active ; but in the cause of the elevation of the heathen mass, such rivalry is better than the stagnation which even yet clogs the wheels of our greatest Reli- gious Society, the Dutch Reformed Church. The still waters of the Protestant communities were ruffled by the inlet of a freshet of English University men of good standing, who brought into colonial society new tones of thought and more aesthetic tastes ; they also linked our colonial lads with home, by developing in them some- what of the habits, sports, and modes of thought of English public-school life. It may be objected that they have done this rather by the establishment of schools on exclusively Church principles than by falling in with the relations which have ever subsisted in regard to education between the Government and the people of the Colony. This exclusiveness, which amounts to prejudice, if not to bigotry, keeps the Church of England in antagonism to many who admire her spirit and energy, but are bold and free to think that the great and long-sustained efforts for the evangelization, as well as the civilization, of the natives, which had been put forth by other missionary bodies many years before the Church of England awoke to her duties here, deserved more candid acknowledgment, if they could not command the co-operation, of those who were sent into the Vineyard at the eleventh hour. A Church so set in her movements and forms of worship, so tenacious of the letter and symbolism of antiquity, and investing all her spiritual agency with that which sets a barrier between the laic and the cleric, has peculiar difficulties to encounter when she goes forth on a 1 6 rHE C^PE AND ITS PEOPLE. crusade in a new country, where every phase of life and feeling is adverse to formalism, and where society is indisposed to bow even to the conventionalities of the great world at home. But there is that in her which, when she has acquired the elasticity of a Nonconformist body, without sacrificing the unity of her government, will spread a wide and permanent influence throughout South Africa ; the greatness of her future will come when her sympathies are widened, and when she pursues with a singleness of eye and aim the diffusion of Christian truth. It is vain to repeat among an ignorant or heathen people her grand liturgical services, which represent the compressed expressions of the piety of ages, and go hand- in-hand with the accompaniments of robe, and choir, and gothic aisle. The Priest must come down from his pedestal before he can be a successful Missionary ; he must become Paul, the tentmalcer, teaching and preaching, whilst he works. The towering pile of St. Mary's Roman Catholic Cathedral, the too classic edifice of St. George's, the more capacious than elegant structures of the Dutch- Reformed Church, the aspiring gothic of St. John's and of the Congregational Church, and a host of others, Wesleyan, Scotch, Lutheran, and miscellaneous by denomination, tell how Christianity in Protean forms has visited the Cape of Good Hope. Happy Cape, if the conflict of religious strife does not restore its former ill-omened name, Cabo del Totos Tormentos. The asceticism and somewhat unsocial element of the colonial character does not much affect the English- speaking portion of the people, and perhaps least of all rHE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. tj Cape Town Society, where the amenities of life are accessible and fairly appreciated. Friends at home are apt to encompass our dwellings with Kafir marauders and a lion or two, and more than one recent voyager to the Cape has been cautioned to be well provided with ammu- nition, perhaps not so much for self-defence as to secure a morning meal. Alas ! there is nothing so picturesque or exciting about our daily occupations. Except for the bright, light, cheery atmosphere. Cape life might be as prosaic as in an old cathedral city. Cape Town and its charming environs, with a popula- tion of some 30,000, form the " shank end of the leg of mutton," as our Eastern Colonists describe it ; the position is thus a favoured one, for there is a con- tinual influx of military and naval visitors from the Eastern world as well as from England, who introduce an ever-fresh element into our social circles. Through their eyes the cits of Cape Town catch a glimpse of the " untravelled world j" and just as we are sinking into a periodic dulness, the half-monthly mail pours in a budget of European gossip, political, commercial, and religious ; serials, heavy, didactic, and light j and novels sensational. These break in agreeably upon our routine. A well-filled Public Library, in a noble building sheltered by oak-groves, opens gratuitously from morn to eve its old and modern treasures to those who thirst for knowledge ; and the adjoining Botanic Gardens offer a charming show- ground, with the accompaniments of flowers, fountains, and music, to the fashion and beauty of our capital. The political side of the colonial character is certainly not of so Protean a complexion as the religious. The colouring l8 THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. is due largely to local causes : an isolated Colony, long under the rule of a Government which was at once patriarchal and pedagogic, learned to acquiesce in the apathetic state of having all its mattei's controlled and directed by an agency which formed no part of itself. To look to the Government for roads and bridges, for schools and clergy, to bow to laws sumptuary, was physically easier and far safer than to provoke the imputation of disaffection which seemed then to underlie a show of energy or self-help. Even now, the absence of enterprise, the locked-up capital, the cry to the powers that be for remedial mea- sures of all kinds, for employment of the labourers, male and female, who are becoming demoralized by idleness and poverty, for irrigating the soil which has all the elements of fertility, for improving, or getting a market for, colonial wine, for the encouragement of silk culture, — all tell how the old Cape lethargy permeates our machinery. While colonies of mushroom growth are founded and developed to the fulness of their stature in self-govern- ment by industry, enterprise, and self-reliance, the Cape resembles the boy, who wishing to learn to swim, shudders at the first contact with the limpid element, and inwardly resolves to run no such risk until he has mastered the art. To mount the box-seat and handle the ribands of the Gov- ernment car is too great a task to be undertaken by a representative of the people, until all are satisfied that the charioteer knows how to drive. The Roman satirist tells something apposite : Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis ; at ille Volvitur, et volvetur in omne volubilis aevum. The qualities that lie at the base of the greatness of THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. 1 9 the Anglo-Saxon race find their analogues in the Dutch character. These may have been overlaid at the Cape by the indolence, superinduced by climate, and by peculiar social and political institutions ; the crust may need to be broken : Cape life savours too much of the quieta non movere ; thus vi^e v/ould fain float idly dow^n the gentle current of our life-stream : How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, With half-shut eyes to seem Falling asleep in a half dream,; To dream and dream The Cape gossips about changes. The Radical is here the Constitutionalist ; he sees perfection in the bicameral system of Parliament ; anticipates a panacea for infirmities, social and commercial, in assimilating the Cape Consti- tution to the Imperial image — reduced in size ; tempered in colouring ; but, in essence, identical. The Conservative quails before our almost universal franchise, our small and ill-informed population, and fears the Niagara : he truly says our Legislative Council, or Upper House, is elected by the same electors as is the House of Assembly, and for a limited period ; consists of the sarhe elements as the Lov^^er, men moving in the same everyday sphere, occupied in the same pursuits, having no greater stake in their country's w^eal than most of those w^ho sit on humbler benches : he who argues for a miniature facsimile of the three Estates to be reproduced here, argues a non causa pro causa : "like — like — but oh ! how different!" The Cc -?erva- tive, faithless as regards mankind, thinks with Sheridan that conscience has no more to do with politics than with gallantry j and, contemplating the political arena bare of c 2 20 THE CAPE AND ITS PEOPLE. men of mark, forgets the great lesson of History, that a national crisis ever brings latent greatness to the front, just as " courage mounteth with occasion." Meanwhile, the pulse cf Colonial hfe beats more feebly, — omen of early dissolution : a gossip prescribes, — One House, small enough for the Public Purse to meet its cost, large enough to prevent its being led by local cliques ; legislators unpaid ; a due appreciation of the value of the franchise, and the exercise of it by those only who are educated enough to use the privilege with discrimination ;* and a party-cabinet of three representatives. Well ! the public asks, Cui bono ? To the individual citizen, decrease and economy in expenditure, ergo diminished taxation ? enterprise in public works, ergo employment of labour ? increase of public confidence, ergo free investment of unemployed capital ? to the Colony at large, an infusion of life into the dry bones of Society ? a unification of interests, English and Dutch, Eastern and Western ? to the legislator, a sop to his ambition ? place, power, patron- age ? Such results might follow ; fiat experlmentum ; although The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft agley. * In 1855, the following amendment of the Constitution of Connecticut was adopted, — " Every person shall be able to read any article of the Constitution, or any section of the Statutes of this State, before being admitted as an elector.' OU^ CLIMATE. All the world is agreed that the Cape is a charming colony : its character for salubrity has never been im- peached ; and yet it is perfectly astonishing how little is known of the actual effects of its climate in modifying disease. Here and there, amid the current literature of the day, we may meet with graceful and grateful recogni- tion of the immediate benefits derived by the writers from a visit to the Cape ; but their stay, in general, has been so short, and their details of ailments so vague and emotional, as to rob their enthusiastic testimony of much, or indeed of any, importance in a professional point of view. We possess, nevertheless, in the admirable reports of Major Tulloch, the strongest proofs that the low ratio (3rV P^^ I5OO0) of sickness and mortality among the troops in his time was mainly attributable to the extreme rarity of diseases of the lungs ; while a cloud of witnesses could be brought to testify to the remarkable exemption from fevers, cholera, hepatic and nervous affections, which the Cape Colonist has hitherto in ignorance enjoyed. A great distinction, however, is to be drawn between the colonists proper and casual visitors, as regards their relation to the climate of the Cape. The actual con- 22 OUR CLIMATE. dition of many who come to look for health upon our shores is frequently veiled by a variety of causes, and by none more commonly rhan by the natural reluctance to leave Europe until cases are almost hopeless ; while for the permanent residents, the perpetual sunshine and summer of existence are apt to breed ennui, and a Consti- tutional languor, which can only be alleviated by a trip to Europe. Within a certain period, — varying from three years to five, — the changes for the better are very marked in all cases of physical exhaustion or organic debility : while the causes which tend to enervate and enfeeble, as well as to strengthen and invigorate us are strictly local and capable of improvement. And, first, of the absence of damp. The relation between the action of the skin and the mucous membrane, in warm latitudes, is so intimate and great that too much care cannot be taken by medical men in the study of those causes which violently affect or impede the respira tory process. With a climate like ours, in which the average temperature in winter, according to Sir Thomas Maclear, is only 14*42 degrees below that of summer, it stands to reason that, while the extreme cold seldom falls below 37 '7, or the greatest heat exceeds 96-8, the mean, 61*72, is insufficient to make us neglect the ordinary pre- cautions of prudent people in the management of health. ^ The Cape may then be said to possess a dry, healthy climate, without violent changes from heat to cold, as shown by thermometer ; but there is a great difference between sensible heat and that indicated by instrument, and this seems to depend greatly on the state, force, dryness, and direction of the winds. Whenever these are strong, as in OUR CLIMATE. 23 November, December, and January, coming fresh from the sea, heat is seldom felt to be oppressive, even at the height of summer ; and exposure to the sun at all hours [teste Lady Duff Gordon), under such circumstances, is a constant practice with everybody. In calm weather, on the contrary, even in winter months, namely. May, June, July, the amount of solar radiation is so great that exposure to the sun is sometimes attended with a most disagreeable y^^/zw^ of heat. Upon the position, then, of any place or hamlet, with reference to the winds, does its coolness depend. In summer, all localities to the windward, or south-east side of mountains, are cool, dry, and pleasant; while places to the leeward, as Cape Town, Wellington, &c., are either pulverized by south-easters or made suffocatingly hot by radiation from the bare rocky masses encircling them. And yet Cape Town is not such a very bad place to live in, after all. If the days are sometimes hot and sweltering, the nights are truly lovely. Talk of the poetry of moonlight, and of purple skies thickly studded with diamond stars, and even " Colonus Capensis " has " to strain his prosaic brains " to do justice to the glorious reality of a Cape summer evening. From sunset till long past midnight, the most delicate may with perfect safety enjoy the balmy coolness of the air under verandahs and on "stoeps;" while in the days when Indian officers regarded the Cape as their sanatorium, no station on the hills could have shown more merriment, or better dancing parties, picnics, and balls, than the hospitable slopes of Wynberg, Rondebosch, and Constantia. Though much of this is changed ; though there is very little trade, or anything else, doing 24 OUR CLIMArE. at the Cape ; though wealthy visitors are scarce, and men of ample means prefer to spend their money in London and Paris to dispensing hospitality and earning enjoyment of their lives in the Colony, yet there is still a good deal of excellent society to be found in the company of the many highly-educated people who have made it their home. And it is to this change of scene, and dress, and habit that we have to look for the destruction of that insular exclusiveness which in itself is one of the greatest drawbacks to the well-doing of European invalids. The more thorough their capacity to enjoy field sports and open-air exercise, the more rapidly are dispelled the ennui^ dyspepsia, and sense of malaise^ which at all times con- finement to a sick-room so rapidly engenders. It is, therefore, of the highest importance that visitors in delicate health should still be strong- enough to get about either on foot or on horseback, and so, by frequent change from place to place, as the seasons revolve, derive every procurable benefit that the Colony can afford them. Even in the wettest season the porous, sandy soil rapidly carries off the torrents of water with which the fields are sometimes almost flooded, and nothing can be more truly delicious than the balmy yet bracing weather which precedes and follows a rainy day in winter. At all times, the cool early mornings and the period of sunset are available for exercise. It is never either too hot or too cold in the summer to take a long round before breakfast ; and the horses of the Cape are so hardy, and so pleasant in their paces, that even the most timid can always procure the luxury of a ride at a very moderate expenditure. The roads and bridle-paths are everywhere OUR CLIMATE. ^S in tolerably good order ; while in the immediate neigh- bourhood of Cape Town, the country about Protea, Newlands, Wynberg, Constantia, &c,, abounds with the most exquisite combination of hill and valley, wood and rocky scenery, and the most lovely landscapes for those of artistic tastes and with strength to induJge them. We dwell on these details because we desire to have it made known that in coming to the Cape Colony we are not to be regarded by people as a mere refuge for the asthmatic, dyspeptic, and tuberculous members of society, but as a fine field for the exercise of thrift and liberality of idea, with a tolerably good soil for the investment of capital. Without attempting to compete with foreign watering-places in mere gaiety and public amusements, we are only a month behind the larger towns of England in commercial, political, and social intelligence, and have every reason to be proud of the abundant liberties we enjoy. If we are not so well adapted for the relief of minds diseased, or for those who are depressed by sorrows and mental cares, as the stirring cities of the West, with their hum of excitement ; at all events, we can supply abundance of fresh air and water, and as much out-of- door enjoyment as is good for mere mortals and their four-footed friends. Here, then, in South Africa, we can offer a home to the delicate, which, within a moderate radius from Cape Town, affords several distinct climates for those whose lungs, livers, or joints are painfully out of gear. These atmospheric differences are as distinctly marked by local peculiarities and characteristics as are Torquay, Bourne- 26 OUR CLIMATE. mouth, Hastings, or the Isle of Wight, and are all within the soothing influences of sea breezes and the sandy beaches of our numerous bays. It is partly owing to the shelter of woods, and partly to the proximity of mountain peaks, that there is such a very pleasant difference to be foTind in the quality of the air and the degrees of tempera- ture along our coast, both of the Eastern and Western Provinces. The intervention, too, of hills and the existence of well-wooded ravines are not confined to a kw favoured spots, but form a feature of the Colony, which, in connection with elevation above level of the sea., and the direction and velocity of local winds, makes all the difference between the Frontier, Seaboard, and Karoo districts, and which are, on the question of residence, a fit subject for medical advice. The winds, indeed, are entirely different in character, according as they blow against or over the sides of mountain masses ; and while it may be blowing at the rate of eight or ten miles an hour across the Cape Downs, with a delicious sense of coolness to the traveller or sportsman, the same south-east wind may be observed slowly banking up in dark vapoury masses over the Constantia range of hills ; getting these more and more packed and condensed until they reach the edge of Table Mountain, when, suddenly meeting expansion point, it parts with all its coldness and vapour, and howls in terrific gusts down the waterworn and windtorn ravines, at the rate of possibly forty miles an hour. There is no nonsense about a south-easter. It blows until everything is as dry as a bone, and licks up pools, streams, and reser- voirs of water in a most wonderful manner, and is as greedy of moisture as the unpopular east wind of Eng- OUR CLIMATE. IJ land, coming withal in strong fits and gusts of passion, which soon rub the foliage of plants into a condition analogous to frostbite, and desiccate the ground to that degree that everything is either baked or converted into dust. The reverse process takes place with the winds from the north-west. Here the air is intensely saturated with saline moisture, and long before the wind begins to blow in chilling blasts, the smell of the sea may be distinctly perceived, and a heavy fog is always its precursor. The effect of these two winds upon the human system is striking and peculiar. Many who suffer from chronic rheumatism can tell hours beforehand when a south- easter may be expected, as they get twinges and touches of neuralgic pain. While the wind, however, is actually blowing they are free from uneasiness ; the rapid evaporation from the surface of the skin relieves the lungs and kidneys ; and though men and horses may perspire freely enough in shade, they are scarcely sensible of cutaneous action in the sun, and coughing is lessened in frequency. Not so with the Kloof wind. The damp, clammy, cold nature of a north-wester aggravates all chest complaints, and, by congesting mucous mem- branes, is particularly mischievous to children and old people, who ascribe to it croup, white sore-throat, diarrhoea, and allied disorders. Fortunately, during sum- mer, it does not last very long, and, upon the whole, is not so very bad a visitor after all — at least for the doctors ! It isj however, in winter months that Cape Town 28 OUR CLIMATE. forms the most pleasant of residences for invalids. Being well sheltered by mountains, there is always plenty of calm, clear weather, and even in the stormiest season of the year, as in May, when the north-west gales are tossing enormous breakers against our iron-bound coast, and but for Breakwater works would be making wild havoc among the shipping of our bays, a night of destruction will be followed by perfectly heavenly weather, lasting, perhaps, for five or six days. During this period of exquisitely calm and temperate days, we are always blessed with Italian skies, and with air so cool, so soft, so dry, so grateful to the lungs, that it is a positive source of happi- ness to feel oneself to be alive. " No climate in the world," says Dr. Stovell, " could be more agreeable to the feelings — and very few more beneficial for the usual class of Indian invalids — than a Cape winter. There is an invigorating freshness about this season, equally delight- ful and beneficial ; the moment the rain ceases the clouds rapidly clear away, and the sky remains bright for several days." So, too, in the opinion of Bunbury, our scenery " has much of an Italian character, and is set ofF by a climate even superior to that of Italy." "Some of our party," he adds, " compared the environs of Cape Town to those of Florence •" and beautiful as is the scenery above Fiesole, it must be confessed that the views from the Kloof Road, above Cape Town, both in summer and winter, are only to be equalled by Bain's Kloof, near Wellington, and Montagu Pass, near George, and are all infinitely superior to Richmond Hill, or the glittering Firth of Forth, so dear to Scots. OUR CLIMATE. 2q In forming, however, an estimate of the character of the climate of the Cape, more particularly in relation to climates in Europe, " it must be borne in mind," says Dr. Stovell, in the Bombay Medical 'Journal^ " that though its latitude is within 34° of the Equator, it has a mean annual temperature of places in much higher geographical parallels in the northern hemisphere. Its mean temperature, for instance, is that of Naples, in latitude 40° 5' north. The same remark holds good of all places in the temperate zone of the southern hemi- sphere compared with the northern, so far as dependence can be placed on their thermometrical data. Hobart Town, for instance, in 42° 45' south, has a mean annual temperature of 52° 5' ; while Rome, in the same parallel in the northern hemisphere, has a mean temperature of 59° 8'." In connection with this subject, in its bearings on the treatment and prevention of pulmonary disease, we here- with subjoin some of the tables compiled by Major TuUoch, to show how false an impression has been created in the minds of many — and even of medical men — as to the prevalence and fatal character of lung disease, owing to the sudden changes of sensible temperature and the violent gusts of wind to which Cape Town is exposed. In truth, the change is very slight, as marked by thermometer, the difference between the real heat and the heat felt being precisely similar to that between a person using a fan and one who does not. Certainly nothing can be more convincing than these tables, which give not only the principal diseases prevalent among white troops on the frontier of the Cape from 1822 to 1834, 30 OUR CLIMATE. inclusive, but also of the extent of the same class of disease among troops in Great Britain. NATURE or DISEASE. ADMISSIONS. DEATHS. Cape Frontier. United Kingdom, Cape Frontier. United Kingdom. Total among whole Force in iz years. Annual Ratio per 1,000 of mean strength. Annual Ratio per 1,000 of mean strength. Total among whole Force in II years Annual Ratio per 1,000 of mean strength. Annual Ratio per 1,000 of mean strength. Fevers • . 537 81 75 8 1-2 i'4 Eruptive fevers 2 •• 3 .. •• 0"I Diseases of lungs . . 541 82 148 16 2-4 Tl Diseases of liver 140 21 8 7 I' 0-4 Diseases of stomach and bowels 584 88 94 15 2-3 0-8 Epidemic cholera . . .. .. 4 .. 1-2 Diseases of brain . . 65 10 6 4 0-6 0-7 Dropsies . . . . . . 10 2 I 3 0-5 0-3 Rheumatic affections 396 59 50 "1 Venereal diseases . . 813 123 181 .• Abscesses and ulcers 669 lOI 133 I Wounds and injuries Punished 1,104 168 166 25 126 8 4 1-8 1-4 Diseases of eye 283 43 19 • • Diseases of skin 65 10 29 All other diseases . . Total . . . . 363 55 44 7J 5>740 866 929 65 9-8 i4"o From this it will be seen that the Cape Frontier is not only more favourable to health than the United Kingdom, but that among a mixed body of men, all exposed to the i 2^ a 0, (3 Diseases of lung, gene- rally Inflammation of lungs and pleurisy Phthisis pulmonalis . . Catarrh, acute a;id chronic "5 23 12 75 i8 13 55 141 42 86 120 3+ 6 74 90 32 5 49 126 37 74 148 43 89 125 35 T 73 98 30 5fo 58 Deaths annually, per" 1,000 of the strength, from all 1 diseases of the j lung, at same sta- tions ^ ioto 7A S^, 6 4^ 8^ 6^ 7-h 3ft It may be urged against these tables that soldiers are in a certain sense picked men, because they are surgically examined at recruiting depots before entering on service ; 32 OUR CLIMATE. but when we consider how large and varied a body of men are thus drawn from every class in the community, it is certainly surprising how little they seem to suffer from organic mischief, in spite of hardships and exposure. The same objection cannot, however, be urged against the civil patients admitted into the Somerset Hospital in Cape Town during a period of five years ; for most of them were either sailors, or half-castes, representing nearly every variety of human breed. By the ready courtesy of Dr. Laing, the writer of this paper has been allowed to look at the books of this General Infirmary ; from which it would appear that, out of 2,722 patients sent there for treatment of all types of disease, not more than 84 have died of lung complications in five years. Year. Admissions. Phthisis. Pneumonia. Bronchitis. All Other Diseases of Lung. Total of Deaths. 1861 1862 1863 1864. 1865 673 664. 505 421 459 14 13 12 12 II 4 I 2 3 6 I I I I I I 24 16 15 13 16 2,722 1 62 10 9 3 84 And a further analysis of this return would not only reveal the extent to which patients have been permitted the privilege of being sent by their friends to the Hospital, for the mere purpose, as it v/cre, of dying, and being buried at Government expense, but would clearly estab- lish the cheering fact that, asteris paribus., severe cases of consumption are not very common amongst the members of our very mixed community. OUR CLIMATE. 33 Of the 14 deaths from Phthisis in 1 861, 4 died within 2 days of admission. J, 13- » » 1862, 7 „ 10 „ » 12 » » 1863, 8 „ 15 „ „ 12 „ „ 1864, 4 „ 10 „ On the whole, more deaths from diseases of the lung have occurred in February and October (which are respectively our most trying months), than during June, August, and September (which are the most conducive to exercise and open-air enjoyment). The subjoined table shows this. A Return of the Admissions into Somerset Hospital for all classes and Paupers, suffering from every type of Lung Disease during five years, irrespective of ao-e, sex, or colour ; also of the Deaths in same time. MONTH. 1861. 1862. i86j. 1864. 1865. Total of Deaths _o .i c .2 .2 ui x: j4 a> x: w J. in 5 years. p E= t; rt fi 1= rt <; < a < Q < Q <; a January . . 92 2 69 3 54 53 I 33 6 in January February . . 62 4 56 40 2 45 2 35 1 9 in February March 34 2 60 2 56 2 28 I 29 7 in March April 51 3 56 2 64 I 22 2 35 8 in April May . • 46 49 2 32 4 22 * 39 I 7 in May June . . 49 38 41 I 20 50 4 5 in June July.. .. 58 3 36 I 33 I 28 40 2 7 in July August 5° 2 55 2 37 I 34 34 I 6 in August September 53 2 54 I 30 I 40 51 I 5 in September October . . 66 2 69 I 32 • 46 3 3^ 4 10 in October November S3 3 51 I 34 I 41 3 41 8 in November December. . 59 I 71 I 52 I 42 I 40 2 6 in December •• 24 16 15 •• 13 16 8+ j 34- OUR climate: Among the convicts and prisoners, broken-down con- stitutions are comparatively rare ; nor does the seclusion of gaol life seem to shorten the span of existence. At the General Infirmary for lunatics, lepers, and chronic sick on Robben Island, but few^ deaths are ever recorded as due to phthisis ; and indeed, in other respects, the ratio of mortality there is so very low as to seriously detract from its public usefulness, and be a perennial source of inconvenience to a paternal Government who have to provide space for fresh applicants every year ! If such, then, is the result of careful observation of the effects of the climate about Cape Town and its immediate neighbourhood, a much lower rate of mortality is actually found to obtain in the villages situated along the main road leading to Simon's Bay, where [from the fact of so many people residing in them, who could not comfortably exist or maintain their health in Cape Town J a very large proportion of the inhabitants are in delicate health, and need the most careful medical supervision. In fact, one of the great advantages of coming to the Cape is, that while in winter you may have lovely weather, beautiful scenery, and first-class professional attendance at all the principal towns, &c., you can also derive the greatest benefit in summer by choosing a place of residence along the well-wooded line of road extend- ing from the fourth milestone, or Mowbray, to the seventeenth milestone, i.e.^ the fishing village of Kalk Bay ; and this without severing any of the social ties, or breaking up of households, which usually accompany a change of climate. From what has gone before, it must not be imagined, OUR CLIMATE. 35 however, that there is no such thing as consumption at the Cape ! Unfortunately, there is a great deal of scrofula, particularly among the native Dutch and Malays, due, no doubt, to rheumatic and gouty parents, and to the frequent intermarriages, for the sake of keeping property in families. It is wtW knov^^n that dyspepsia and the indigestion of weak stomachs are in many instances hereditary in their source ; and when it is considered how many invalids have mar- ried and settled at the Cape, it is much to be wondered at that their offspring are, in the main, so free of European disorders. Then, too, the fasting and religious customs of the coloured or Mohammedan population, combined with overcrowded rooms and a meagre diet of fish and rice and greasy ragouts, are by no means con- ducive to perfect assimilation of food, to soundness of lung, or to support of vital necessities. Thus the distaste for stimulants enjoined by the Koran, the frequent fasts, the crowded lodgings, and the poor diet are all very decided drawbacks to the maintenance of robust health among the mixed and coloured Malay races ; and yet, for all that, these people, in the main, are free from diseases of debility, and if they are at all affected with tubercle are more liable to show it in the skin and liver than in the lungs or digestive organs ; that is to say, they are more exposed to the dangers of leprosy and of dropsy than to disorganization of the respiratory apparatus. Our climate, then, is favourable to longevity of life, by indisposing us to excessive physical exertion ; and by promoting a very free action of the skin, it relieves us of many of the ills to which human flesh is heir, when D 2 36 OUR CLIMArE. exposed to the hu?)iid heat of the tropics or the humid cold of insular regions, like Great Britain and Ireland. While lacking the nervous energy, the courage, and the mental vigour which spring from a residence in cold and bracing latitudes, the colonists of the Cape are, as a class, thanks to their climate, very Oriental in their tastes, and but slightly disposed to deeds of violence or of crime. Their love of pleasure is subordinate to their love of ease ; and hence it is mainly due to the softening and Capuan influences of our climate and fruitful soil that w^e are so indisposed to earn our bread by the sw^eat of the brovi^, or do our duty by a land which so loudly calls for development. This hatred of labour extends to all classes. The " dolce far niente" is far too complacently indulged in by every section of the community ; and we are in danger of expecting rivers to flow, and crops to grow, without sowing or ploughing, while oblivious of the fact that upon every land there is always a curse where man forgets to labour and toil. Of course it is held to be the fault of the climate. Equally, of course, it is the fault of our old slave antecedents that we are taking so little out of the soil, and putting so very, very little of Anglo-Saxon industry into it. Could we but succeed in inducing wealthy Englishmen to immigrate hither, and sink some of their superabundant capital in our neglected Colony, how might we not look forward hopefully to a future which would allow us to do justice to ourselves, and even in some degree to improve the climate also ! In its relation to the maintenance of health it has here been attempted to be shown that our climate is admira- OUR CLIMATE. 37 bly adapted to out-of-door pursuits. The heat is never excessive enough to be absolutely relaxing or debilitating, as in India, nor is there moisture enough to induce endemic fevers of any type. In its relation to disease, we have the high authority of Sir Ranald Martin for saying that " torpor of the hepatic functions under the cold and damp of an English climate w^ould seem, prima facie and naturally, to follow on the former frequent dis- turbance and general over-excitement of that function under tropical heat ; and so we find it in fact." Not so at the Cape ! Here we have earned a very fair reputation for restoring healthy action to the livers of used-up Anglo- Indian officers by very simple agencies. Mere change from a very hot climate to the cool, well-wooded slopes of Wynberg and Newlands would not suffice to restore digestion did we not also put a stop to the dangerously fast life previously led by our sick visitors. In India and China it is quite certain that diseases of the liver are frequent, not, as is sometimes gravely asserted in medical prints, "because that organ has to put on increased action in order to do the work of the lungs as a decarbonizing agent, ^^ but because the old school of European residents do habitually commit frightful excesses in the matter of heavy and highly-spiced dinners, and import from England manners and customs which, however suited to their mother land, are quite inapplicable to the tropics. Staff-Surgeon Gordon boldly asserts from his own experience there — " that the heavy breakfasts, hot tiffins, rich dinners, and grilled bones at supper, produce more cases of dyspepsia, fever, and dysentery than all the beer or brandy-and-water, against which we hear so much at home j and that it is 38 OUR CLIMATE. not from either of the latter only that so many invalids are annually sent away to the hills, to the Cape, and to England ; but it is more frequently to the late hours, gambling, and other sp°cies of debauchery, that rheumatic affections and worn-out constitutions may be traced." This tirade of the worthy doctor could also be applied to the good people of Dorset, who are said to feel no diffi- culty, between sunrise and midnight, in disposing of their seven meals, — viz., their dewbit, breakfast, nuncheon, crunsheon, mammet, crammet, and supper ! Be this as it may, since two years' leave to visit Eng- land, on furlough, has been permitted to the Indian officers, the Cape has gone out of fashion with them. Yet, in the opinion of Sir R. Martin, the sudden change from extreme heat to extreme cold, through the overland route, has been highly injurious to both the military and civilian services, by inducing torpidity of the liver ; and relapses in England from hepatic affections, as well as from dysentery and other allied diseases, are proverbially common. This is a matter well worthy of consideration. Nor must we underrate the importance of a long sea voyage in setting up many men who are suffering from functional disease of the stomach and bowels, and in weaning " bon vivants " from the pleasures of the table. The sea air and freedom from mental toil gradually restore tone to overtasked brains and livers, and by the time they are landed in Table Bay they are in a capital position to avail themselves of the benefit to be derived from healthy exercise and judicious attention to regimen in a dry, cool, temperate climate. For a long time the baths at the Paarl, Stellenbosch, Malmesbury, and Caledon OUR CLIMATE. 39 had quite a reputation for improving the digestion of these heroic gourmands j but it is quite possible that horse exer- cise and vigorous dancing had a great deal to do in paving the way that leads up to complete recovery. And inas- much as it will readily be admitted that the temperature produced by latitude is of unspeakably greater value than a similar temperature produced by elevation^ it is quite open to medical proof that visceral disease may without hesitation be sent to a place like the Cape, the temperature of which is caused by distance from the Equator, rather than to places which owe their coolness to elevation^ as at Simla. Though nothing is so good for the jaundiced and dyspeptic as abundance of open-air exercise, especially on horseback, combined with freedom from official cares or private worries — much cheerful society, light meals, and cool, unbroken rest at night ; though, indeed, the Hill Stations of India are admirably adapted to the convenience of men on short leave ; yet the gaiety of the life led, the forced separation of the married ladies from their husbands by duties in the plains, and the lax morality produced among the invalided by the idleness which is suddenly thrust upon them — all tend to make a small '■^ imperium in imperio" but do not serve to promote the peace or happiness of families thus disunited, and of necessity forced to break up their household, when they move to the hills. These hills, again, are practically denied to the rest of the world. Their distance is too great to tempt any but Indians to try them, and thus a large number of patients suffering from hepatic disorder are debarred from the relief which greater accessibility might otherwise have yielded. Far different is the case of the Cape. Here upon the 40 OUR CLIMATE. highway of the seas, we occupy the position of half-way house, and should be ready at all times to extend our help to those whose cases are suited to the peculiar dry and temperate nature of its climate. The best period for arrival is towards the end of August. A long sea voyage by sailing vessel is an admirable introduction to the lovely scenes which September at the Cape yearly produces. The fields are then covered with verdure ; the hills and plains are brilliant with patches of bulbs and heather in full bloom ; and all nature is gay with the surpassing freshness and variety of spring. The air is then truly intoxicating ; while the purity and transparency of the atmosphere is such as literally to stagger the minds of many who have only been accustomed to judge of dis- tances through the medium of haze, and cannot be brought to realize the fact that mountains fifty miles away are as plainly visible as if within half an hour's walk, and to the naked eye as minutely traceable as by aid of telescope. Owing, however, to a variety of causes, over which the Colony has had no control, Anglo-Indians visit us no more. The trade of the place is decaying, and we seem in danger of being utterly extinguished unless we can induce the local residents to grow upon the spot all the articles of necessity, which at present we are procuring from Europe, and confine our consumption of luxuries to articles of native growth. To do this effectually we re- quire more water and more capital. The one hangs upon the other, and it is almost impossible to estimate the social, physical, and commercial advantages which would be essentially the outcome of joining the two. OUR CLIMATE. 4 1 It is with a view, therefore, of directing strong public attention to these matters that we have been induced to enlarge at some length upon the local peculiarities of our [climate and soil. From a comparison with other coun- i tries we have no reason to shrink ; and we ought to be firmly convinced that we can grow almost anything we have a mind to, could we only secure the priceless boon of steady supplies of water, and the employment of capital on remunerative works like railways, &c. The very dryness of our climate is the cause at once of all our woes and our wants. The periodical and long- continued droughts have made all agricultural specula- Itions a mere matter of reliance on St. Swithin ; while the gradual denudation of the soil by bush fires, and careless cutting down of trees, has intensified the action of the sun and the desert winds. The greater part of our colonial land is glazed with baked clay, from which the water runs ofF as fast as it falls. There is nothing to retain moisture and allow of slow filtration, and except in the neighbour- hood of the Knysna and George forests, and the few miles of territory that are moderately well wooded, there is really no certainty as to water supply. It has been suggested that dams should be erected wherever there are conveniences for such expensive and dangerous structures ; but a cheaper and more feasible I plan for extending our water supply would be to plant quick-growing trees on all Crown lands, with a view not only to attract the rain-clouds but to check rapid evapo- ration from the soil after the rains have fallen. For this purpose we do not require magnificent forests of timber ; but it should be the duty of every Civil Commissioner to 42 OUR CLIMATE. encourage, by all the means in his power, the extensive planting and sowing of all such hardy and bright-leaved shrubs and trees as experience has shown us to be well adapted to dry and windy, as well as to cold and exposed situations. Such is the character of most of our Crown lands at present, and it should be an unceasing object with all of us to get rid of the rhenoster bush, and replace it with hackea, golden willow, elm, Spanish chesnut, oaks, mulberries, sycamores, plane trees, firs, larches, pines, proteas, myrtles, and the very large class of strong-foli- aged trees which Mr. McGibbon and Dr. Brown are prepared to supply or to recommend. Our predecessors, the Dutch, were fully alive to this ; and by their regular planting of such rocky places as the base of Table Moun- tain, convincingly proved that fir, poplar, and oak would grow wherever they could get shelter. Wherever pome- granates and mulberries will grow, there, too, oaks will thrive, as at Wellington and Stellenbosch ; and had it not been for their systematic planting we should indeed, ere now, have been in very sad straits. There is a tree, how- ever, which is very destructive to gardens, and exhaustive of moisture^ and which we would do well to get rid of, viz., the blue gum. Owing to the spiral arrangement of its fibres, it makes very poor timber, and is very trouble- some to chop up or work in any form. The golden willow, and the acacia lancifolia, and the hakea are highly spoken of by the Conservator of the Cape Flats, as growing quickly and strongly in plantations exposed to wind. They deserve extensive trials. Most of the plants here mentioned are easily raised from seed. Stone pines and acorns are within the OUR CLIMAIE 43 reach of all, and if the farmers in the dead season of the year would roughly prepare the ground for their reception by digging shallow trenches in long lines on such parts of their land as are not fit for the plough, they could easily drop the seed at the approach of the rains, and within five years have abundant spars forthcoming for fences and sheds, &c. Even such unpromising hill sides as the slopes of the Lion's Hill are now well wooded with firs ; and we believe that what the farmer could thus do for the improvement of his own beggarly acres, the ordinary tramps and vagabonds on short sentences should be made to do for the neglected and bare lands of the Crown in every Division, instead ot pottering about the roads and spoiling good tools. Bush fires should be rigidly punished, and this not by mere empty legislation, but by penal Act, forbidding any man from setting fire to his own veldt, even, without first giving notice to all his immediate neighbours, who would thus be warned and prepared, and take every precaution to restrict the ravages of fire. By setting about this matter at once we might in ten years do as much real good to the waste lands of this Colony, as we have been promising ourselves for the last century we were going to do for the progress of civilization. Unlike Tennyson's Northern Farmer, we are not beginning even to " stub our Thornaby wastes," and in the meantime a large section of the Colony is getting more and more arid, instead of being made to add to the general moisture by growing the brushwood and forests, out of which alone water can be gathered together and stored. Under the shelter of these woods and forests it is 44 OVR CLIMATE. reasonable to expect that small game will once mare breed in abundance, and that rude plenty will again reign throughout the land. The huge tracts now almost de- nuded of covering, ai:d frizzled either into sand or brick by the strong rays of the sun, will once more bloom afresh with native flowers, and by gradual growth of thick brushwood add to the restoration of humidity. Through their agency the hard ground would be cracked and split by vigorous roots. The surface water would slowly sink into the whilom parched and thirsty soil, and feed the secret springs and underground fountains. The present rapid evaporation will thus be checked, and some actual impetus given to the physical formation and discharge of rain-clouds. For it is an undoubted fact in physics that as the normal temperature of any portion of the Earth's crust is sensibly reduced, the amount and frequency of the rainfall is sensibly increased. Thus in France and England it is quite notorious that the climate has been perceptibly made hotter and dryer since the system of extensive sub-drainage of the soil and the towns has come into full force ; while the unceasing cutting down of trees in Norway and America has sensibly altered much of the previous icy character of their winters, and made the climate more genial. Much of the difference between the Scotch and Irish character is clearly traceable to the climatic influences, reacting upon differences of diet, extent of arable soil, and the necessities of muscular toil in the teeth of constant rain or ever humid winds. So, too, with us ; we can scarcely hope for conservatism of wealth and sound public opinion unless we brace our- OUR CLIMATE 45 selves up to the duties and privileges of public life, and take a tight grasp of the principles which lie at the root of all national w^ell-doing. To do this effectually, we need a climate that shall be less relaxing from its constant heat and dryness. At present we have no seasons. We are always living at high nervous pressure., and know nothing of the vital benefits of alternations of heat and cold, autumn and spring, in the steady maintenance of health. Our national character demands that we should throw off" the fatal drowsiness and sleepiness that are creeping over us, and awake to the fact that without a winter, summer has no charm ; without labour, pleasure is no gain ; without rain we are but sapless and useless. Our climate requires to he altered and rendered more humid ; the crops demand it ; the staple of our wool is growing shorter and more brittle for want of it ; our children are getting daily more and more like savages in their love of ease and sleep; and unless we do something towards planting extensively the waste lands of the Cape Colony we shall soon cease to be able to do anything with the parts now under cultivation, for want of water. With a moderate supply of water, or even a heavy dew-fall, we can produce everything we require ; without it, we are but fooling away our money by building bridges ; for unless we plant forests so as to interpose a medium between the earth and the sky, how can we be sur- prised if the rain runs off^ as fast as it falls, and literally streaming unchecked from the mountain sides, smashes all our dams, and piles up the agony both above and below our much-belauded bridges ? The interposition of brushwood, forests, and growing crops is all that is 46 OUR CLIMA7E. wanted to give our climate a chance of self-improvement. The sooner w^e start them the better. The sooner wg divide our year into the four natural divisions, by w^orks of the above charact'^r, the sooner shall we reap the benefits of an increased rain-fall. Since God has denied us snow-capped mountains and the additional 1,000 feet of altitude which would have made our rivers run in summer, and frozen them in winter ; at least let us do something towards checking evaporation by shielding the soil and improving a climate which is still far from perfection. Year by year, we are growing dryer and less productive. Live-stock of all kinds is degenerating from the high standards first imported ; while new blood is constantly required both in the animal and vegetable kingdom to keep up quality and pith. Just as the sugar cane has gradually been decaying in the Mauritius for want of new supplies and stronger species of the plant, so our vines and fruit trees generally have succumbed to the blighting breath of o'idium and drought — in themselves the direct outcome of worn-out land and neglect of scientific teaching. OU(k VILLAGE. Brackenbury was my first independent charge. Between it and the rugged range of mountains which once formed the boundary of the Colony lies a fertile valley with the finest homesteads and the most hospitable farmers, the richest vineyards and the most execrable wines of the country. The village stands upon the banks of a river, which here exchanges the valley for the plain, through which it " wanders at its own sweet will " for a couple of miles, and then mingles its waters with the sea. On my first visit, I was struck, as all must be, with the picturesque grandeur of the surrounding scenery. The village itself was but a wretched place. Its cottages were few and far between ; so were its melancholy trees, whose feeble remnant of vitality showed itself in scanty tufts of verdure on their topmost branches. Its rectangular streets were well enough defined — on the diagram ; but on the spot, not easily found, and, when found, not easily traversed. Deep gullies formed by winter floods ; innu- merable ditches dug in all directions for irrigation ; pits, whence building materials had been excavated ; treache- rous pools, in whose fetid mire ducks and pigs luxuriated ; reeking dung-heaps and abominations without end, greeted the stranger. I looked around as I entered the place. 48 OUR VILLAGE. and, in utter despair, dashing through gardens and leaping ditches, at length dismounted at the door of my kind host. This was a quarter of a century ago. During the five years which elapsed before I took up my abode there, things had somewhat changed for the better, and, with ordinary caution, a traveller might find his way to the one building in the centre of the village which deserved to be called a house. Brackenbury had for years boasted a Church — as square and squat as only a genuine Dutchman could build. The funds raised by the sale of the village erven were not sufficient for its erection ; the sum necessary for its completion had to be borrowed of Government, which, finding neither capital nor interest forthcoming, has, with paternal kindness, long since forgiven the debt. The minister was a Scotchman, kindhearted and eccentric ; a poet, too, though few suspected it. It was his fate " To blush unseen, And waste his sweetness on the desert air." In those days our village had no doctor and no disease, no lawyer and no litigation, no court and no crime. The modicum of law dispensed by a worthy justice of the peace, at three miles distance, sufficed for our pecca- dilloes. When our solitary shopkeeper wound up his affairs, after securing a competence, five pounds more than covered the amount of his bad debts. Once a week, some time between ten at night and two in the morning, a penny trumpet announced the arrival of Her Majesty's mail from the metropolis, and we, who were impatient for news, rushed up to the bedroom window of the sleepy, shivering postmaster, who yet was courteous! OUR FILLAGE 49 enough to indulge us with our letters at such untimely hours. As to the return mail from the Frontier, the astronomer predicts with as much accuracy the appearance of the most erratic comet that ever glared in the forehead of the evening sky as we could the day or hour of its arrival. My charge comprised two congregations, — the one com- posed of the few English families of the neighbourhood ; the other comprising a considerable number of persons of colour, chiefly emancipated slaves, who had settled in the village, or were still residing with their former masters, whom they were loth to leave. It was among the latter class that I became acquainted with an individual whose disinterested attachment is worthy of record. He was a member of my church, a man of sincere pietv and superior intelligence, " from his shoulders and upward, higher than any of the people." Some of the best blood of the Cape flowed in his veins, and he knew it. His whole bearing showed it. I had saluted on one occasion a gentleman of my acquaintance, when he remarked to me, " Sir, I am only old Ernest, but I am the son of that gentleman's father." From his youth up to middle age he led a wild and dissolute life. A faultless physique and winning manners rendered him irresistible among the fair. He came, he saw, he conquered. Wordsworth's Peter Bell was a sad scamp ; " He had a dozen wedded wives." My old friend was not quite such a reprobate. "The voice that breathed o'er. Eden, That earliest wedding day,' 50 OUR VILLAGE. was not supposed to breathe the marriage blessing over men and maidens of his colour and caste. The slave was denied the blessing, and, of course, escaped the bonds, of holy matrimony. Let a gallant like Ernest break as many hearts as he pleased, he ran no risk of an indict- ment for bigamy. He was an altered man when I knew him. Time had silvered his head, and slightly bowed his lithe and sinewy frame. " There was a hardness in his cheek, There was a hardness in his eye, As if the man had fixed his face, In many a solitary place, Against the wind and open sky." His moral character had undergone a renovation. Years before, he put away the evil of his doings, began to lead a new life in all godliness and honesty, joined the church, and married a wife. The woman of his choice belonged to the dangerous class against which the proprietor of the Marquis of Granby so emphatically warned his son Samuel, but she made an excellent wife. She was skilful and honoured in a profession which made her the special confidante of all the ladies in the country side " who loved their lords." The worthy couple fixed their abode in a sequestered spot at the foot of the mountains, far from the haunts of men. A well-watered garden and orchard amply repaid the care bestowed upon them, and formed a perfect oasis amid surrounding barrenness. Their dwelling comprised two separate buildings, — one, a mere pondok, which served as a kitchen ; and another, and more pretentious structure, the walls of which, formed of squared ant-heaps, did not exceed four feet in height, but, OUR VILLAGE. 5 1 \ covered with a wide and lofty roof, gave ample space within. A visit once paid to my old friend in his mountain- home gave me a clearer insight into his character and habits than I had previously possessed. On the loftiest peak of the range of mountains lying at the back of our village, the Astronomer-Royal had a station when engaged in measuring an arc of the meridian. A pillar of stones marked the site, which some of us, full of energy and vigour, of which time has long since robbed us, resolved to visit. We made up a party, — a medley, merry party it was. There was a retired sea-captain, who has long since gained the desired haven ; a Scotchman, whose vocation it was " to rear the tender thought," and who, true to his calling, never spared the rod ; a thriving shop- keeper, who enjoys a well-earned competence, and still retains his juvenility ; a hard-working tradesman, to whom at length the tide came, "which, taken at the turn, leads on to fortune," and whom I hope shortly to see in the Legislative Assembly ; a wandering florist, with a merry twinkle of the eye, which showed him ever ready for fun and frolic ; an honest Yorkshireman, and his friend, a stranger from the East, of whom we said, as we saw him approach, with a long leg dangling on each side of a most diminutive steed, " Who is this upon the pony, So long, so lean, so raw, so bony ? " There were eight of us, all mounted, and a cart-load of provisions drawn by oxen. To lessen the fatigue, we determined upon spending the night at the house of my friend Ernest, taking him for a guide, and starting early £ 2 52 OUR VILLAGE the following morning. We reached the place at sunset, and found the larger tenement swept and garnished, with a homely bedstead in each corner of the room, prepared for our accommodation. Honest smiles assured us of a welcome. "The cheerfu' supper done," my companions retired to rest, while I joined the family for a quiet chat around the fire which blazed cheerily in the middle of the kitchen floor. After a time I also sought my quarters in the house already occupied. In the faint light, the figure of the old captain was just visible, sitting bolt upright on a chair in the centre of the apartment, his hands thrust deep into the vast pockets of an old pea-jacket, while the regular " nodding, nid, nid, nodding " of his dear grey head inidicated that he had passed into the region of forgetfulness. Certain nasal sounds proceeding from each corner of the room, except the one reserved for my special use, satisfied me that the others slept, and invoking blessings, as fervent as those of Sancho Panza himself, upon the man who first invented sleep, I stretched my limbs upon the rude couch and resigned myself to slumberous repose. How long I had dozed I cannot tell, when I was aroused by a crash and a cry. The crash ceased, but not the cry. The attenuated candle had burnt out, and all was darkness. With some difficulty a light was procured, and then the mystery was readily enough explained. The demon of mischief had entered into one of the party, and prompted him to attach a riem to the leg of a crazy bedstead, which was wrenched out by a sudden jerk, while the others slept. The merry Gladiolus, who chanced to occupy the rickety couch in company with the juvenile Punjum, no sooner became CUR VILLAGE. 53 conscious of a catastrophe, than he seized his bed-fellow — as a dog does a pig — by the ear, and biting hard, in spite of piteous eries, rolled with his hapless victim upon the ground. Once thoroughly aroused, we slept no more, though some tried to do so. My cloth did not exempt me from persecution. Hunted from place to place, I flattered myself that I had at last escaped my pursuers, and found a safe retreat among the bags and boxes of the commis- sariat cart. Alas ! my quiet was not of long duration. Snugly ensconced as I was, my tormentors discovered me even there, and tilting the vehicle, rolled me out upon the ground amid its multifarious contents. Farewell now all thought of rest ! We drank our coffee, saddled up, and long before the morning star shone above the moun- tain, we were away, with Ernest for our guide. When compelled to leave our horses, we clomb lustily for a time. Our indefatigable friend Gladiolus clambered high up the kloof and beckoned us on ; but when the sun began to look down upon us, we soon wearied, saw " a lion in the way," and sounded a retreat. No wonder, after such a night of fun and merriment, that our expedition ended so ignominiously. The pillar still stands on the peak, and many a time I look up at all that is visible of it from our village, and think of the jovial company assembled that night in old Ernest's hut behind the Roodehoogte. The excursion made me acquainted with him as a hardy mountaineer, a keen and expert sportsman, and an intelligent and cheerful companion. Many a ramble we had together in after days among these hills and on the gea-shore, and many a tale he told of the olden times of 54 OUR VILLAGE. slavery ; many an incident related of the Blaauwberg fight and flight, in which he followed his master, who never drew rein until he had placed the mountains between himself and th*^ red coats. After a few pleasant years spent at Brackenbury, I was instructed to occupy a station beyond the Orange River, not far from the West Coast, and bade farewell with regret to friends of all classes, colours, and creeds, with whom I had lived on the most amicable terms. This is not the place to tell " Of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents, by flood and field," encountered on a journey of seven weeks' duration. It will be enough to narrate briefly what befell me in that distant country, and called forth the noble and self-devoted conduct which has made the memory of old Ernest dear to me. I had not been long settled in my new abode, when the dreaded lung-sickness broke out among the oxen which had brought me from the Colony. The natives fled in dismay, with their flocks and herds, to the most distant parts of the country. My servants, and an old Hottentot whom poverty forbade to flee, were all that remained. Day after day we drove the diseased cattle into a mountain, and I shot them down. Wolves, jackals, vultures, dogs, roving Bushmen and Damaras battened and fattened upon the carcases. I was cut off from communication with the people for whose benefit I was undergoing voluntary exile, and was regarded by them with the most absurd and provoking suspicion. If I mounted my horse and rode a hundred miles or two in search of the wanderers, the very sight of me inspired OUR VILLAGE $5 them with dread, and their cattle were hurried away to escape the glance of my eye. From this remote station we could only dispatch a messenger every two months to the nearest post-office. When my situation became known in Brackenbury and elsewhere, it excited the deepest sympathy; but none knew how to aid me. Ernest kept all these things in his heart, and pondered over them. When the next letters brought confirmation of the tidings, he still pondered over them. At length he presented himself to my successor, and said, " Sir, I am going to Mynheer ; I hear that he is in trouble, that all have forsaken him, and I am going to him," He was reminded of his age, ot the distance, of the danger, of all that might serve to turn him from his purpose. " You cannot turn me. Sir," he said ; " my wife is dead, and I am almost alone in the world ; my minister is in trouble, and I must go to him." My worthy successor was an experienced traveller, who well knew the perils of such an undertaking, and set them before him in the strongest light. It was useless. He would only consent to delay until my wishes could be ascertained. I did my utmost to dissuade him, but he was bent upon coming, and he came. With his gun and knapsack, and a cripple-boy as his companion, he started from Brackenbury, and trudged steadily on until he reached the Mission Station of Lily Fountain. On leaving that place, he had the perilous task before him of crossing on foot the arid and inhospitable plains of Bushmanland. In those " wilds, immeasurably spread," his provisions failed, and water was not to be found. The old man and boy must have perished had 56 OUR VILLAGE. they not encountered a party of Namaquas travelling in another direction, who allowed them to join their caravan, and with the greatest kindness shared with them their own scanty food. Weary and worn, the two travellers arrived at a station very far to the eastward of the one I occupied. Fatigue and privation brought on a severe attack of illness, from which the old man had but just recovered, when an opportunity occurred for him to pro- ceed to my residence, but only by a circuitous route, which added two hundred weary miles to the six hundred he had already traversed on foot in the execution of his heroic purpose. Great was our joy when we met. My wife and children were delighted to see the old man's honest face once more. It was a satisfaction to feel that we were no longer alone in a strange land, and that, in my frequent absences from home, the dear ones would have one, at least, upon whom they could rely. Upon the expiration of my term of service in that country, each of us resumed his former position at Brackenbury. Not many months had elapsed, when, late one evening, a lad came to my door, whose excess of grief deprived him of the power of articulate utterance. He came to convey the sorrowful tidings that his grand- father, my old friend, was drowned. He and the lad had gone to his usual fishing-ground, at some miles distance, and a huge wave, suddenly rolling in, swept him ofF the rock on which he stood. When the waters receded, the lad approached as near as he might, and thrust the long fishing-rod towards the drowning man. He made no effort to grasp it, but, with a wistful gaze fixed upon the child he loved, sank slowly down, and the remorseless OUR VILLAGE. 57 deep closed over his head. Day after day we waited, but the greedy sea never gave up her prey ; nor will she, until the Archangel's trump shall sound. Then, under brighter skies, we shall meet again. The Brackenbury of to-day is not the Brackenbury of twenty years ago. Thanks to the Village Nuisance Act, nearly half our streets are passable — in fine weather. Numbers of neat cottages and comfortable dwellings lie sweetly embosomed amid smiling gardens and luxuriant foliage. Our places of worship have increased in number and improved in appearance. The Dutch church, looking squarer and squatter than ever, has exchanged its thatched roof for one of slate, its unsightly old windows for more showy ones of the most extraordinary style. Our three clergymen, mirabile dictu ! dwell together in unity. " More bent to raise the wretched, than to rise " — they meddle neither with polemics, politics, nor poetry. We have a court and prison, policemen and criminals ; two medical men, with scores of patients ; law-agents and endless litigation ; a dozen shops, and people over head and ears in debt. We have ceased to tremble at the sight of a writ, and are on familiar terms with the Master. We have stood before Governors, and gazed with awe on the lawn sleeves of a Bishop. Each leading news- paper of the city has its correspondent, and whatever transpires " upstairs or downstairs, or in my lady's cham- ber," one of those ubiquitous bipeds, whose name was familiar to us in the nursery, is sure to scent it out and cackle it abroad. Our public meetings, as numerously attended and as distinguished for magnanimity of senti- 58 €UR VILLAGE. ment and magniloquence of speech as that of the immortal tailors of Tooley-street, — have they not been duly chronicled ? Our hotels and canteens thrive ; so does our Savings Bank. Concerts, lectures, and penny readings have had their day, and proved a great success. Cricket and croquet divide the attention of our Upper Ten. On a summer afternoon, our main street is as gay as a fashionable promenade of the city. Our daugh- ters are lovely; eligibles are few; and Paterfamilias is decidedly of opinion that " Coelebs in search of a w^ife " might go farther, and, after all, bitterly regret that he passed by Our Village. THE COMFESSIOJ^. Do they think I am dying, mother ? What did the doctor say ? I saw him shake his head just now as he went away. " Low fever" does he call it, and says that if I try I shall soon get well again ? But, mother, I'd rather die. The earth is a weary place ; why should I wish to stay ? Some, I suppose, are happy, but I have missed the way. If I should live to be old, how should I drag through the years ? My heart is all in the past, the future lies hidden by tears. Only four months ago, I was as happy as girl could be, The earth was full of delight, and all its best gifts were for me ; [my eyes, But now its sunshine and beauty are pleasant no more to I would rather sit in the dark, and hear naught but my own sad sighs. You know he loved me, mother, I had no secrets from you, And I could have staked my life that he would be faithful and true ; But now he loves me no more, or, perhaps, a fairer face Hath pleased his fickle fancy, and another fills my place. 6o THE CONFESSION. Four months ago to-night, we took our last walk in the wood ; All the way home he was sad, and seemed in an absent mood ; And when he came to the door he merely said " good-bye," But his face, as he touched my hand, I shall never forget till I die. Oh, I know he loved me, mother, he never meant to deceive. But, perhaps, he mistook himself, — I know not what to believe ; When I think of that look so mournful, I feel if we met once more. His silence would be forgotten, and all would be as before. My heart is always aching, and at night I cannot sleep, I remember all the past, and in silence lie and weep ; And, touch my pulse, dear mother, — feel how fluttering and slow : Can people live for long when their life has ebbed so low ? But I am not dying for love, — let that be never said ; For should he hear a whisper of the truth when I am dead, I think his generous heart would feel such bitter pain. That he never would be able to feel happiness again. THE CONFESSION. 6l But what is this they bring me ? A letter ! Another, stay ! I know it is his writing ; what is it he doth say ? My hands are trembling so, I can scarcely break the seal, But my fate lies in this paper, or what it will reveal ! THE LETTER. " I have tried to give you up, my love, but I have tried in vain. And if we part for ever, you alone must break the chain ; I know that I shall love you while the life is in my heart, Even if on reading this you shall say that we must part. " When I wandered by your side, in your loving sweet- ness blest, I knew that I was happy, and recked not of the rest ; Lost in the bliss of loving, I thought of naught beside. Only dreaming of the far-off time when you should be my bride. " But one woke me from my dream, said 'twas a foolish thing For me to win a maiden's love who had no home to bring; For six long years must pass ere I can claim a wife. And how can I ask you to lose six years of your young life ! 62 -THE CONFESSION. *' I thought I had no right to mar your future lot for me, And if I gave you up in time, you still might happy be ; I could not trust myself one word of this to say, [away. For I knew the look in those soft eyes would drive resolve *' I thought it would be best for you we should not meet again, — [the pain. With me had rested all the wrong, — with me should be My heart sank down with grief, but I could suffer all alone, And live my life all loveless since you could not be my own. " But I heard that you were ill, my love, and a sudden hope arose, [suppose. That, perhaps, you cared for me more than I had dared Send me one word, I dare not plead, I try to think of you. But I shall love you all my life, whatever you may do." — Then the colour tinged her pallid cheek, and a smile lit up her eyes [surprise ; As she looked up at her mother with a sweet and ^lad And, with white and trembling fingers, she wrote her answer straight, [wait." " What is time to those who love ? Be sure that I will W. G. Graham'' s Town, THE ST(kVGQLE FQ^. EXISTEJ^CE NATURE, AND ITS RELATION TO SPECULATIONS IN' NATURAL THEOLOGY. Some time ago I heard an able preacher and aspiring^ thinker attempt, in a lecture, to explain away on very bold grounds that dark page in Nature's teaching — the preying of animal upon animal. He endeavoured to show by the collation of certain facts and views in science, such as you hear from speculative clergymen, who know science only in the general way to be picked up from reviews and popular treatises, that we had no positive knowledge that pain was inflicted on animals when killed by beasts of prey, and that probably, indeed, there was no pain at alL However dissatisfied I was with his conclusions, I was glad of one thing, viz., that he considered that some further explanation must be advanced than the Paleyan one, that the bright side of natural life is the more promi- nent, and compensates for the dark side of apparent cruelty. He evidently recognized the fact in some form, that, to satisfactorily vindicate the character of the Creator, we must view the phenomena of cruelty, pain, and death. on their own merits. 64 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. With his theory I desire not any controversy, for the simple reason that I think I would be wasting words in so doing. It is true, that until we can perform the feat of transmigration of soul, and have " shuffled ofF this mortal coil " for that of some victim, we can have no surer guide than the argument from analogy. But our common sense, or (to adopt the more dignified language of Dugald Stewart) the institutes of human belief, must lead us to infer that, where there are the nervous analogues of afferent and efferent nerves attached to nervous centres, such as we have ourselves, there must also exist pain and pleasurable sensations ; and, even did we not know of such analogies, we must believe that wherever there are similar manifestations of life as in man, even " The poor beetle that we tread upon In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies." But, again let it be said, I was thankful for one thing, that the leaven of modern scientific speculation had so far infused itself into the lecturer's mind, that he took up the very bold position, that the views of Paley in the application of a principle of compensation to the economy of nature were no longer tenable. It would be an interesting investigation to attempt to show how the celebrated hypothesis of Liebnitz, — that the selection by the Creator, from amongst the different plans of creation which might be supposed to be before Him, of the one which represented the maximum of good and the minimum of evil, and which thus met the necessities of the great question of the origin of evil — led to the compensation theory of Paley. It scarcely falls within THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 65 the province of this paper to enter upon the digression. It is, however, manifest that in considering the example of any beast of prey with remarkable adaptations, it would become a pressing and obtrusive question to bring its habits and propensities under the compass of the argument from design, whose foundation principle is the good in the utilitarian sense^ since these adaptations are for the infliction of pain and death. No satisfactory explication could be advanced which rested solely on the phenomena of cruelty in the state of natural science know- ledge in Paley's time. There was nothing more natural then than that the great apostle of utilitarianism in morals should bring what he could only resolve into physical evil under the protecting shadow of Liebnitz's hypothesis. The misfortune is that the error has not ended with natural theology, for, accustomed as we are to take many lessons from Nature, it has made its way into other departments of knowledge. What is more common than to refer many of the difficulties of ethical and social science to a general doctrine of compensation ? And, consequently, another example has been added to the not inconsiderable list of delusive " received hypotheses,'* which the history of science and philosophy furnishes, and which retard and deflect the onward progress of investigation. Had Paley known what natural science has revealed in these late years, the compensation theory most probably would have never been advanced. Recent investigations into the polity of nature have discovered to us the grand fact that all created life is at war. Instead of the phenomena of cruelty and pain being partial, there is no •66 7HE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE organism without its enemies. From the lowest forms of life to the highest, all are engaged in a deadly struggle. Everywhere there is a warfare, remorseless, uncompro- mising, impartial, in which the weak go to the wall. In nature the race is to the swift and the battle to the strong ; and all enter the lists. I cannot introduce the subject of the struggle for existence in the universal character and veritable preva- lence of its nature in a better way than by citing the famous example of Darwin. The common red clover of England has its stamens and pistils so placed that it cannot fructify without the aid of the humble bee, for this insect, in visiting the flower for nectar, brings the pollen dust into contact with the stigma, and thus causes fertilization. Field mice are the natural enemies of the humble bee, for they destroy their nests and young in great numbers. Mr. Newman, who has made the subject his special study, calculates that " more than two thirds of them are thus destroyed all over England." Cats, again, are the implacable enemies of mice. Here, then, we have a chain of inter-dependence, beginning with the cat and ending with the red clover. If cats are abundant in any district, field mice will be few; and if field mice be few, humble bees will abound ; and if these, again, are numerous, red clover will seed and multiply. Before knov/ing this chain, what more absurd question could be fancied than — " Do cats in any way affect the increase of red clover in England ? " Now, every link in the chain of this example is a particular case of the law of the struggle for existence ; lor we have manifested in each an inter-dependence of THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 67 two forms, in which the one struggles with the other. The warfare carried on by beasts of prey is more obvious, but not more real. We see the physical energies of the two classes of opponents more conspicuously brought into action in that section of animal life. Yet if we look closely into the matter, we shall perceive that even in the individual example of the clover, the only instance in our chain in which a struggle is not at first apparent, there is a struggle going on in its individual life as a plant, and in its associated life as a member of the chain. It must assert its existence in spite of competitors, rigours of climate, and harshness of soil. It especially favours limestone localities j but it has not always them to revel in, and even when it has, it must contend with the other plants which select a limestone habitat. But, moreover, as a member of the chain it must contend with individuals of its own species in setting forth conspicuous flowers and a vigorous growth to attract bees, for by many experi- ments it has been discovered that they follow sight rather than smell. If we further consider that its reproduction and extension depend upon these insects, the reality and importance of the life struggle of the red clover must be sufficiently evident. Our knowledge of the polity of Nature is yet in its infancy. But as far as has been ascertained, no organism stands alone. From the lowest forms of vegetable life, such as the Red Snow Alga, whose whole structure consists of one cell, by which all the functions of life and reproduction are performed, to the highest and most complex animal — Man, himself— all have a warfare of life. It is an easy task to multiply examples from all sections of natural F 2 68 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. history. Almost all orchids exclusively depend on insects for fertilization and reproduction. Divicous or bisexual plants, as some willows, must depend on contiguity, wind, and insects to carry the pollen from the male to the female flower. Indeed, from recent investigations of Darwin's, it would appear that plants cannot be continu- ously fertilized by their own pollen, and that the agency of insects is needed to bring the pollen of one individual of the same species to another, and even from close allies, to perpetuate the vigour of plants and preserve them from decay. Wonderful to relate, as an illustration of the latter, the primrose and cowslip of England, considered generally among practical botanists to be distinct species, have been proved by this great naturalist to be complemen- tary and sexual, the stamens of the one producing pollen, which, when applied to its own pistils, has no effect, but when applied to those of the other causes fertilization. The whole animal kingdom abounds in variously modified manifestations of the struggle for life. Parasitic animals, intestinal worms, and skin diseases are extensive illustrations of such a contest. But parasites, entozoa, acari, &c., and even beasts of prey, scarcely reveal such an amount and intensity of life struggle and warfare as we find on examining the relations of animals to each other which belong to the same genera. In nature, tne competition which exists amongst animals which have the same habits, eat the same food, and have common enemies, reveals a larger and more remorseless struggle for life, to my mind. Let one species of animal from any cause, such as usually determines multiplicity and vigour, obtain the ascendancy over another rival species, rHE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 6^ and the results will be disastrous to the latter if the same conditions of life continue. In Scotland, the increase of the missel thrush has caused great decrease of the song thrush. I remember starlings in the West of Scotland as very scarce; they are now to be seen in great numbers. But while that bird haS increased, the lark, prince of song birds, has been gradually decreasing in these districts. The starling is a stronger competitor for the same food ; and in winter it carries on a vigorous warfare against the lark, and in summer destroys its callow young. The hare and rabbit of the Germanic Province, two species so closely allied in their structure and affinities that their hybrids are the only fully accredited examples among quadrupeds which are fertile, having reproduced now, in the hands of an experimenter, to some fifteen genera- tions, — these animals are so thoroughly competitors that where the latter is abundant the former is exceedingly rare. South Africa must have been throughout the present geological age one vast arena of struggling for life. It has all the characteristics of such a region, for there are only a few genera and families, comparatively speaking, but a vast number of individuals and species. The same kinds of food will have been sought by many animals. Let anyone, be he naturalist or not, observe for the matter of a year what occurs on one of our farms, and he will find an amazing role of pain, competition, death, and waste. Locusts, locust birds, spiders of every habit and variety of cunning, ants, hawks, various kinds of game, 6vilization, and sheep everywhere contending with each other, and ultimately with vegetable life. Our knowledge of changes is necessarily extended over 70 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. a limited space in comparison with the time required for the fulfilment of the slow processes of nature ; but the disappearance of species which flourished in particular regions, from which they have only lately (geologically speaking) vanished, can be only explained on this view. There is, however, one class of facts which places the whole subject of the struggle for existence in an incon- trovertible and conspicuous light, viz., the vast disproportion the actual numbers of plants and animals bear to their reproductive energies. When we are brought to consider the great waste of animal and vegetable energy in producing seeds, eggs, and live young, which become meagrely represented by the actual numbers that reach maturity, we cannot but be appalled at the terrible waste and destruction of life, and the extraordinary struggle for life the survivors must undergo. Even in the case of one of the slowest breeding animals, if a geometrical series be summed for a time representing their average natural term of life, a result would be obtained which, multiplied again by the number of individuals of the species known to exist, would produce an unwieldy total. But if we consider certain organisms, as, for instance, from marine life, the matter becomes almost incomprehensible. A species of cuttle- fish lays eggs which should produce 40,000 young squids every season. Calculate, if you can, the number to which they would amount if allowed to live unmolested during a period of ten years ! Graminivorous animals, as a rule, are prolific, and some species occur in vast numbers, as, for example, the antelopes of South Africa. If no destruction were THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 7' carried on amongst them they would cover the plains in millions. Now, decimated in the Onward course of civilization by man, and unable to compete with the merino sheep, they are vanishing as before the march of a plague. Carnivorous animals appear, on the first look of the subject, to have the best of it, yet how rare they are in comparison with their different species of prey, although, in general, they are vastly more prolific ? Their struggle through life, in competition and otherwise, must therefore be much more severe in reality. As a final example, let us consider a case in detail. I shall take it from the vegetable kingdom, as affording the less evident display of the law. One of the commonest English orchids is the Orchis macula ta. Darwin has enumerated the seeds of a single plant, and found them to amount to 186,300. An acre of land would contain this number planted very closely together. Now, if none of these proved abortive, the grandchildren would cover a space slightly exceeding the area of the island of Anglesea ; and the great grandchildren of a single plant^ on the same conditions^ would clothe with one uniform carpet the entire surface of the land throughout the globe! Yet, notwith- standing this exceeding fruitfulness, the plant is by no means plentiful, for, to obtain a dozen specimens, even in moist localities, which they particularly affect, would necessitate some considerable search. It may be at this stage very justly asked, — Since we have this incessant warfare going on amongst all organisms, animal and vegetable, how does it not involve ultimate extermination ? There surely must be some limit to this destructive and uncompromising contest and competition. 72 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. The very conditions of life are in jeopardy in the struggle for existence ; death follows everywhere in its wake. Every stage of life, but especially at the threshold of its career, every cellular movement and every function of existence work under the incubus of this law. Soil and climate, disease and weakness, habit and instinct, growth and vigour minister to this grim taskmaster of all created life. What, then, stems the destroyer's course ? It has been already hinted that side by side with this struggle for existence, — nay, involved in it, — there is an inter-dependence of forms in nature. Perhaps it would have been better to have named the law — the mutual acting and reacting relations among plants and animals. Darwin's expression is, however, likely to be preserved, through the widespread popularity of "'The Origin of Species ;" and, moreover, it possesses this advantage, that it exhibits the phenomenal complexion of the law. Be, however, the name what it may, the simple truth is this : When we use the expression inter-dependence, or mutual acting and reacting relations of organisms, we put the matter subjectively ; the struggle for existence is its objective representation. In short, the mutual relations of plants and animals in the polity of Nature cause a struggle for existence ; and this struggle is altogether regulated and subordinated to these relations. It has been usual to speak of a balance of power in the opposing forces of Nature, and, provisionally, we use the expression in our argument, as on the whole applicable, premising, however, that the term "balance" is, properly speaking, statical, not kinetic. Now, we shall see that this struggle for existence causes THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE- 73 a balance of opposing forms of life, for it determines the limits of extension beyond which organisms of every kind may not pass ; and thus it fixes the very conditions and laws of life. For should, for example, any class of car- nivorous animals continue to multiply, while their prey remains an invariable quantity, starvation would be necessarily the result, and would bring them back to proper limits. In the case of competitors, should one set get any decided advantage over another, they will progress and continue to extend until the other is exterminated ; and without competitors the former must multiply till the destructive powers of numbers come into action and fix their limits. We have, therefore, in any province or region of natural life, by the action of this law of the struggle for existence in the various combinations of organisms, an equilibrium of numbers and organic energies which ever tends to remain, for all depend upon each other. The true force of the struggle for existence in limiting extension and preserving that condition of inter-dependence which gives every individual his place, is seen in a very strong light when we consider certain examples of organ- isms which have invaded other regions from their own proper native ones. The English clover, which, as we have seen, admits only of limited extension in England, has been introduced into New Zealand, and there threatens extermination to the indigenous herbaceous flora. Rid of its proper competitors and adequate enemies, it carries annihilation with it to native vegetable life as effectively as the Anglo-Saxon race has to the Maories. The water weed, Udora Canadensis^ a North American plant, suddenly appeared in English streams and canals a few 74 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. years ago, where it now flourishes to an extent unknown in its native province. It has become in the Cam* and other streams a perfect pest, impeding navigation, and choking the natural run of the water. The Xanthium spinosum in our own Colony is another instance. Amongst animals many examples may be advanced. Let one or two, however, suffice. The vine-farmers of France waged a war of extermination against all birds frequenting their vineyards, and they have been most terribly successful in extirpating these destroyers of grapes. But the natural food of birds — grubs, caterpillars, flies, and all manner of insect vermin — has, on this account, unchecked by the struggle for existence, multiplied in myriads, and carried destruction and disease everywhere. This ignorant, short-sighted policy is now being speedily neutralized by every possible means of acclimatization and fostering care for the purpose of restoring the balance of natural life which formerly existed. The New Zealand horsefly is rapidly disappearing before the now acclimatized English species. The American continent had, in a previous geological age, a species of horse, but, as is well known, the present feral American horses were introduced from Spain, and have multiplied in numbers to an extent unprecedented in the history of acclimatiza- tion. Yet, as in the tsetse region of Africa, no wild horses are to be seen in Paraguay, where a fly, which lays its eggs in the navels of the newly-born foals, and thereby causes death, abounds in vast numbers. • Cambridge men of late date will remember this plant by their nickname Bjbingtmia pinifera, named so, I suppose, by some angry member of a boating club, in honour of Professor Babington, who, he supposed, had brought it to the Cam in botanical zeal. THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 75 These examples must sufficiently show that in every natural province of organic life every member has a particular function, and that all are so correlated the one to the other, that the place and power of all are kept constant and invariable. Natural province of organic life, we have said, because man everywhere is a disturbing agent, introducing and destroying as he lists, and there- fore even modifying the combinations of organisms, and paralyzing the balance of Nature, wherever he goes. Consider what such interference has done for some districts of South Africa. In the feral state they were covered with grass and a meagre sprinkling of bushes. On the introduction of sheep the grass was attacked principally, and yielded, giving the bush the ascendancy. A bush ve/dt followed, which the sheep, in course of time, had ultimately to fall back upon ; but it, too, is vanishing rapidly, especially on over-stocked farms. One bush, however, eschewed by the flocks, except in circumstances of dire necessity, is spared, and has perceptibly been gaining ground, and now on a vley upon which I look as I write I find scarcely aught else, — a vley which at one time was covered with beautiful and luxuriant grass. The bitter bush, as it is popularly called, principally the species Chrysocoma tenuifolia^ has many properties favour- able to a course of ascendancy and conquest. For example, it is very hardy, and can stand against long and persistent droughts, and it is, moreover, a member of an order (Composite) and tribe (Senecionidcs) wonderfully adapted for extension by fruitfulness and appliances for scattering seed. The time will, therefore, come when this plant must be the ultimate resource of the sheep. What may 76 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. follow after it is trampled down in these districts I cannot speculate ; probably some species of plants which grow at present with impunity. But, as I have said, in a province of plants, as fixed by Nature, the tendency is for the combinations in possession to remain unchanged ; and, singularly enough, as it appears on the first look of the phenomena, the struggle for existence is the grand agent of Nature in this work. By it peace comes out of incessant warfare ; order out of the grappling of foe with foe. It carries on a work of decimation, but, in so doing, preserves the remnant that inherit the earth. This struggle for existence cuts off every worthless form from Nature, and so keeps created life in perfection. It has been said that Nature of herself has nothing imperfect, maimed, and worthlessly weak. Every organism, however slightly impaired, must, inevit- ably, by this law be overtaken and eradicated. In fine the struggle for life is a scavenger to clear away disease ; it is a conservator, for it prevents the entrance of deterior- ation ; it is a bountiful provider, in that it stops undue extension and multiplicity, and, in so doing, gives the means of life to all. A partial view of this law has been called physical evil ! And sophistical explanations and apologies have been advanced by enthusiastic theologues in a system of dogmas and formularies, and ambitiously named Natural Theology. Can that be called physical evil which carries with it everywhere physical good ? These men, in their igno- rance and bigotry, have written a lie on the fair face of God's earth. It is to be said in their behalf, that science has but recently made known the universality of pain, THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 1 death, struggle, and lavish waste in nature. True ; but has their spirit been one of humble progress and timid utterance ? Men of science have again and again, notwithstanding Bridgewater Treatises, proclaimed the im- possibility meanwhile of a Science of Natural Theology ; and again and again has the stigma of impiety and infidelity been thrown back upon them. In the far future, as in a dream, I see a vision, when Natural Theology, reared on a purely scientific basis, and built up by the testimony of Nature's revelations, will raise its massive structure to meet the descending ladder of God's revealed truth. I can see a glimmering of this happy consumma- "tion in the dawning of a unity of plan in the natural and spiritual worlds, — ra law of suffering and struggle in both, the " scholarship severe " to a higher and better life. In the wonderful subordination of the one to the other of death and life, pain and pleasure, sorrow and joy, suffering and conquering, which follow in the wake of this remorse- less law of warfare and competition, I can see an adumbration of man's spiritual experience in following out that sublime law of Christianity, — " Work out your salvation with fear and trembling." At length, in another mood than that of the poet Tennyson, man may contem- plate Nature — " Who trusted God was love indeed, And love creation's final law, Though Nature red in tooth and claw, With ravin shriek'd against his creed." God is love. The hymn of praise which ascends from earth to Him is truly a passion hymn, but as it rises upwards it meets the glimmering beams of the dawning 78 7 HE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. light of truth, and vibrates into notes of gladness and victorious joy. But v^^ho shall fathom the eternity of the Creator's purposes in the fore-ordination of the law of suffering and struggle ? We may discover in its working some glimpse of the truth, that if there is a loss, there " is a gain to match." Still, however, will the thought rise in our minds, "What is the final cause?" From the beginning the earth has had the same role of pain, death, and waste. In every geological age, from the first dawnings of life, we find evidences of the dominion of the same great law. Man came, the last and culminating efibrt of crea- tion, and still unsatisfied Nature continued her remorseless warfare, and he himself has become a participator in the great scheme. Latterly, men's minds have been opening to a compre- hension of the importance and place of culture, as the great good to be sought and followed. May it not be that they have caught a far-off glimpse of this high truth as the ultimate law of the higher life, as it is in the natural ? Certain it is that the greatest modern teacher of culture was a deep-hearted lover of nature — the German Goethe. And the goal of it all, in the inspired prescience of Paul, is thus expressed : " For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now. And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the first fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption of the redemp- tion of our body." Colesberg. S(?EECH=MAK1J^Q. How incredibly fond are the English of speech-making! It is utterly impossible to conceive an occasion on which a speech could be, but is not, made wherever Englishmen are congregated together. Christenings and weddings invariably give rise to oratory, and I am confident that few Englishmen attend a funeral without a wish to address the people assembled. The services of the Church of England do not admit of it, but I have rarely been present at the funeral of anyone belonging to the Dutch or Scotch Churches (which have no burial services at all) without hearing an oration over the grave. I am not saying that this is improper. I am merely recording the fact, to show that men's births, marriages, and deaths are among the occasions seized upon for making speeches. As to the minor events of, life they are invariably pressed into the service by our orators, o^ would-be orators. What are called after-dinner speeches are almost unknown out of England and England's Colonies ; but then the European Continent has only just begun to adopt slowly and cautiously that wonderful English in- stitution — a public dinner. Occasionally one hears of a great " banquet " in France ; but the very word is suggestive of something different from the public dinners 80 SPEECH-MAKING. of Great Britain. One pictures a monarch in regal robes, with a real crown, presiding at a " banquet," with huge gold goblets before him, which must have been uncomfortably heavy and inconvenient to drink out of — a sort of Sardanapalus scene on the stage, where people pretend to eat rather than do it in reality. No one could make a speech at a banquet j he might as well try to crack jokes at a Quakers' meeting. A London Tavern or a Freemason's Tavern public dinner is a very different thing from a banquet. Turtle soup and iced cham- pagne in their wide-bowled glasses are exceedingly unlike Sardanapalus feasts, and a great deal pleasanter. And yet these dinners are never given for the purpose of enabling people to consume a given quantity of solids and fluids — these things are secondary to the grand and vital object which is to afford an opportunity of letting off an indefinite number of speeches. Ordinarily, there is some great gun of a speaker who is the centre of attraction ; he is either the chairman or the guest of the evening. It is to hear him that people have paid their one or two guineas a head. Very often the individual in question is lamentably deficient in the main qualifica- tions of an orator ; he may be a brave soldier or a great traveller, a man of science or a man of literature ; he may have done all sorts of things to make him admired, respected, loved, or envied, but still he may be as inca- pable of making a good speech as the least remarkable man of the whole company. Nevertheless, he is expected to do it, and two or three hundred people are assembled to listen to his efforts. As a matter of course, he has undergone great mental anguish in the preparation of his. SPEECH-MAKING. speech, has thought over it again and again, perhaps written it, and read it to his wife, who has pronounced it perfect, and he thinks he has learnt it. Poor fellow ! he cannot remember a word of it as he stands up and faces those three hundred eager listeners ; he is much worse off than if he had had no time for preparation at all, for then he would have blurted out whatever came upper- most in his mind ; but now he is striving to recollect what he has written, and in his effort to do so is utterly incapable of thought. He faced the enemy in the deadly breach without even a quickening of the pulse ; he knew no fear when he wandered alone in the desert, tracked by wild beasts and wilder men ; he propounded his new theory of caloric heedless of the roar of disapprobation from scientific Europe ; he wrote the book which called forth the storm of hostile criticism which never fluttered his heart for a moment ; and yet here he stands now — the soldier, or the traveller, or the man of science, or the author — trembling and shaking like an aspen leaf because he has to return some thanks and pay some compliments at the top of his voice to three hundred listeners. The man is a martyr to the English love of speech-making, but the British public insists on such martyrdom. The result is that each of the three hundred goes away with a feeling in his own heart that the warrior, traveller, or author is a greatly overrated man after all — and this because he cannot make an after-dinner, or any other sort of, speech. Considering what a small proportion the goodness of quality bears to the enormous quantity of public speaking, it is strange that Britons have not become wearied of it. Q 82 SPEECH-MAKING. I am confident that for every good speech delivered in the course of a year, fifty good books are published ; and yet there are few people v/ho would not think it a much more difficult task to wite a book than to make a speech. I think the greatest of all bores are bad speakers ; and the worst of bad speakers are those who have a certain fluency of words. A man who stammers, stutters, and can't bring out his sentences at all soon comes, ex necessi- tate^ to an end ; but poor, troublesome, wearying fellow is he who is at no loss for words and a certain set of phrases, but never has a new idea of his own, and goes on drawing out his platitudes till you wish the champagne had choked him. When these men are chairmen they are generally painfully dignified, not to say pompous. They never omit to speak of the Queen as the royal lady whose virtues have endeared her to her people, and whose name is never mentioned without enthusiasm wherever Englishmen are congregated together. The guest of the evening, if there is a guest, is always " respected ;" the Army and Navy are always the gallant defenders of our homes and hearths. The faintest sparkle of humour, the remotest twinkling of a joke, is never found in the addresses of these dreadfully respectable speakers. It is very common at a public dinner, when about half the toasts are over, to see some gentleman about two thirds of the way down the table start upon his legs and address the chairman. Who is he? Nobody knows, except two or three in his immediate vicinity: all eyes are turned on him and all ears are listening to him. He is not in the least degree abashed : he has come to make a speech, and he means to do it. Away he goes : SPEECH-MAKING. 83 \ he is a small, spare man, but has the voice of a Sten- tor. He does not " handle " his subject — the expres- sion is too mild — he collars it. In a moment you see that he has it tight in hand, and he won't let go of it till he has shaken the life out of it. You can't help hearins: him, because he is loud and fluent : he is un- to J conventional, too, and does not mind telling previous speakers that they have been talking nonsense. He stamps on tender corns, heedless whose they are, — in fact heedless of everything but letting oft his own speech. If anyone tries to put him down with an "oh! oh!" or "chair!" he turns on the daring individual with a scornful look, and with a few sharp, telling words crushes him, and raises a laugh at his expense on the spot. (How pleasant it is to see a man made thoroughly uncomfortable ! ) Generally this speaker, whom no one knows, goes right against the tenor of all the previous speeches — pronounces the charity in support of which you are dining a sham ; doubts some of the incidents recorded by the great traveller; hints that the great man of science will modify his views when he has read a little more; reminds the great hero that the men under his command braved just the same dangers as himself; and assures the author that a popular novel is but a poor sort of literary success after all. When he sits down there are a few involuntary cheers and a great deal of disapprobation. He has made a great many people uncomfortable, knocked a lot of pleasant delusions on the head, and let into the room the only sense which has been heard in the course of the even- ing. You never see a man of this kind in the chair^ G 2 84 SPEECH-MAKING. and never find his name among those who are to be called on to give, or respond to, a toast ; but setting aside the fact that all speeches, save the very best, are necessarily boring, this style of orator greatly relieves the tedium of a public dinner. But if speech-making at public dinners is tiresome, how infinitely more unendurable is the speech-making at public meetings, — meetings called for the sole purpose of making speeches. While the bore is at work after dinner, there are the claret and the walnuts to console you ; but what are you to do at the public meeting ? I have no pity on you : you went there either with malice prepense to make a speech yourself — and depend upon it you would have been the only man in the room who thought it a good one — or you went there for the avowed purpose of listening to bad speeches from others. In either case you deserve to be ineffably bored. And at these meetings you are almost sure to hear the most offensive of all speeches — the "personal ex- perience" speech. I hope I shall not be considered uncharitable when I say that I never believe the personal experiences related in a speech, whether they be those of the distinguished traveller, the reformed drunkard, the converted Catholic, or any one else. The very people that relate them so glibly would not dare to write and publish them with notes and references, dates and places. At the meeting they use figures of speech to attract applause, and the "hear ! hears !" are provoca- tive of exaggeration. The barriers of veracity are passed, and they career wildly in the wide plains of fiction. There is a much higher order of speech-making than SPEECH-MAKING. 85 all I have hitherto been writing about — the speech- making of great politicians and statesmen, I do not mean those which they make in " the House," which are matters of business, but those which they address to constituents and non-constituents out of it. Some of them are very good — some of the highest order, indeed ; but the greater number fairly come within the category of clap-trap. When a Liberal leader talks for three hours to prove that the very essence of Conservatism is its determination to ruin the country financially, he knows that he is breaking the ninth commandment ; he does not believe what he is saying for a single moment ; he hardly expects his hearers to believe it literally — in a word, he is talking clap-trap : but he also understands the mob he addresses, and fully appreciates its ardent love of clap-trap dished up to it by men in high place. When a Conservative chief denounces the Jesuitical, anti-English proceedings of the opposite side, and says that Whigs have ever sought, above all things, to crush popular freedom, he also is aware that he is cantering over the plains of fiction, and that those who listen to him ne\'er imagine that he is walking in the garden of truth ; hut he, again, also knows that the unreality is pleasing, and the slander of our opponents refreshing and comforting. Do these manifestoes in the shape of speeches do good or harm ? They are heard by thousands and read by hundreds of thousands : the pabulum is liked, but what shall we say of the palates that are pleased by it ? Would it, or would it not, be better for morality, truth, and good feeling that party leaders, instead of becoming itine- rant speech-makers, should sit down and deliberatelv 86 SPEECH- MAKING. and carefully write and publish their manifestoes, giving their words of honour as gentlemen that they thoroughly believe what they thus carefully give to the world ? I am not sure that the advantages would be great j but I am quite sure that no sensible man believes a party-speech- malcer to be in earnest about more than one tenth of what he utters in public. I must not forget one other sort of speech-making — that of the bar. Oratory is said to have died out from the English bar, and not to flourish greatly even in the Irish Courts. A great pity, if true ; for as judicial proceedings must be conducted partly through speech- making, it is well that the speeches should be the best of their kind. I take it to be clear that the great fault of our present forensic oratory is its carelessness. We are so engrossed with our facts and our arguments that we neglect the art of manipulating the one and enforcing the other with grace and ease. We fancy that juries are impressionable by oratory only in proportion to their ignorance, and that judges are wholly uninfluenced by it. Nothing can be more mistaken than this idea. It is true that vulgar and coarse appeals, in the genuine old style of the Old Bailey, can only have influence with coarse and uneducated minds ; but the more edu- cated and refined the audience, the more powerful will be the effect produced by truly noble oratory. Wit, pathos, humour, imagery, and illustration must call forth the sympathies of taste, education, and feeling. Until juries and judges are destitute of all three, they must be influ- enced by good speakers. Nor must it be forgotten that as argument represents thought, and words are the only SPEECH-MAKING. 8? medium of conveying our thoughts to others, the choice of words is of the very greatest importance, and he is the best speaker who uses the most appropriate. We have no right to expect any one to be eternally cracking our nuts for us in order to get at the kernel — if w^e w^ish them to taste the flavour, we must give them the kernel itself in the most attractive form in which we can present it. On the whole, I think we English are terribly fond of making speeches, most of which are bad and out of place ; but I believe that this propensity acts as a safety valve for letting off a great many political and social discontents, which, restrained, might break out in worse forms, and therefore I accept the boredom it occasions, grateful that others share it with me. IjYsect life iji south AFmCA. Mil'verton. — I have been very fortunate in life as regards friends and acquain- tances. I have knovi^n poets, historians, philosophers, . Ellesmere. — Observe vi-here the fellow puts historians, because he happens to dote upon history. Milverton. — Poets, historians, philosophers, statesmen, men of science, artists, doctors, lawyers, and merchants, but I was never fortunate enough to know any man who had made the insect world his study. I am sure I do not know what is the proper name for such a man — I suppose an entomologist. Well, I was never fortunate enough to know an entomologist. If we had such a man with us now, what interesting things he could tell us about the myriads of inhabitants of this rushy streamlet. I believe there are creatures below us there, which can both crawl and hop, and fly and swim ; which possess eyes by the score ; can weave and spin and build nests in water ; which, in short, embody all the vagaries of the most fanciful person, and about which, by the way, if they were familiar to us, fables and stories might be written having much more pith and diversity in them than those about dogs, bears, wolves, elephants, and foxes, which, after all, are poor simple creatures like ourselves, being seldom able to do more than one thing very well. Ellesmere. — I do not think much of your entomologist. I do not want him here at all. He would merely shy barbarous words, half Latin, half Greek, at us, and bother us about " genus " and " species " and other things, for which we should not really care one solitary dump. Besides, we should have to hear all about his grand discovery of the ommatoscylax, some pestilent little creature that hops, and runs, and bites, and wriggles, and turns up its tail spitefully at you. No; give me the man who can talk well about anything if you only give him INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA. 89 a rough bit of a brief to talk upon. Just read to me, or any other lawyer, a little chapter in any book about insects, and we will argue their case in a manner that will bring round any jury to think what- ever we are instructed to make them think on behalf of our clients. There are creatures, are there not, who pop out of their shells to take the air, and then other creatures pop into the vacant shells, and when the softies come back, they find their homes occupied, and the doors bolted against them. What a good case for an action of ejectment ! Mil'verton. — Mark you, I do not mean to say that I have not known men such as Carlyle, Kingsley, and Emerson, who have been able to talk admirably about all forms of nature, from the highest to the lowest. As I think I have told you before, I never heard a more exquisite conversation than one in which Carlyle and Emerson, both of them nice and patient observers of natural objects, discoursed upon the merits and beauties of common grass. A walk, too, in the country with Kingsley is something to remember; but still I say, as I said before, I should like to know a real entomologist, a man who has lived a great deal with insects ElUsmere. — The Patronage-Secretary of the Treasury ! Mil'verton. — And who could tell me all about the onomatopykx, which Elles- mere E/ksmere. — No, no ; if you are scientific, be accurate — onomatoscylax. Mil-verton. — Which EUesmere affects to scorn, but which I have no doubt, if well studied, would afford the human race many a good lesson in the arts of life. Very probably he is a great architect. The arch was constructed by insects long before it was known to man. Maule-venr. — Talking of men who have studied these minor creatures, there is Mr. G. H. Lewes. You know him, Milverton ? Mil'verton. — Yes j but he is too gelatinous. He describes admirably; is as clear as the sky at Avignon ; but his talk is of molluscs, sea-ane- mones, jelly-fish, and other flabby, pulpy creatures, squeezable as Ministers of State. I want a man who has lived with well-developed, shrewd, masterful, designing insects." Realmah — (Macmillan's Magazine.) For the above rather lengthy quotation, the writer of this paper feels sure that he has no occasion to make apology. Those who have read the varied and brilliant series of 9^ INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA. dialogues in "Macmillan," from one of which the extract is made, will not object to peruse any part for the second time ; and those who have not done so will doubtless be glad to turn from the sample given to the articles them- selves. It is not unlikely that many have shared, though not expressed, the wish of the thoughtful Milverton to "know a real entomologist," who could tell them some- thing of that busy world of insects which is in unresting activity all around them. But not only is the entomolo- gist rather a rare variety of mankind, even in this day of general scientific research ; he is also naturally of a retiring disposition, not prone to the display which the sarcastic Ellesmere would lay to his charge, nor disposed to vaunt his own discoveries, albeit they should include the non- descript ^^onomatoscylax." There can be no doubt that Miherton must often have met entomologists in that full and varied acquaintance which he enumerates ; but those worthy men, conscious of the vastness of their field of study, and of the comparative smallness of their know- ledge, had no desire to parade their acquirements or to volunteer unsought information. But had that historian and philosopher really sought the acquaintance of an entomologist, in place of idly wishing to know one and waiting till some chance should throw him in his way, he would have found the most prompt and genial fellowship, and learnt the truth of wonders that never crossed his imagination in its most excited and sensitive moments. So important a part do insects everywhere perform in the present order of Nature, that it behoves everybody to know something about them. And that knowledge INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA. 9 1 needs not to be of a profoundly scientific kind in order to be very interesting, though it must necessarily be founded upon the labours of those who have made the subject their serious study. Not without reason has this era been termed "the Age of Insects," for these animals now present a number and variety immeasurably greater than has ever been the case in former periods of the world's existence, if we are to judge by the scanty remains of them to be found in the various strata from the coal measures upwards. But almost with equal justice might the last one hundred years be termed "the Age of Books about Insects," for number of works devoted to the subject since the days of Linnaeus is something remarkable, and may be imagined from the fact that the eminent Dr. Hagen's Bibliotheca Entomolog'ica^ Vol. I, a mere catalogue of the literature of entomology up to the year 1862, and only extending through the letters A — M, is a portly octavo of 556 pages. Yet so far are these thousands of volumes from exhausting the great branch of Natural Science to which they relate, that they can only be considered col- lectively as a kind of preface or general introduction to the entomology of the future. It is not, however, the object of these pages to descant upon insect-lore in general, or to attempt any exposition, however brief, of the scope and purport of the study ; but the intention is simply to direct attention to some of the more striking features of social and individual insect life in Southern Africa, and to point out what amusement and pleasant occupation result from their observation. Regarding this wide region broadly, and excepting certain favoured localities, it must be admitted that the 92 INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICyl. apparent, active presence and exhibition of insect life is not striking. One may often walk for miles up hill and down dale, and observe little or nothing to attract the eye, ev^en in the case of an experienced collector. Very strange is it to stand among a multitude of the brilliant flowers that, in the Western Province especially, lend such wondrous beauty to a Cape spring-time, and yet to see scarcely a score of insects rejoicing in the colour, odour, and nectar so profusely supplied. Some few bees are sure to be about; but they are so obviously and unmis- takeably at work "On Her Majesty's Service" — such eager and hurried ^ieens Messengers — that they hardly seem in keeping with the quiet sunshine and dreaming, indolent flowers. That glowing, blushing Sparax'is^ that high-bred, blue-veined orchid, that tremulous, delicate Ix'ia^ may well shrink from those bustling brown-coated ofl&cials, with their brusque, unmannerly advances, and sigh for those noble wooers who so seldom come, those gentle, fluttering exquisites who more than rival them in splendour of apparel — the courtly butterflies. On closer inspection, however, it will be found that sundry stout little beetles have made themselves quite at home with the lady-like blossoms ; some sturdy fellows, in particular, who attach themselves to the Composita^ completely out- do the bees, burying themselves head first among the florets, with nothing of them to be seen but their long crooked hind-legs in the air. Add to these divers burly two-winged flies, rapid of flight, which at intervals plunge their long proboscis first into one nectary and then into another, — and the tale of visibly stirring insects is well- nigh told. INSECT LIFE IN S0U7H AFRICA. 93 The later season, from October to March, presents entomologically a much fuller show, though the exhibi- tion of flowers is so much diminished. Then, both moun- tain and plain are enlivened by insects of all orders ; but, though species are numerous, it is seldom that one notices abundance of individuals. Pursue, at this season, your observant way along some wagon-path on the flats, or devious cattle-track on the hill-side, and curious creatures are sure to attract your attention. Look at that long, active, compact beetle, rapidly coursing over the hot ground, and often stopping abruptly to look about, while his fine horns are held upward and vibrating. That is an Anthia^ a remorseless and greedy creature, ever hunting for living prey. Mark the adaptation of its hard armour, muscular limbs, huge curved jaws, and prominent eyes, for a life of rapine. Admirably furnished is this beetle with means both of offence and defence. As if its coat of mail, trenchant weapons, and power of rapid locomo- tion were not sufficient, it can emit upon occasion (as you will find if you seize it) an acrid, volatile liquid, which can be expelled with considerable force, and causes a burning pain if it come in contact with the eye or other tender surface. Approach this rapacious insect tyrant, and he will speedily run ofF to the nearest shelter ; but if you stand or sit quietly and watch his proceedings, you will see with what care and pertinacity he conducts his search, and with what promptness he pounces on the first unwary or unarmed victim that crosses his path, be it basking fly or plump caterpillar. Occasionally one of his own species enters on the scene, and the oddest manoeu- vres ensue between the two, usually terminating in a INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA. rou2;h-and-tumble fight, which serves to give each a taste of the other's quality, and is wont to lead to a decided separation of the respective hunting-grounds. Not a very distant relation of Jnthia is yonder much smaller insect, which runs with greater swiftness, and possesses the additional advantage of wings, enabling it to take frequent flights of a few yards in extent. This is one of the numerous tiger beetles (C'lcindelce)^ insects of great beauty and equally great rapacity, though the former quality only belongs to them in their final or perfect state. When young, they are the ugliest grubs imaginable, long in body, humped in the back, and short and unsteady of legs, insomuch that, so far from being active, they can barely walk. But craft supplies the place of agility ; and that glittering hunter who now by aid of legs and wings secures his prey so certainly, was wont, in the days of his uncouth youth, to dig a hole in the sand for his unwieldy body, and, fixing himself vertically therein by means of two hooks on his humped back, to close the orifice with his hard, flat head. So placed, his goggle eyes ever watchful, the patient larva awaited the approach of any small insect whom business or pleasure might render unobservant of those terrible mandibles until they closed upon the victim to devour him. One cannot help imagining that a heavy, inactive grub of this sort, on finding himself developed into a smart, agile, well-appointed beetle in a new suit of coat-armour, must feel as surprised as Hans Andersen's " ugly duckling" when she suddenly discovered herself to be a swan ! Not seldom, on your rambles near Cape Town, will you witness a singular struggle between one of the great, INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA. 95 hairy ground-spiders and a huge sand-wasp. The former is a hunter and wanderer, not distantly related to the famous tarantula of Southern Europe ; and, what with its size, strength, keen sight, quick motion, and powerful poisoned weapons, hard and sharp as needles, it might well be considered as more than a match for any insect foe. But such is not the case ; for this formidable spider, whose existence is devoted to the destruction of the larger insects, is itself the favourite prey of the wasps that burrow in the ground. Few people can have failed to notice the largest of these fine Hymenoptera, a glossy- black insect, with the wings and part of the legs orange, which makes a rustling sound as it flies, particularly when first rising from the ground. The female of this giant Sphex is in perpetual motion ; her nursery is conveniently dug in some sandy or gravelly bank, and her coming progeny must be provided with a supply of the food that suits them, which is nothing else but fresh spider. No description can do justice to the resolute energy, the fixed determination, the restless anxiety with which this admir- able creature pursues her search ; she must be seen and watched to be properly appreciated. Now flying, now running, every nook and corner is ransacked, till the spider that is to provide, in its own luckless person, board for the interesting young family of the Sphex is dis- covered. Unhappy Arachnide ! thy doom is sealed. Thou art but a poor monster after all, and Mrs. Sphex is like Perseus and Pegasus combined, an armed and winged centauress, who attacks thee with her cruel lance from above and behind, where thy body wholly lacketh mail. What ! thou findest that other creatures carry envenomed 96 INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA. weapons besides thyself ? — and now the poison tells, and thou gatherest thy limbs together to die. But now begin the sand-wasp's most arduous labours. The bulky victim has to be conveyed to the residence of the future family, often far from the scene of conflict, and is usually so heavy that the huntress, muscular as she is, cannot possibly carry it on the wing. Accordingly, she fixes her jaws in the spider's back, and vigorously drags the body along the ground, with indomitable perseverance sur- mounting every obstacle that intervenes, and often loosing her hold to make a short survey of the ground which she has yet to traverse. When the spider is thus left, some motion may often be detected in its limbs ; and, in fact, it is not dead, but paralysed most effectually. This is the most important part of the whole affair, as it turns out, for the grubs of the Sphex require living fare ; and their anxious mother, though probably dying before they emerge from the eggs which she lays, anticipates their wants by packing into their cell a fat, helpless spider, which, dead as it may seem, is actually in a comatose state, and will remain so till all but its harder parts are devoured. This extraordinary fact has been verified by numerous obser- vations, and is supported by parallel instances in the case of other Hymenoptera that store up caterpillars, grass- hoppers, &c. The effect is by some observers attributed to a peculiar property of the poison injected by the sting of the sand-wasp. But, leaving these Carnivora of the insect world, let us bestow some notice upon those whose office it is to keep down the over-growth of vegetation, at any rate during their earlier stages. Conspicuous among these milder INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA. 97 tribes are the richly-adorned butterflies and moths, which compel the notice and admiration of the least observant persons. Climb up a slope of the mountain range until you reach some sheltered little plateau^ whose greenery is diversified with the stately blue Jgapanthus^ and the rock-loving Crassula with its clustered masses of crimson blossoms. Here you are sure to meet with butterflies that rarely descend to level country, and conspicuous among them is the splendid creature that is named Tulbaghia (in honour of a former Dutch Governor of the Cape), and is confined in its range to Southern Africa. This noble insect seems specially to affect red flowers, delighting to settle on the Guernsey lily, or more humble Antholy-za^ which contrast most effectively with the warm-brown, ochre-yellow, and dark-blue of its broad wings. Almost as beautiful, though fai commoner, is its frequent com- panion, Demoleus^ — the species, so frequent in gardens, that rejoices in the local name of " Vaderlandsche" from its general resemblance to the swallow-tail butterfly of Europe. It is curious to mark the difference of flight in these two species, almost equally strong on the wing. While Tulbaghia goes with a certain steady directness to the rock or flower on which it intends to settle, Demoleui flaunts about, battles with others of his kind, and seems full of exuberant life and gaiety, keeping his sulphur- spotted wings in ceaseless vibration even when drinking from the flower cups. The beautiful caterpillar of Demo- leus may readily be found on sundry mountain Umbelliferce^ and in gardens on orange trees and fennel. It is bright- green, variegated with purple and white ; and, when annoyed, protrudes from its neck a curious red organ H 98 INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICj4. shaped like a Y, which is kept in tremulous motion, and has a very singular penetrating odour. To so conspicuous a caterpillar, feeding perfectly exposed, this curious appen- dage is no doubt a very important means of defence, serving to repel many insect enemies, and possibly even birds. Among the smaller mountain-haunting butterflies are various " Browns," — dusky-robed Oreads, that flit waveringly among the rocks and shrubs, and seem, when they close their wings and rest, to be keeping watch upon you with the eye-like spots that adorn them. If you notice sundry silver-trees looking rather thin and bare in respect of leaves, a very cursory inspection will discover the great larvas that have done the mischief, for they attempt no concealment ; and are brightly coloured with dots of blue, green, and yellow on a mahogany-red ground. The denuded look of the trees will not surprise anybody who once watches with what ease and celerity a huge caterpillar of this description disposes of one leaf after another. Contrary to the custom of its tribe (the same great group to which the silkworm belongs), this larva spins no cocoon, but undergoes its change to a chrysalis just below the surface of the ground ; and it finally emerges, after a burial of many weeks, as a magnifi- cent "Emperor," with eyed wings five inches in expanse. But in South Africa, as in other parts of the world, butterflies and moths, and indeed most orders of insects, abound to a much greater extent in districts that are more or less wooded, than in those that are devoid of trees. This is easily understood, for forests afixjrd ample shelter and vast supplies of vegetable food. The woods have a fauna of their own as well as a flora ; and no one is more I INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH ^FRICyi. 99 Struck with this than the observer of insects. As an instance, take the splendid sylvan butterflies belonging to the genus Charaxesy the strongest and sw^iftest of their tribe, vv^hich live entirely among forest trees, darting with such rapidity from one trunk or bough to another, that the eye can scarcely follow their flight. Unlike the vast majority of their kindred, these powerful insects seem to disdain the nectar of flowers, and go in for drinks of the strongest description in the shape of the fermenting exuda- tions from wounded trees, or any putrescent moisture in the neighbourhood. It is curious to place side by side with one of these tree-butterflies, massive of thorax and broad and rigid of wing, a fragile species that inhabits the very same woods, and is of the most delicate structure and feeble flight — the white Pontia. A very ghost, a grace- ful phantom of a butterfly, which can scarcely be captured without injury, and which flits slowly among the shady undergrowth and herbage, — it is the greatest contrast imaginable to the full-blooded, richly-coloured Charaxes^ which seems to exult in its plenitude of life and strength. The Lepidoptera (or butterflies and moths) stand alone, as an entire order, among insects in being altogether with- out weapons of offence, yet they manage to flourish among innumerable and formidable foes. Their means of escape are various, but all come under two heads — flight and concealment. Unable to fight, they must either fly or hide. Some escape by their power of wing ; but many more, to all appearance, evade their pursuers by the extreme irregularity and uncertainty of their wayward course through the air, which often baflles the direct swoop of the swifter enemy, A very large number H 2. 100 INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH ^FRIC^. (especially of the moths) find their safety in their more or less close resemblance, in colouring, to the leaves, stems, or other objects upon which they habitually rest. Certain groups of conspicuous and abundant species, which are remarkably slow fliers, are protected by a peculiar odour, which — accompanied probably by an unpleasant taste — renders them unacceptable to insectivorous birds and other enemies. And some few, strange as it may seem, only avoid destruction by their likeness, often wonderfully exact, to the butterflies so protected by their evil smell. With these latter are to be found the imitative species, sometimes appertaining to three widely-differing families; and as they often mimic the flight as well as the appear- ance of the protected insects, and disport themselves in their company, they are doubtless regarded by animals in search of prey as members of the malodorous and distaste- ful tribes, which are habitually passed by as unfit for food. Turning to an order which is composed almost wholly of vegetarian insects — the Orthoptera — we find among them one group essentially carnivorous, the well-known Mantidoe^ commonly called at the Cape " Hottentot gods." In these creatures, the first pair of legs is especially adapted for securing living prey ; those limbs being length- ened, enlarged, set with rows of sharp spines, and capable of being suddenly flung out to clasp any insect within reach. The grasping power of these formidable arms (for they are truly arms in function, rather than legs) is wonderful j and a Mantis may sometimes be observed clinging to and devouring an insect whose bulk and general strength are so much greater that it drags the former along the ground. Slo-sy and sedentary insects as a rule, the " Hottentot INSEC7 LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA. 101 gods" much resemble the chameleons in their tactics, resting motionless, but vigilant, on branches, leaves, or flowers till some prey is within their reach. And as the chameleon is rendered less conspicuous by the general adaptation of its colouring to the object upon which it may for the time be resting, so the Mantis most commonly mimics in form and colour the vegetation which it fre- quents. A small species, not uncommon near Cape Town, that loves the ground, and can run with moderate swiftness, is of a dull, inconspicuous brownish-grey hue, scarcely distinguishable from the earth on which it moves. But a far more singular example of the family was dis- covered by the writer in Natal, — a species (believed to be the type of a new genus) that in its very slender, elongate body and limbs, and even in its ordinary attitudes, so closely resembled the harmless, plant-eating Phasmidoe^ or spectre insects, of the same region, that there can be little doubt that most insects would approach it without alarm, until the fatal paws of the Mantis shot out from the feeble-looking creature and embraced their prey. One naturalist to whom this Mantis was shown expressed his conviction that the Phasma-Y\\iQ configuration enabled the devourer to approach and prey upon the Phas?nidoe them- selves, — a complete analogue to the " wolf in sheep's clothing." To the few instances of South African insect life here imperfectly noticed, hundreds might readily be added. Those brought forward are merely given as samples o the rest, as indications of the rich and inexhaustible field that awaits research. One is constrained to admit that a time will come when every insect, as well as every other T02 INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH ylFRICu^. organic being on the globe, will have been discovered and made know^n ; but who can venture to calculate, if even to anticipate, the period when every mystery of insect anatomy, physiology, and economy will have been cleared up — when every detail of the habits, geographical range, and life-relations of such innumerable and wonderful creatures will be included in the range of human know- ledge ? Those who have studied most will be the readiest to declare that such a day — if it ever come at all — is at a distance in the future immensely remote ; and thus no ob- server in the pleasant fields of entomology need entertain the slightest apprehension of ever finding that his occupa- tion is gone, or that he has reached the limit of discovery. It may not be inopportune, in conclusion, to call attention to the enjoyment which the practical pursuit of entomology affords, and which is comparatively keener than that to be derived from most other branches of natural history, though many delights are common to all alike. The free air, the healthful exercise, the thorough sense of freedom, all the sweet changeful influences of Nature, in colouring, sounds, and odours, — and the very joy of the chase, — are pleasures which are shared by all naturalists, as well as that higher and truer intellectual happiness resulting from earnest study of the material amassed in the field. But the class of insects is so pre- eminent in the number and variety of its members, so distinguished for marvellous instincts and modes of life that find no parallel among other great groups of animals, and is in itself so complete and compact a microcosm, that he who makes it his study seems to gain admission into a new world — a world that has its wars and intrigues. INSECT LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA. IO3 its societies and recluses, its slave-owners and slaves, its marauding banditti and skulking pilferers, its cannibals and vegetarians, its very rivalries and love-chases, — and a hundred other characteristics that present more or less of analogy to those of the human world in which he himself figures. The limited stature of insects and their all but universal presence afford singular facilities for the close observation of many together within a small space, and the ease with which they can be captured and preserved, and the little room that the specimens require, greatly favour the formation of a good working collection. Observers of insects are very " few and far between " in South Africa, — even rarer than collectors, who are themselves far from numerous ; and yet how many colonial residents there must be who are much in want of something to interest and amuse their leisure, and who might supply their need by paying some attention to entomology. Residents zre mentioned advisedly, for it is they alone who can observe to any purpose. The visitor from Europe, who hurries through the country, may collect specimens largely, but has very little time or opportunity to watch the living insects and note their ways of life and peculiar habits. Though the collector's services are by no means to be despised, the man who best aids the advancement of Natural Science is he who patiently observes and accurately records his observations ; and it is in the hope that some additional workers in entomology may be gained that the writer invites atten- tion to a study that has given him many of his happiest hours. ^fkEJUCblCE JGJIJ^ST COLOU(k. Candida de nlgrls, et de candentibus atra. — Ovid. Black sheep among the white, and white among the black. " Ne crede colori," the Poet erst sang, Appearances ever delude ; But white is the hue, that to us is genteel, The black one, of course, is tabooed ! Jan Wit-schijn, — he ranks with the favour'd race, Though conscience by vice is long sear'd : To him virtue's a stranger, and honour unknown ; What matter ? He's duly veneer'd ! Poor Zwart-kleur's an honest and truly good fellow. Fears, honours, and humbly obeys j But still, 'mid the fold of the black sheep, he's spurn'd; 'Tis colour, not merit, that pays ! L. D. THE CITY OF MOZAM(blQUE. In the beginning of January, 1862, we found ourselves in the Mozambique Channel, off the low, tree-covered shore which forms the delta of the Zambesi. We had an appointment to be in that part of the world about the beginning of that month and of that year, to meet the traveller whose labours have done so much to open up South Central Africa, and to completely reverse our ideas about that portion of the least known of all the continents. For two days we stood off and on the coast, firing guns by day and rockets by night, but no return signal showed the presence of Dr. Livingstone on the delta. In accor- dance with our instructions, we bore away northwards for Mozambique. After encountering a tornado on our course thither, which came down upon us at midnight with sudden onslaught and splendid uproar, we beheld at dawn on the tenth day, in all the freshness and beauty of the morning light, the pink-coloured buildings of the city. I made my first acquaintance with it at that time, and in the following year I was again there for a period of nearly six weeks, a sort of prisoner at large, from the impossibility of getting away from a place which has no direct trade with the Cape, and very little with any British port. I had during that time abundant opportunities of 106 THE CTTT OF MOZ^MBI^ITE. becoming acquainted with Mozambique and its people — with some of them more intimately than so short a stay xisually permits. Half an hour within the City of Mozambique will satisfy the traveller that its glories, like the maritime power and repute of the people to whom it belongs, are entirely things of the past. There are many proofs of power, grandeur, and wealth, but these belong'to the olden time. Mozambique lies on an island of the same name less than two miles long and about half a mile broad. It is separated from the mainland by a channel, three to four miles broad, which forms the inner harbour. You land from this inner harbour on an excellent pier, built of African teak or some equally hard wood. The pier rests on ten buttresses of stone, admirably built. There are no docks of any kind, though there is a place called the Arsenal. Arrived at the upper end of this substantial pier, two buildings attract' your attention. The nearest to the right is the Custom-house, coloured pink, with enormously thick walls, and, therefore, delightfully cool. I used to think it one of the pleasantest places in the town from the occasional bustle and life when ships were entering or clearing. There is, of course, none of the hurrying activity that belongs to such places in more prosperous commer- cial cities. Close by and a little to the left is the palace of the Governor-General, also of the prevailing pinkish-white colour. This hue seems to relieve the eye from the piercing glare of the dazzling white under so brilliant a sky. The palace is an imposing and pleasantly situated building ; is well ventilated, being fanned by the sea breeze j 7JiJE CITY OF MOZAMBI^E. I07 has a square court in the centre, with some flowering shrubs, and open corridors running along the sides. It is not saying much to assert that it offers a marked contrast to Government-house at Cape Town, which, correctly or not, struck me the first time I visited it, seven years ago, as having a certain damp mouldiness, and depressed, decayed air about it, as if it had lived its time and served its purpose, and should now give place to something better. This flat-roofed Mozambique palace was built originally, it is said, as a College of the Jesuits, and was used as such before their expulsion, — that inevitable event in their history. This seems a standing law of their fate in all countries, after a certain time has been allowed them to carry on their subterranean labours. No part of their history repeats itself so steadily as this. It is singular that every nation, on awakening to a period of revived life and progress, should signalize that era by requesting these worthy gentlemen of most polished manners, most varied learning, and blandest tones, to quit their country for their country's good. One would think such indefatigable labours deserved a better fate. Nevertheless, this ingratitude is historically true, without exception ; as witness the jour- ney northwards across the Pyrenees, a few weeks ago, of numbers of those persecuted men, whom the events of a day suddenly compelled to quit a country which, in all human seeming, they could securely reckon as their own. In what subaqueous or subterrene region will these unem- ployed workmen next find occupation ? It may seem strange that the passport system should hold sway in any part of Eastern Africa, but it does so in io8 THE crrr of moz^mbisiue. the Portuguese dominions, and you must land and dwell in Mozambique under many of the restrictions which I found imposed on my personal liberty as a free-born Briton in out-of-the-wiiy towns in Austria ten years ago. This passport business took me to the palace the day after I landed ; and I had also the honour of an interview .with His Excellency the Governor-General, in a conver- sation of three quarters of an hour, in a free and easy way, in the library. I was naturally at first delighted at this ready access and distinguished courtesy. But I had not been seated many minutes before there slowly dawned on my dull brain the clear outline and moral contour of the whole occasion. Asa man newly arrived from a region into which few travellers penetrate, and from which, alas ! still fewer return, I might, by proper manipulation, afford some information even to a Governor-General, and nar- rate from personal testimony some facts relating to the movements of an expedition which was hanging on the outskirts of the Portuguese territories, and doing things, in the way of releasing slaves, so unheard of as to occasion, it was said, correspondence of an official kind between the Courts of Lisbon and St. James's. I had nothing to conceal ; and though it is not discreet to speak all your mind, all at one time, and all to one person, I was quite willing to endure a gentlemanly kind of pumping from so distinguished a hand and handle. I answered all inquiries about the country, its products and its people, freely and directly ; and yet I am not disposed to admit that, even under the process referred to. His Excellency produced a complete vacuum. Of that, intel- lect and nature are equally abhorrent. Had His Excel- THE Cirr OF MOZAMBIQUE. IO9 lency been able to quote Burns, he would probably have said as I took my leave, and in a tone in which more was meant than met the ear. Aye free afF-hand your story tell When wi' a bosom crony ; But aye keep something to yoursel' Ye'd hardly tell to ony. However, I should be sorry to convey the idea that I left with an unfavourable impression of the distinguished Governor-General (D' Almeida, the predecessor of the late Governor, who died last year). Only a few days after my visit to the palace, I experienced at his hands a most substantial kindness ; and on to the end of my stay in Mozambique I experienced nothing else from him and all my Portuguese friends. Leaving the palace we make our way through the city. The streets, with one or two exceptions, are narrow and crooked, and offer a great contrast to the rectangular regularity of Cape Town. Nearly all the houses are strongly built, and despite of their dead fronts and flat roofs, convey the impression that wealth and luxury were at one period known in Mozambique. For a time you wander along these narrow streets and wonder that you do not arrive at the main thoroughfare which constitutes the backbone or chief artery of the city's life. If you have expected to find a stream of population flowing through the streets such as belongs to a European or Eastern city you will be disappointed. The native population forms nine tenths of all you meet. There are compara- tively few white men, and no ladies — not one to be seen. They exist, but they do not come abroad. The greatest T 10 THE Cnr OF MO'ZAMBISIUE. assembly of them I witnessed was in the largest church on Easter Sunday. Had I not seen them there, and one or two elsewhere, I should have been disposed to assert, judging from the streets, that there were not ten white women in Mozambique. Surprised that you are not reaching the best part of the .town, you stop to make inquiry, and presently discover that you have already passed through the busiest part of the city — and there is not much more to be seen. Like many other cities, and specially like the city of the Golden Horn, which is all beauty and picturesque symmetry when seen from the sea, and disorder and confusion within, Mozambique appears to most advantage when seen from the deck of a ship after a stormy voyage. The protective shade of a little kindly perspective greatly enhances its appearance and heightens your first impressions. But if we continue our course through the streets, one or two public buildings attract our attention. There are four churches or chapels in the city, and one of them is called the Cathedral. It resembles one of those middle- class churches one sees in second-rate towns in Italy. The others put one in mind of the chapels in the poorer country districts of Southern Germany. Pictures, white- wash covering bare walls, tawdry drapery about the altar, and images of wood and wax variously bedizened, are found in the interiors. The treasury, the prison, and the public hospital are pro- bably the next buildings you will notice. The last men- tioned is a long red-coloured building, three storeys high, on the south side of a large open square. The ground in front of the hospital is laid out as a shrubbery, and 'TME cirr aF moz^mbi^ue. i i i contains a number of sickly-looking cocoa-nut palms. There are two of these large squares in Mozambique ; and were they well filled with life they would be handsome ornaments to the city, but as they now are, overgrown with grass and neglected, they have only the air of decayed grandeur that belongs to the whole place. One of them is lined with fine trees, which bear, when in flower, ^ gorgeous scarlet blossom of very large size. It also contains a small monument, with something like a rusty orrery on the top. The column is of very modest preten- sions, and is scarcely superior to some of those ancient crosses found in market towns of the home country. Close by, however, stands one of the peculiar institutions of Mozambique, also a monument in its way, but not likely to suggest pleasant emotions in the onlooker. It consists of a strong and heavy upright post of hard black wood built into a circle of stone. This is the public whipping-post for the punishment of refractory slaves. For although the law allows the master a pretty free discretionary use of the lash, it reserves to itself the extreme application of this torture ; and it will perform this duty for any master whose feelings may be too tender or whose arms may be too wearied to inflict further stripes. On passing this post one day after a public whipping, I noticed that the bed of masonry in which the pillar was built was well covered with blood. As I stood looking at this erection for the first time, reflecting, with the assistance of all my an ti- slavery notions and nurture, on the human agony of which this spot had often been the scene, my attention was called to another peculiarity of the place, also connected with slavery. Four 112 THE CITY OF MOZAMBISXJE. slaves, stout and strong, their skins glistening with per- spiration, came staggering along at a brisk trot with a machila, in which reclined at ease a sickly-looking man of about thirty-five, with a heavy black moustache, and a still heavier countenance, whose extreme pallor seemed to say little in favour of the climate. In a country where wheeled carriages are rare curiosities, the machila is certainly an easy method of locomotion compared with trudging on foot under a blazing sun, especially when the body is enfeebled, and one is very much relaxed as to his knees, as Homer says, by frequent fevers. This conveyance is a sort of open palanquin, resembling a narrow sofa without sides, and in which you can sit or recline, and having an awning above. It is slung on a long strong pole, which, for what reason I know not, is almost invariably covered with the striped hide of the zebra. This is supposed to be the correct style, however shabby and battered the remainder of the conveyance may be. But I think that Englishmen generally look with dislike on this means of travel. Your ease of body is destroyed by your unease of mind at the spectacle of four black immor- tals hurrying along under this heavy pole like beasts of burden in order to save your muscles. Once only was I carried in this fashion, when crossing the neck of land, six miles broad, which lies between the Zambesi and Quillimane rivers. I was unable to walk from long-con- tinued fever, and I certainly thought the mode of convey- ance extremely easy, as I was slung along at the rate of four and a half miles an hour, through the tall grass and mangoes and maize fields, on a cool and pleasant morning. But there is the drawback I have mentioned, which is rHE CITY OF MOZ^MBI^UE. II3 difficult to get over ; at least it is so at first. It is no worse in its moral aspect than the Indian palanquin, except that in India men are free, and hire themselves ; in Africa it is done by men to whom freedom is a thing unknown. If we cross the square and turn downwards towards the beach of the inner harbour, we pass through the fish- market, and on the strand itself find a number of Arab dhows, with theirhigh poops, low curved waists, and ascend- ing prows. Boats of various sizes, in all states of repair and disrepair, also cumber the stony beach. As we proceed, the houses become more detached, the gardens more frequent, and just outside the last of the buildings we find ourselves on the edge of the cemetery of Mozam.bique. It has an interest to the English eye as the last resting- place of a few of our countrymen, chiefly officers and seamen. There, escaped at once from the fitful fever of life and the fever of Mozambique, they rest until that morn. Crossing to the other side of the island which faces the ocean, and passing on the way several limestone quarries and lime-kilns, whose products form part of the small export trade of the island, we come upon the native town. The houses are all poor, as the houses of bondmen are apt to be ; but they present the first indications of an advance to civilization. There are no round huts. These dwellings are either square or rectangular, even though they are only wattle-and-daub or sometimes even less, wattle and palm fronds. The streets are regularly laid out and some attempt at uniformity is made. This is, no doubt, an arrangement of the municipality, and not a spontaneous I 114 THE CITY OF MOZAMBIS^E. effort of African progress. I have read of ethnographical divisions of the human family founded on the colour of the hair, beginning with the fair-haired races of the north, and terminating vi^ith the crisp woolly hair of those of Africa's great continent ; but if we choose to adopt such trivial marks as specific distinctions of the genus homo, we may divide the whole family into two tribes — the dwellers in round houses and the dwellers in square ones. It seems almost universally characteristic of people still savage and barbarous to adopt a form of dwelling more or less sphe- rical ; and of civilized races to adopt a form more or less rectangular — round towers and turrets being the chief exceptions. Close to the sea, under some old trees with gigantic limbs and ample breadth of shade, lies the fruit and ready provision market. In the early morning an immense variety of fruit is displayed. Cocoa-nuts, mangoes, pine- apples, plantains, bananas, cashew-nuts, custard-apples, popaws, oranges, limes, and many kinds of small fruits unknown to me are exposed for sale on the ground. Tobacco is also an important article of trade, and there are piles of cigarettes, made and in process of being made, waiting their purchasers. There are also cooked maize, cakes made of flour, of wheat, and of maize, fried meat and fried fish in great abundance for the native consumer. Baking and frying go on briskly till noon, or later, and there are among the crowds that gather there that hum of life, and that peculiar blandness of disposition, observable whenever men of any colour, black as well as white, are assembled for the purpose of being fed. Under the dense shade of these fine trees, and ■THE CITY OF MOZAMBI^'E. 1 1 5 with the perpetual breeze from the blue, glittering waters of the Indian Ocean, this Mozambique native restaurant is always cool and pleasant. While staying at Mozambique, I paid some attention to the question of the alleged deterioration of the native African on the coast, as he comes into closer contact with European civilization. There is no doubt that he learns a good many new vices. Whether we are to blame most the pupil who learns or the teacher who gives the instruction, I leave the candid and unbiassed to decide. It is rather a severe judgment on the moral effects of our Christian civilization that contact with it should teach so much that neither Christianity nor morality can approve. But I could not regard the difference in the state of the people as wholly in favour of unmitigated barbarism, pure and simple, of the interior tribes. On the coast, the people have more ideas, good and bad, in equal proportion. They speak more and walk more about, and the children certainly amuse themselves more in a greater variety of childish plays, learnt, no doubt, from Europeans. There is more industry; and they have learnt more fully the use and necessity for clothing. It is also a mark of improvement that there is less tatooing and disfiguring of the face by the frightful lip-ring in the city than in the native village. If some of the simple virtues of the sunny side of savagedom have disappeared, and been replaced by some of the inevitable vices of civilization, this is but according to the ordinary rule of all reformations. There is a destructive as well as a constructive process ; and the I 2 ii6 THE cirr OF mozambis^e. former is always prior in time. If the native town does not present all the order and quiet and industry of a thoroughly civilized place, — if the streets are sometimes noisy, and brawls frequent, — yet there are fewer of those songs and dances, common in the interior, which pain the eye and ear ; there is less of that senseless hand- clapping, heard in a native village from morning till night ; and happily there is less also of that drumming which delights the African, but which, when long continued, sometimes makes night hideous, and seems at once to depress and madden the European. But the feature, of all others, that struck me most painfully was not that of African savageism, but of European neglect. The native population of this Chris- tian city may be, as I have said, about 8,000. So far as I know, there is not a single agency of any kind whatsoever in existence having for its ohject the communication of Christian truth to them. There may be, but I could not discover any effort of this nature put forth by any private individual, or by the Romish priests in the place. Two forts guard this island city. The one at the south end of the island is small. It is built on a piece of rock standing a few feet above the water ; and so fully is the area of the rock occupied by the building raised upon it, that on the sides facing the island there is barely room to clamber round between the walls of the fort and the sea. It is intended to guard a narrow passage between the island and the mainland, and as it lies out of sight of Mozambique, duty at that solitary place must afford much time for reflection, since it does not offer very abundant materials for observation. THE CITT OF MOZAMBI^E. 1 IJ At the extreme northern end of the island stands the fort of San Sebastian. Its works abut on three sides into the sea, and before the recent improvements in artillery it must have been a strong place. It can mount about seventy or eighty pieces of cannon ; but now on its grey old walls and loosened embrasures and parapets, Time, with unsparing finger, is placing his own peculiar mark. When I first went to visit San Sebastian I endeavoured to gain admittance, though I had no written authority, but was stopped by a sentinel at the gate, who refused me per- mission, with the words that the Governor of the fort nao da Ucencia. I turned meekly and unresistingly away, and went towards the rocks close by the sea and sat down. Some soldiers were being drilled under the south-west wall of the fort. The day was very cold for the latitude, being sensibly about as cold as a September day at home — though not, of course, nearly so low in temperature. I could not resist the impressions and recollections of summer and autumn evenings among the rocks under the walls of a famous old city o'erhanging the sea — the old Uni- versity City of St. Andrew's ; and forthwith my thoughts took a pleasant round among the days and friends of the past. Oh ! happy and kind alchemy of memory, which is ever transmuting the past into something wherewith to gladden and glorify the present, if the present has not gladness enough to satisfy the heart. From the fort we return to the city, through a wide esplanade and grassy park, by a road lined with trees and running parallel to the shore. We pass through a small public garden which lies under the windows of the Governor-General's palace, and thus we have completed ii8 THE cirr OF mozambis^ue. the round of Mozambique, having arrived at the point from vv^hich we set out. There is, as I said, not much to see, and it would not long detain the sight-seeing traveller. In the small garden, on moonlight evenings, a regimental band plays for the recreation of the inhabitants, w^ho gather to hear the music and enjoy the soft, balmy air of the cool and glorious nights. The white part of the audience walk about the fine pier, or sit and converse under the small trees in the limited garden ; and the African crowd, moved as they always are to the depths of their souls by melody, even in its rudest forms, frequently add the enjoyment of a dance. The pieces performed are such selections from European composers as would form the programme on similar occa- sions at home — the performance being very much inferior. It cannot be said that the dances correspond to the music, or that waltzes and polkas are much known or practised. They would be best classed as country dances, with .figures and time as yet altogether undescribed and un- known, except within the shores of Africa. The chief population of the city is African, and of these, including those born on the island and brought from the mainland, there are not more than between 8,000 and 9,000. The garrison numbers about 200 ; and after these there are scarcely as many Portuguese altogether. Of other European foreigners there are very few in Mozambique ; none of our own countrymen — not even the ubiquitous Scot, supposed to be found wherever men do congregate, and even where they do not. There are, or were, one or two German and one French commercial house, where European goods were sold in small quantities and at fabulous prices. A stranger 7HE CITT OF MOZAMBI^'E. II9 would at first suppose that there were no Europeans except Portuguese. But, after being some weeks in the place, I discovered that some articles of dress of which I was in want were sold by a German firm — and after a search of two hours I succeeded in discovering two live Germans in a balcony at the back of a large dull house overhanging the inner harbour. They were in their shirt sleeves, enjoying the afternoon breeze, smoking cigarettes, and, more Germanico^ drinking beer. The principal part of the retailing trade is in the hands of Banians, who bustle about and occupy almost exclu- sively two small streets for themselves. The chief Portu- guese store of this description is Domingo's, of which you are certain to hear, and whither travellers and voyagers are sure to make their way first, to have their wants supplied. I had no occasion to buy much, but I became acquainted with the prices of goods as retailed in these shops, and this may interest some business man whose eye may fall on this page. They are the prices charged to English travellers, about whom there is on the continent of Europe, and also, I think, on the continent of Africa, a pleasant and widespread delusion that they are always burdened with more gold than they can carry with comfort to their persons. Well, then. Englishmen are charged in Mozambique, for sugar of very ordinary description, thirty-two shillings per arroba of thirty-two pounds ; for rice, two shillings and sixpence per arroba ; for onions, the same weight, six shillings ; small bowls of the coarsest crockery, with saucers, twelve shillings per dozen ; common dinner plates, willow pattern, one shilling a piece ; metal tea- spoons, made at home, I should suppose, for sixpence a 120 THE Cnr OF MOZAMBIS^UE. dozen, are offered you at two for a shilling. The only article that seemed comparatively low in price was Bass's beer, which was sold at eighteen and twenty shillings a dozen, and French brandy at four shillings a bottle. For the liquor of Burton-on-Trent the chief purchasers are probably the cruisers of the slave squadron on the coast, when their own supplies run short. So far as I am aware, there is not a single bookseller's shop, or any thing approaching thereto, in Mozambique. Literature is at a significant discount in Eastern Portu- guese Africa. There is but one newspaper, published weekly, the Mozambique Bulletin. It is a Government paper; but while it serves the purpose of a gazette, and also for the publication of news, it occasionally does duty as a critical journal. While I was residing in the place, I found some previous numbers in which appeared a series of articles on Dr. Livingstone's first book, and in which the criticisms were more candid than complimen- tary, and more personal than polite. I need hardly say that neither the book nor the author stands very high in favour even amongst those who received him in a very friendly manner on his first journey. Amongst other statements, I remember one article dilated on the queS'^ tion if Dr. Livingstone thought the Portuguese were universally afflicted with Myopia^ that they could discover nothing on their own territories without the assistance of others ? Whatever answer may be given to this question, I must say that I myself thought the Portuguese singu- larly incurious about the regions in which they lived and which belong to them as a people. Mozambique is said to be a most unhealthy place, even THE Cnr OF MOZAMBISIUE. 121 though it is built on an island of coralline limestone, and though the vegetation is scant enough. Among the white population there are a certain cadaverous look and a gait enfeebled by many fevers, vi^hich tell their own tale, and justify the Portuguese proverb " a clima peor que Mozam- bique " — a climate worse than that of Mozambique — it being thought somewhat difficult to find. Yet the sani- tary condition of the city would breed fevers in the most salubrious country under the sun. There are certainly as many smells in Mozambique assailing one's nostrils as Coleridge counted in Cologne. His biographers are unde- cided as to whether it was thirteen or seventy-three which he enumerated. There is another cause which often renders those fevers more frequently fatal than they might be, and that is the generally high price of quinine, and the want of many of those comforts necessary for Europeans in a tropical country. I could not help observing that those who were under no necessity of exposing themselves much to the sun, and who could make a temperate use of a varied and nutritious diet, even with the addition of wine, invariably enjoyed better health. The poorer classes and the soldiers, whose limited pay prevents the use of such wholesome change, seemed to suffer most. The climate has also been blamed for the morality of Mozambique — which, perhaps, is not worse than that of many other places — but it is said that the insecurity of life leads men to say, let us eat and drink and freely live, for to-morrow we may die. If the morality were first blamed, perhaps the exact sequence of causes and of events would be more accurately expressed. 122 THE CITY OF MOZAMBISIJE.. Whatever be the full and complete explanation, there is a surprising lack of vigour in the administration of the country. So feeble seems the force of Portuguese civili- zation that, though it is now more than two hundred years since its first occupation of the country, beyond the towns and the city of Mozambique there are few traces of its presence. Little or nothing is known of the conti- nent lying immediately inland from Mozambique itself. It is scarcely possible, and is certainly not reckoned safe, to proceed fifty miles inwards from the sea. Roads are almost unknown, except such narrow and winding foot- paths as cover the whole area of Africa's vast continent. There is little import or export trade worthy of so large a territory and so long a seaboard. If we ask the reason why, there is perhaps one cause sufficient to explain this general langour and decay, — and that is the existence for a long period in the past of the export slave-trade. The labour that should have raised raw products which the civilized world would have been glad to buy, and which would have filled the hollow sides of many ships, and made the harbour of Mozambique cheerful with the sounds of commerce, has long since been carried ofF to the plantations of Brazil and Cuba. The population of the country, that should have been the chief consumers of manufactured goods brought from the busy looms of Britain and America, has been thinned by slaving wars and the slave-trade ; and that portion of the population that is left has been tutored in the evil lesson, which they were not slow to learn, of preying on their weakest neigh- bours. Hence, except in the existence of a i^v^ small towns on the coast, — several of them occupying prudent THE crrr of moZj^mbis^ue. 123 positions on islands, — and along the line of the Zambesi as far as Tette, Portuguese rule, so far as any considerable effect and power is concerned, stat nominis umbra. There is little administration, and no development of the country. There are certain great moral laws not categorically expressed among the sacred Ten, but very plainly implied therein, which nations as little as individuals can afford to despise. And one of these is — Thou shalt not export slaves and prosper. With nations, because their life is longer, the retribution is slower in making itself apparent. But the old Greek proverb of two thousand years ago is as true to-day as it was then — The mills of God grind slowly, But they grind exceeding small. And within the last few years all the world has had sufficient proof that slavery in any form is ultimately, like all sin, a very costly business ; its profits are not worth its penalties. The events of the last few years in the American Republic have declared, as plainly as events can, that God has other purposes about even degraded races, than that they should be used to enrich a dominant few, and fill the markets of the world with cheap Sea Island cotton, cheap Virginian tobacco, cheap Carolina rice. Slavery will soon be a matter of history ; and when it is so, it will be among the wonders of the history of mankind. Cuba will probably be its last stronghold. In Portuguese Eastern Africa the export slave-trade is already illegal, though it is still carried on. In nine years hence, in 1878, domestic slavery is also to be abolished, so 124 THE CITY OF MOZAMBI^E. far as it can be, by a portario or decree of the Court of Lisbon, The edict was passed in 1858, and twenty years were given to the Portuguese on the East Coast to put their house in order. Even though there may be evasions of the law after that time, it is a great step when any trade or institution of a country is no longer coun- tenanced by the law. Its authority is then gone. I asked an extensive owner of slaves, who had probably about two hundred and fifty, what they would do when 1878 arrived ? His answer was characteristic of the country and the system. They might all be dead by that time ; and if not, they would need to do the best they could. It is something when men loyally submit to the inevitable ; but it would be better, in some cases, to anticipate its coming. I am unwilling in this paper to say anything that would offend any Portuguese reader, should the eye of one such light on this page, — which is not impossible, as I know that the most of what has been written by recent tra- vellers in Eastern Africa is pretty well known among those interested in that region. But I am afraid the facts of the case are too strong to admit of this being stated otherwise. I have heard some of the more energetic of the Portuguese in the country express themselves strongly on the decay of the province. I can say I have here con- sciously exaggerated nothing, nor set down aught in malice. There is no reason why I should do so. Among • the Portuguese of Eastern Africa I experienced, as I have said, nothing but most unvaried kindness. I know that some, whose experience has been similar, have spoken contemptuously of this kindness on the part of the Portu- I THE CITY OF MOZAMBIS^UE. 1 25 guese, as if it were only meant to be a cover to their evil manner of holding the country, and to excuse the abomi- nation of slavery. I cannot think so. They know that^ as Englishmen, we detest and abhor the whole institution, and, knowing this, there is no reason compelling them to show us kindness when we are cast upon their coast. Instead of personal favours, they might as readily, and more naturally, exhibit towards us national antipathies ; and this, I think, they hardly ever do. And I confess I feel ashamed of my countrymen when they greedily take, and never acknowledge, the generosity of men of other nations. When I arrived in the place I was an utter stranger, eight thousand miles from home, and with not ten pounds in my pocket. Many of my letters containing informa- tion of supplies went amissing, as postal communication with Central Africa is as yet imperfect. There are no hotels in Mozambique. On landing I applied to Domingo, chief storekeeper and retail mer- chant, for a room in an old store. It is surprising what we come to regard as luxury after various experiences of travel. A watertight roof is luxury to a man who has slept the greater part of a year under the clouds. I have tried the Archduke Charles Hotel at Vienna, and the luxurious Langham in London, but I was more thankful to get into that uninhabited store than into either of those palatial mansions. I had occupied this strange lodgino- about aweek when, on a Sunday afternoon, I was surprised to see at the door the horse of the Governor-General. Before I was aware, he had walked into the place, attended by his aide^ a quiet pale-looking man. I was a little taken by storm, as I had only one chair, and that a broken one, 126 THE CITT OF MOZAMBIQUE. to offer His Excellency to sit down upon. His aide sat on one box and I on another. I was at a loss to under- stand the object of so distinguished a visitor to a lonely and impoverished Englishman living among a heap of boxes and casks of cowries. His Excellency politely said nothing about my dwelling, but talked on general subjects, and amongst others on colonization, which seemed to be a favourite topic. Next day an officer of the Commis- sariat called, and presented me with the keys of a large and airy house, containing a little, but sufficient, furniture, and this I occupied for several weeks till my departure. The kindly object of my distinguished visitor was evi- dently to make a delicate reconnahance.^ and discover in what way he could most benefit a travel-worn stranger. This was but one of many other acts of kindness I received at the hands of this friendly man, to whom I bear the most grateful recollections. It may seem as if I have given too great prominence to this and similar incidents in my stay. There is a method in my madness. I think some of our countrymen have been ready to take help and acts of hospitality very freely, and been very slow to acknowledge them. There are two other names I must mention, that of Mr. John Soares, of Mozambique, and of Colonel Nunes, of Quillimane. I am aware the then Governor-General of Mozambique has been accused of conniving at the slave-trade, and amassing a fortune thereby. It is considered by those who make this charge that it is not very difficult to get a man, even with a dislike to slavery, to shut his eyes for a little, if, on opening them again, ten or twenty thousand dollars shall be found on the table. This may be. There •THE Crrr of MOZAMBIiOUE. ilj may be depths of hypocrisy in human nature which no line of mine can ever fathom. But the impression I have is not entirely singular that no such connivance existed at that time. By the end of April I was beginning to despair of being able to sail to the Cape, and had agreed for a passage in an Arab dhow to the Johanna Islands, there to await my chance of a vessel. But one afternoon a native came running into the house with the news that a British ship of war was sailing into the harbour. This seemed too good news to be true, and I refused to rise from my siesta till I asked and had been assured three times that such was the case. In an hour I was on board H.M. St. Gorgon^ Captain John Wilson, well known at the Cape, and also not likely to be soon forgotten by the owners of slaving dhows on the East Coast, from the havoc he com- mitted among them on the cruise which brought him at that time into Mozambique. Next day I found myself sailing southwards to cooler latitudes, with a temperature steadily falling. The sea voyage restored my health, which had suffered from exposure and frequent fevers. In the end of May, I landed at Algoa Bay, and traversed the country from the Bashee to Cape Town. I had an opportunity of com- paring British and Portuguese rule in South and Eastern Africa. The comparison, for many reasons, was entirely in favour of the former. But no stranger visiting South Africa can fail to be struck with one feature which is a great barrier in the way of the progress of the British Colony, — and that is the existence everywhere of a vigo- rous local selfishness. Time and effort are wasted in wordy 128 rHE cirr of Mozambique. combats between East and West ; and one portion of the country seems to regard its chief duty to be to prevent some other portion receiving the benefit of a bridge, a road, or a railway, if the same benefits are not promised at the same time to all portions alike. When this feature disappears, British South Africa will make more rapid progress in the development of its resources. (kEVE(kE}^CE, THE WANT OF IT IN THIS COLONY. " Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell ; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster " When Wilhelm Meister entered the "great Institution " where he desired to place his son Felix, his attention was arrested by the singular gestures of the children. "The youngest laid their arms crosswise over their breasts, and looked cheerfully up to the sky; those of middle size held their hands on their backs, and looked smiling on the ground ; the eldest stood with a frank and spirited air, their hands stretched down, they turned their heads to the right, and formed themselves into a line ; whereas the others kept separate, each where he chanced to be." The Three, when asked by Meister for an explanation of these postures, said : " Well-formed, healthy children bring much into the world. One thing, at least. Nature does not give them, and yet it is on this one thing that all depends for making man in every point a man. If you can discover it yourself, speak out." Wilhelm was silent. Then the Three, after a suitable pause^ exclaimed^ 130 REFERENCE. *'■ Reverence !" Wilhelm hesitated. "Reverence!" cried they a second time. "All want it; perhaps you yourself." The three gestures, Wilhelm is further informed, are the expressions of a three-fold Reverence, — Reverence for vi'hat is above us ; Reverence for what is under us ; Reverence for that which is level with us. After some further explanation, Wilhelm exclaimed, "I see a glimpse of it!" It would be a happy thing for this Colony if the system of the Three could, in this respect, be intro- duced into all its educational institutions, whether the family, school, or college. If any man will observe, and reflect on what he observes, he will also have " a glimpse " of the value of reverence to character, and the all but utter absence of it in children. It is commonly remarked of the young people of all new countries, that they spring up suddenly into men and women, hurrying over the stage of boyhood and girlhood. To whatever other auxiliary causes this is to be attributed, it is to be traced, in a great measure, to a lack of the repressive, retarding, slowly maturing influence of reverence. The youth of new countries are eminently " fast." This is a modern word, which the modern life of old countries has added to our vocabulary. But the rapid running up into prema- ture flower and seed is a more marked phenomenon of new communities than of old ; because in the youth of freshly-planted societies is to be seen the abrupt develop- ment of the whole man-germ into manhood, which is too frequently nothing else but man-mockery. In Europe, i^ome young men live riotously. Here, almost all children come of age at a leap. And this is largely owing to the ;ibsence of the salutary pressure of reverence upon the REFERENCE. 1 3 I mind and soul, as much as to anything else. Indeed, many of the other apparent causes of this prematurity would, if rightly examined, resolve itself into this one. The freedom of life, the feebleness of the cohesive power- in society, the conditions favourable to individual develop- ment, rudeness of circumstance, the want of all that evidence of the genius and labour, the worth and dignity, of man which an ancient civilization has accumulated, the presence of rough, uncultured nature, and of rude, savage, and simple but degraded man, — all these charac- teristics of new countries are but so many reasons why there is so little reverence in their young people. The charm and usefulness of a long spring time are wanting, because this retarding force is absent. There is so little reverence, because there is so little in the conditions of life to excite it, — so much less than in those old lands where authority, order, achievement, example, vtidening precedent, a long-inherited sentiment, and the mighty works of successive generations unite to throw a shadow on the young mind, in which it slowly grows, and mellows as it ripens. This absence of circumstances favourable to the dawn of reverence imposes a responsibility upon edu- cation. The fanciful symbolism of the Three, which, in some respects, looks like a school edition of Ritualism, may suggest nothing for imitation ; but the idea of teach- ing reverence by a well-considered machinery of means is worthy grave attention. What this machinery is to be is a difficult question. The professor who would propound a solution, based upon a comprehension of the nature of children, and of the importance of reverence as a human affection, whether natural or induced, would deser\ e the K 2 132 REFERENCE. name and reputation of the founder of the educational system best suited to a colony. It is possible that the centralization of our higher schools, the substitution of one or two great institutions for the present many small ones, would be friendly to the natural growth of circumstances favourable to the planting and nursing of a reverent temper. If any institution similar, as to its organization and equipment, to a great public school in England could by united effort be reproduced here, part of the desirable work would be provided for, A building of some pretence to magnificence, offices of dignity, a staff of earnest, scholarly, masterful gentlemen, a rigid but humane disci- pline, badges of distinction, and above all a college chapel, bright, vivacious, inspiriting liturgical service, and a priest with eyes and voice like Arnold's, would work a revolution in the spirit of boys trained under such influ- ences. The sense of size, labour, and skill in human work, — the consciousness of a rule for life other than individual wilfulness, of the claims of others, of the obli- gations of religion, would have a chance of a beginning amidst such surroundings. At present, division and little-: ness deprive our schools of all dignity. There is nothing in the plain, scanty building, the mean endowments, the meagre staff, and the surface discipline of our score of colleges and thousand and one academies, seminaries, gymnasiums, and establishments to counteract the unim- pressive circumstances of general colonial life. To give magnitude and fullness to our educational institutions by centralization would, however, do but little more than favour reverence when its seed had been sown. The planting and direct culture would still have to be provided REVERENCE. f^"^ for ; and it would be necessary for educators to consider by what means that which the Three declared to be not natural could best be implanted. Ceremony, secrecy, mystic symbolism are not likely to form part of a school course in these days. But there never was a time when there was a firmer belief in the power of educational system to form the character and to remedy natural defect. The one case of Laura Bridgman shows to what a mar- vellous extent the first perception and the first conscious- ness, apparently the very elements of mind and soul, may be created, or summoned into life and light out of a blank and blind chaos. There is every reason to suppose that, if the conditions of education were improved by massing our institutions, the machinery of education would be improved also, and that more subtle, searching, and comprehensive influences would be brought into plav. So that if the importance of reverence to individual and national character were recognized by professors, there would be the discovery and the use of the discipline necessary to excite and nurture it. Less of dividedness and more of centralization, less of smallness and more of breadth, less of poverty and more of pomp and circum- stance, would favour perfection in the science and art of education, and all together would tend to the growth of reverential habit, as well as of all other excellences. It is pretty certain that if reverence be not grafted on the youth of a colony, adult life will, as a rule, be without it. A system of discipline, and a set of artificial circumstances, may be invented for the boy and be applied to his senses and to all his faculties, with a view to a particular result. But for the man there is no artificial system of discipline ; 134 RErERENCE. outside life is everything to him. And in a new country — a modern settlement — what is it ? Everything is rude, elemental, unimpressive. Nor is it that colonial circum- stance is marked by simplicity. There is a bareness which is not simplicity. There is nothing beautiful or dignified in its simplicity which is not the result of com- bination, harmony, and great labour to hide complexity of parts in unity of result. There is more of that true simplicity which finds its way into the mind, and fills it with awe, in the jointed and piled masonry of the pyramids than in the huddled cairn, — much more in the dome of St. Peter's or St. Paul's than in the rude cupola of a Kafir's hut, — much more in the beautiful statue which consumed a lifetime in its perfecting than in the log which a savage hews and hacks into shape with a few blows. Similarly, there is more of that simplicity which imparts dignity to individual and social character in the conditions of an ancient and still enduring civilization than in the phase of a modern settlement. There is, indeed, no simplicity without much art, — no simplicity without much culture. Paris, or London, has more sim- plicity in its circumstance, its life, its manners, than has New York. The absence of number or of quantity is not essential to simplicity ; yet no error is more common than this ; and in no respect more so than in relation to the conditions of human life. An old-world man fancies that he will find simplicity in the new world. The man of the town believes enthusiastically in the simplicity of the village. The villager sees in the soli- tariness of the farm a simplicity still severer than his own. And it is too generally supposed that this simplicity of REVERENCE. ^35 circumstance, which is all but wholly fictitious, is condu- cive to simplicity of character, — a conclusion which is as erroneous as the premises from which it is drawn. It is a mistake to think that because the fittings and furniture of colonial life are bare and scant they are favourable to the severer and graver virtues, and, above all, of rever- ence. And it is the recognition of this which makes it all the more necessary that the development of this great quality of a manly character should be one of the tasks of education. The habit once formed under the influence of a wise artifice would, in whatever circumstance, find the means of its growth. The youth trained by an adjusted discipline to regard all outward things, whether above, beneath, or on his level, as having claims upon him not to be disregarded, would, on passing from a school or college into the unimpressive life of a colony, discover on all sides objects to revere. If the colonist of the day, untrained by education, be observed in his relations to the various departments of life, it will be seen how defective he is in this feeling of reverence, and how unfavourable to its development are his surroundings. It may be said that the unfriendliness of his circumstances may be taken not only to account for his deficiency in this respect, but also to excuse or justify it. Or it may be pleaded that if there be little or nothing to excite reverence, there is no need for it. But with this, as with all other virtues, the absence of that which favours it is in itself a reason for its culture. It is one of the fruitful errors of a newly-settled people to think that character is at liberty to conform itself to circumstance, — to be rude and selfish because nature and 136 kEVERENC^. conditions are rude, and because society gives way to self. If the general experience of civilized man has proved any possible human feeling to be in itself good, it ought to be developed and nurtured, let the outer life be what it may. It is no longer thought that the history of the Jews is too sacred to be used like any other history, for purposes of illustration, and the Decalogue may, therefore, be referred to as showing how supremely important the great Law- giver held it to be to cultivate reverence in his followers at a time when they were about to become colonists, and enter on a new national life amidst circumstances espe- cially hostile to it. All of the ten commandments ordain reverence — reverence for that which was above, under, and level to the emigrant Jews, — reverence for the objects and means of religion, for the family, for life, for pro- perty, for personal and relative rights. This obligation was laid upon the minds and hearts of the people by elaborate ceremony, impressed by lofty mysteries, and enforced by penalty, when they were about to pass slowly through a wilderness to a country only to be possessed and settled at the cost of many wars. This is but an illustration as it is here employed, and nothing more. But it suggests, if it does not help to prove, that the absence of circumstances favourable to reverence is not to be taken as a reason why it should be neglected as if it were unnecessary. In referring to the unimpressiveness of the conditions of life, we do but give one of the chief argu- ments for the intentional and systematic cultivation of a virtue so much disregarded in this as in other colonies. As Wilhelm Meister passed through the district which lay about the institution he sought, "he noticed, with REVERENCE. 137 new surprise, that the farther they advanced, a vocal melody more and more sounded towards him from the fields. Whatever the boys might be engaged with, whatever labour they were carrying on, they accom- panied it with singing." Longfellow is not an authority equal to Goethe, but he has pretty much the same idea in "The Building of the Ship": Build me straight, O worthy Master ! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel. The merchant's word Delighted the Master heard ; For his heart was in his work, and the heart Giveth grace unto every art. The idea in both these passages is, that there is that in all labour, whether of the field or the workshop, which may have a cheerful reverence paid to it. There is at the present day a custom in India which expresses the very same opinion in a way which is thoroughly Oriental, and therefore extravagant. On a certain day in the year each man, by the force of an Eastern imagination, and with the freedom of an Eastern piety, turns the implement which is the symbol of his craft, and the chief means of his support, into a minor deity, and worships it with the sacrifice of flowers and with ablutions. The learned man takes his book, the clerk his pen, the soldier his sword, the smith his hammer, the weaver his shuttle, the field labourer his plough, and going with gay solemnity to the water-side, each instrument, decorated with garlands and sanctified with water, becomes trans- figured, sacred, divine, worthy of worship. This is an 138 REFERENCE. Oriental and Pagan way of saying that a joyous reverence may well be given to the occupations which are so neces- sary to life and by which so much of lifetime is consumed. The disciples of the Three sang hymns as they toiled, the ship-builder gave his heart to his work, and the Pagan Hindoo worshipped the symbol of his craft, — all illustrating, as we say, the truth that reverence is due to labour. But the best evidence that such duty is rendered is the evi- dence of good works. The song of the digger is nothing unless it giveth rhythm and earnest force to the stroke of the spade ; the heart of the ship-master may as well be elsewhere unless it giveth grace unto the art ; so, also, the Pagan's worship is worthless as it is extravagant unless the worshipped tool is used with a tender touch and an honest purpose. Good work shows reverence for work, and a just appreciation of the great place work has in the economy and discipline of life. In this Colony work is notoriously bad. It is bad because it is not highly con- sidered ; and being bad it excites no respect. Of late improvement may have dawned, but as yet the light of intelligence has to struggle with the dense darkness in the midst of which our ignorant industries have been groping. There is scarcely a department of production that hitherto has not brought the Colony into disrepute. The gifts of nature and the acquisitions of tardy enter- prise are treated with a rude, slovenly, blind hand, spoiling everything it touches. This is not the place for a description of the almost brutal methods of culture and manufacture which have been and still are too much in vogue amongst us. To do so would be but to repeat a tale told a hundred times in the newspapers, and reiterated REFERENCE. J 39 to weariness at agricultural dinners. It would, how- ever, be unpardonable to pass by the sad proof of a want of that thoughtfulness, that sensitive regard to the rela- tions of all acts — which is the very substance of reverence, — thrust upon the public attention by the late calamitous fires. To burn the grass is one of the labours of our agriculture which may be necessary. If so, it not the less on that account involves, or ought to involve, great responsibility. And yet on a day of intense heat and much wind, at a time when herb and tree are like tinder, and in the neighbourhood of great forests and prosperous homesteads, the brand is flung about as if the work, which a man might well begin upon his knees in fear and trembling, were mere heedless sport. The vast, unfenced, sparsely occupied, poorly fertilized lands of a new country tempt the husbandman to a savage agricul- ture which has little or no regard for beauty in nature, or right in property, or sacredness in life. It can scarcely be doubted that the transfer of the rougher work of the Colony to the natives is a reason why labour of that kind is treated by the dominant race with slight respect. This has always been the case in countries in which any special tasks have been imposed on a subject people, whether slaves, captives, helots, vil- leins, pariahs, coolies, or conquered savages. The occu- pations of these despised people fall into contempt, and make it shameful to engage in them. All history, whether ancient or modern, teems with examples of this. In the present day, the Southern States of America afford a striking illustration of the rapidity with which a race accustomed to hold industry and honest toil in good I"40 REVERENCE. repute can have its ancestral habits wholly changed by the presence of an abject people on whom the hard work of the country is imposed. When, under the Austrian Kings of Spain, most of the mechanical crafts and the various branches of commerce fell into the hands of foreign immigrants, the Spaniard, although not long before celebrated for his skill in some manufactures, thought it a disgrace to soil his fingers with Segovian cloths or take interest for his wasting capital. In India there is no Brahmin but would deem himself to have lost caste were he to carve the sacred image to which he is ready to bow down and worship as his god. This degra- dation of labour by its association with a degraded class is inevitable, and is to be modified only by a removal, as far as possible, of artificial difference between classes. The abolition of slavery in America will have a direct influence on the consideration in which all manner of work is held there. The labourer being no longer a slave, his labour is not slavish. In this Colony, slavery has long been abolished, and that source of danger to the dignity of work is removed. But our labouring class is still savage, ignorant, barbarous, and heathen, and as long as this is the case labour will be debased in the eyes of the colonist. This has its remedy in a properly adapted education. There are some who think that education spoils the native for labour. This, in some cases, arises from possibly wrong systems of training in which natives have been taught, or it arises from narrow views. At all events, it is certainly true that brutal, untaught, wild men spoil the colonist for labour. The tendency of this is unquestionably towards irreverence for work. This effect in its present stage of REFERENCE. I41 growth may not be apparent to the unobservant eye, but it exists and will display itself more and more unless the remedies are applied. We can pursue this subject no further ; but it may be said that the power of association to affect the estimate in which anything is held is nowhere more strikingly to be seen than in the depart-, ment of human labour. Let any work, no matter how difficult and beautiful in itself, be assigned to a despised class, and it becomes despicable. Let any work, no matter how coarse, become the monopoly of a privileged class, as is the case with the farrier's craft amongst some Mussul- mans, and it becomes dignified. Modifying the thought somewhat, but not essentially, it is found that the associ- ation of work with loftiness of character, the unloosing of a shoe's latchet will transcend the sense of worth ; while the consciousness of " the great Taskmaster's eye " will give a living meaning to George Herbert's verse : A servant with this clause Makes drudgery divine j Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws, Makes that and the action fine. To charge the Colony ^ith a want of reverence for the fine arts would be preposterous. There can be no regard for that which can scarcely be said to have an existence. Perhaps music may be held to be an exception. We believe the ability to appreciate the great masters, skill in execution, and even talent for original composition are present in the Colony ; while no artiste of any merit visits the Cape and is not understood. Of late, creditable attempts have been made in more towns than one to pay careful and practical homage to the master-pieces of 14^ REVERENCE. Handel and Mendelssohn. There are few villages that have not some musical organization. We have been assured by the managers of professional companies that in some of the obscurer towns, partly inhabited by foreigners, there is evidence of much musical culture. Most undoubt- edly there is no country in which there are more pianos. There is a Broadwood, a Collard, or an Allison in almost every house and on well-nigh every farm. At the hours of morning practice, which extend from sunrise to noon, there is no open window through which a torrent of mingled melody and harmony does not rush, and the air is more than tremulous with the vibrations of twice ten thousand keys. In whatsoever house there is no piano, there is an accordion, while on the Frontier there is not a Kafir who has not a Jew's harp. In the Eastern garrison towns, so enthusiastic is the reverence paid by the natives to martial music, that a crowd of dancers attends the regi- mental bands along the whole line of the Sunday march to church. To give some account of the state of musical culture in the Colony would be worth the while of some one well versed in the subject. It would be wrong to say that the Colony has had no painters. On the other hand, it would be wrong to say that the Colony has greatly valued those it has had. Bowler is seeking fortune at Mauritius. Pons is making no fortune at Graham's Town. Nor can it be said that these artists have had no recommendation from merit. Pons has succeeded wonderfully in expressing the fullness and freshness of savage life in the face of the Kafir, and his work, if proper respect be paid to it, will preserve the faithful portraiture of races which in the course of time REFERENCE. T43 will be found in history and picture alone. The water- colour landscapes and the marine sketches of Bowler are, for the most part, faithful copies of some of the finest scenery our coast, river, and mountain can give. His *' Wolf River by Moonlight" is worthy reverent admiration for the artistic truthfulness and sympathy with which it represents a beautiful scene beautifully, so that any com- mon eye might see its meaning. The Colony has also some amateurs whom it might well value, but whose names would have but little signification were we to mention them, as their works are but little known. There are not wanting those who can love and understand this art, and by some means or other a i(tw good paintings have found their way to the Colony, and are understood. Cape Town, by levying contributions on private collections, is able to form a respectable art exhibition, from which great names are not wholly absent. And there are those who can write a fair criticism, discriminating faults from beauties, and thus help to the growth of an intelligent taste. It must not be forgotten, also, that there has been at least one attempt to establish a School of Art ; and it would be irreverent on our part to overlook the fact that we have photographic artists who are really worthy of that name, if the study of the laws of their craft and a determination to master its agencies, with a view to truth and taste in the expression of life as well as form, entitle them to the distinction. Still, for all this, and notwith- standing that photographs abound in the Colony more plentifully than even pianos, it would be an exaggeration to say that art is present ; and such being the case, it would be unreasonable to complain that a reverence for it 144 REVERENCE. is absent. The time may come when more of our youth may be able to visit the renowned galleries and studios of Europe, and bring back with them, if not inspiration, yet the memory of a great glory and a dissatisfying sense of the bareness of colonial life. This regretful recollection and this consciousness of want may, when wealth — possessed by more hands, accumulated in larger sums, and placed at the disposal of more cultured and liberal minds — has the power to obey desire, lead to the exchange of our gold for some of the precious products of the old-world art- genius ; and thus the knowledge of what is meant by a picture and by painting may dawn upon the Colony, and the love of them may even suggest endeavour. With skies and an atmosphere like ours, mountains that hold both light and shade in charmed masses upon their sides, plains enamelled with fair flowers, bays curved as the line of beauty and flooded with bright water, long lines of tumbling surf, and an ocean on either side, it cannot be said that Nature is niggard of her lessons. All that is wanted is the intervention of the teacher to show how the lesson is to be learnt. A broad, truthful work from a great hand would do this most effectually. Of sculpture the Colony possesses fewer specimens than of painting. Sir George Grey is our only statue. There is an obelisk at Port Elizabeth. A fountain stands hard by the Cathedral of St. George's at Graham's Town. The massive pulpit of the Dutch Reformed Church at Cape Town is guarded by two huge lions carved in wood, and that of the Lutheran Church rests on the brawny should- ers of two giants in mahogany. The catalogue is scanty. The influence of the works themselves is not great, REVERENCE. 145 Reverence seeks the shade, but is not cherished by theirs. The lions and the giants, being where they are, may, by the confusions which are sometimes occasioned by asso- ciation, be perchance mistaken for objects of public worship. No such accident invests either the statue, the obelisk, or the fountain with any chance of respect, and in themselves these works, though rare, are not wonderful. The Colony knows less of sculpture than of painting. And yet, unless savage life should speedily cease to be savage, and clothe itself in the squalid rags of civilization, there are few countries where the human figure could be studied to more advantage than here. The Kafir, like the ancient Greek, presents, not in the studio only, but in the freedom of every-day life, models of fineness in form and grace in action, while his kaross or blanket falls in rounded, sweeping lines from the shoulder. It would be worth the while of our modern sculptors to take Kafirland, as well as Rome, within their tours. Were the chisel once at work here in the hands of a genius, this art would, if second-hand clothes were pro- hibited on the east of the Kei, have rare chances of flourishing and making itself respected. The great modern art critic says : " There are only two fine arts possible to the human race, sculpture and paint- ing. What we call architecture is only the association of these in noble masses, or the placing them in fit places. All architecture other than this is mere building." In another of his works he says that the function of architec- ture is, as far as may be, to tell us about that Nature which lies remote from towns ; " to possess us with memories of her quietness ; to be solemn and full of tenderness, L 146 REVERENCE. like her, and rich in portraitures of her ; full of delicate imagery of the flowers we can no more gather, and of the livino- creatures now far away from us in their own soli- tude." If this be architecture, and these be its functions, there are few kinds of human work more worthy of reverence ; but at the same time it must be confessed that the Colony has yet to possess it, and therefore knows nothing of its influences. We have " mere building " hut no architecture. Architects there are who are doing honest work with such opportunity and material as they have ; but their scope is narrow and their successes are few. Perhaps the only notable thing in this dual art in the Colony is the ceiling of the great Dutch Church at Cape Town. The space is vast ; and in a huge crowded city of narrow streets and extended masses of masonry, it would do what Ruskin says architecture should do, — it would be a symbol of the overarch and spread of the sky, of which the narrow, interminable streets and the smoky atmosphere of big towns allow but scanty glimpses. Cape Town streets are not very wide, but the town itself is small, and a few minutes' walk from its most crowded part brings the whole heavens to view. As a substitute for Nature, therefore, the ceiling is not wanted ; and, if the truth be told, the architect himself, who lived long before Ruskin began to explain the meaning and use of art, had no thought of imitating the span of the firma- ment. He aimed at a human work of great magnitude when compared with other human works of the kind, and he hoped to succeed in striking the imagination and producing a feeling of reverence suitable to the uses of the place. The appearance of this building from with- REFERENCE. 147 out is mean and unimpressive, and no injury is done to any aesthetic interest by hiding a bald side from view by a row of modern offices. It is possible, however, that the designer thought that it would be a useless expenditure of skill and means to attempt any display of exterior gran- deur on a site with such a back2;round as Table Moun- tain. Even St. Paul's would look poor and dwarfed beneath that mighty work of Nature's masonry, about whose base all Cape Town lies like a huddled land- slip — the mere crumbling of a buttress. The architect of the Dutch Reformed Church, with its wide, pillarless ceiling, understood, after all, where to put forth his art with the best chance of getting men to honour it. And in this he suggests the lesson that if art is to be reverenced, it may endeavour to represent Nature when she is absent, but must not compete with her while she is present. It would be unjust to say that there is but little rever- ence in the Colony for Law. It may, indeed, be questioned whether there is any free people amongst whom the authority of law is more regarded ; although it has been declared by some, who have a right to speak on such a subject, that the principles of equity, truthfulness, and honesty, on which all righteous law is founded, are not held in equal respect. Let this be as it may, it is un- doubtedly the case that, although the executive arm is comparatively feeble, the decisions of law are never resisted, and notwithstanding the extraordinary facilities of escape, they are resorted to but seldom. There is no lawlessness, except amongst the natives in the remote outskirts of society. A magistrate with a policeman or L 2 148 REVERENCE. two will preserve order in border districts a thousand miles from the seat of Government. That is to say, the people of those distant places will respect order and authority in the mere office of the magistrate. This is a testimony which, if it be true, proves an excellence of no mean class. Patriotism may be said to be the highest form of rever- ence for the State ; and as yet there is but little of it in this Colony. One possible reason of this is the fact that the Cape is a Colony — a dependency on a distant country, with no distinctly separate national life. In recognizing this we are not advancing it as a motive for desiring independence. The advantages of our present connec- tion with Great Britain outweigh the disadvantages, what- ever they may be. Disentangling it from any question of this kind, the influence of the fact referred to on the public regard for the State is worth a passing note. Is it not the case that there is a stronger sense of the claims of all that is meant by the phrase " my country " in the Orange Free State than in either of the British South African Colonies ? That there are some annexationists does but bring out into bolder relief the stubborn patri- otism of the majority. Another cause of the feebleness of the national feeling is the dividedness of the popula- tion. It will necessarily take time to weld together the peoples and tongues of British South Africa, so as to make them owe and beget a reverent love of the State — the form of society which includes and unites all classes, institutions, interests, and individuals. A third cause may be sought for in the fact that a British colony is a democracy. All democracies, in some important respects, REFERENCE. 149 favour the development of personal interests or selfishness. The individualizing forces are stronger than the uniting forces. In a colony of large area and scanty population this tendency becomes more pronounced. In such a case the action towards union, when there is any, and the attachments and passions attending it, stop short, for the most part, at " localism," a term which is well under- stood in this Colony. And if there is but little reverence for the State, neither is there much for such political institutions as we have. Whether a reform in the de- velopment theory would have the effect of increasing or diminishing the public respect for Government is a moot question, which it would be out of place to discuss here. It may, however, be said that no greater misfortune can happen to a country than for its people to hold political office and function in contempt. Passing on to another topic, would it be wrong to consider a reverence for all life, and especially for human life, to be an essential part of modern civilization ? We say modern civilization, because it is a notorious fact of history that some of the most cultured and, in some respects, most fastidious peoples of antiquity were coldly or cruelly indifferent to suffering, utterly reckless of the lives of others, and ignorant of the passion of humanity. In modern times, and in the foremost countries, law as well as custom has taken the dumb beast under its protection, while the grow- ing reverence for human life has been shown in the abolition of coarse and dangerous sports, the repression of duelling, the prohibition of trades like that of the chim- ney-sweep, the restrictions on the employment of children 150 REVERENCE. m factories, the multiplication of hospitals, the better re2;ulation of asvlums, the less frequent resort to corporal punishment in both army and navy, the purging of our criminal law of its once shameful rigours, the privacy with which capital executions are invested, and the increasing influence of justice, and desire for peace in the councils of nations. This high regard for the great and precious principle and fact of life in all creatures is one of the glories of the time, and it may well awaken anxiety in any people if they have reason to think that they have about them conditions unfavourable to this excellence. As long as slavery existed in the United States, and as long as certain laws relating to the treat- ment of slaves and narrowing their rights prevailed, there were in that great country circumstances which, while they lasted, hardened the heart of the South, and which, had they not been removed, would at this moment be weakening the bonds of sympathy between man and man, and turning the wide consciousness of humanity into the petty but fierce pride of a privileged class. It is, indeed, a mistake to suppose that the want of reverence for the body and life of a slave has no influence on that feeling in reference to men not slaves. Familiarity with any form of cruelty to any creature in time does its work on the whole nature, and influences the individual in all his relations. But it is not our duty to consider other countries. It will, however, be readily understood why we have referred to America, instead of at once examining conditions in South Africa. There is some- thing in the circumstances occasioned by the presence of the African races here which mav be said to be analogous o REVERENCE. I5I to the circumstances occasioned by slavery in the Southern States. The word "nigger" condenses and includes nearly all that we wish to suggest. An inferior, natur- ally separated, savage race, by what it is and by what it is not, by what it does and by what it omits, tempts the colonists to a contempt for life which, let it be as degraded as it may, is still human. This is seen most markedly in the outskirts of our settlements. It is notorious that in the distant borders of the outlying States, where law is weak and treaties are of no avail, to shoot a black man is little less than a piece of sport. Killing is no murder in such a case. Nearer to the heart of authority, custom and opinion are more under restraint ; but it is not too much to say that throughout the whole of South Africa the reverence for human life is endangered by the contact of colonists with natives. Kafir wars, Basuto pillages, Koranna inraids, and the thievish habits of these people, increase the aversion and give bitterness to the contempt with which the white man regards the black, and make him less regardful of the act of taking life. It must in justice be said that it is not often that the settlers in the older colonies are publicly known to commit cruelties on the natives, or wantonly to inflict death. Nor can our laws be charged with any inequality what- soever in matters relating to the person or to life. But while this is gladly allowed, it would be wrong — most injurious to national manners — to overlook the probable influence of conditions which prevail in the South African Colonies more than in any other dependency of the British Crown. The reasons for a humane policy towards the native races are to be sought not only in 152 REVERENCE. the records of the Aborigines' Protection Society, but also in the lessons of history and in the immutable laws on which all true excellence, whether of personal or national character, is founded. In considering a subject of this nature there is a danger of overstepping reasonable limits and forcing an idea into departments of life to which it may have no special rela- tion. It may be that a want of reverence for religion is not one of the peculiar faults of this Colony. This is a question which may be left undecided by us. It may, however, be as well to glance at one or two things which may be presumed to be unfavourable to the exercise of reverence. Were it possible, as we think it is, to distin- guish between a reverence for religion and the religious sentiment itself, it would not be difficult to show that the absence of a State Church here, as in other British Colonies, has the tendency to lessen the respect for religion viewed as a part of national manners. A State Church is clothed with authority and is rich in accessories. It has the means of adorning itself with learning and of arming itself with social power. Accumulating wealth from the public estate and private benevolence, it presents itself everywhere to the eye in the grandeur of its temples and the pomp and power of its chief priests, while its lofty and assured position sheds a certain dignity upon the meanest of its fanes and the humblest of its ministers. All this has its influence, not only upon those who are themselves the adherents of this favoured Church, but also on the whole circle of society, including those who do not conform as well as those who do. There can be but little doubt that the decent regard which in England is REVERENCE. 153 paid to the Tabernacle is the oftspring of the respect which has been commanded for centuries by the massive and long-enduring glories of the Cathedral. Here there is no State Church, and, whatever advantages a perfect equality of religious societies may be supposed to secure, there is the disadvantage to national manners arising out of the absence of one of the most powerful causes of a reverence for, at least, the framework of religion. This disadvantage is not glaringly apparent in this Colony at present. But it is reasonable to suppose that, in the course of time, similar effects will be produced here to those which in the United States have followed the absence of a State Church. It will be observed that the question of the merits of the State Church system in relation to either religion or morals is avoided, except so far as manners may mean morals. We have said there is no State Church in South Africa. There is, however, Schedule C. Now, Schedule C is a delicate subject, and must in these pages, at least, be handled with tenderness. Let it be assumed that the ecclesiastical grants are of importance to the churches which enjoy them, of impor- tance to religious instruction, and of importance in what- ever other way that their advocates maintain, — what is their relation to the sentiment of reverence for religion ? Were it in the nature of things — ecclesiastical, social, and political — possible that Schedule C could do its work of distribution without observation, it might, by helping to increase the revenue of public worship, and by thus adding to the respectability of the endowed churches, be friendly to the maintenance of reverence. But this unfor- tunate Schedule drags so much of religion as may be 154 REVERENCE. associated with it into the arena of political discussion every year. It places religion in the pillory of the hustings and on the floor of both Houses, where around it rage all the passions ofecclesiasti"o-political strife, — passions which are undignified and petty, whatever may be the seriousness and magnitude of the principles involved in the quarrel. This state of things cannot promote reverence for religion, although we by no means say that on that account the ecclesiastical grants must be abandoned. The Cape is not a little remarkable for the multiplicity of its religions and ecclesiastical sects. The influence the pervading presence of Heathenism and the existence of Mohammedanism at some of our chief towns may have on the national regard for religion, and especially for the Christian religion, is a question too subtle for us. It is, we think, matter of experience that such a condition of things as that we have here is pretty certain to produce either exclusiveness and the persecuting spirit, or a certain freedom of manner towards religion bordering on laxity, and sometimes going to the length of indifference. In those great Asiatic countries where small bodies of Europeans live in the heart of vast pagan communities, whose religions areas elaborate as their civilizations, these opposite tendencies are very marked. Hindooism, for instance, causes some of its Christian rulers to be bigots, while others it causes to be latitudinarians. The presence of a religion in which they do not believe, but in which the great majority about them do most earnestly believe, — a religion which has in it much that is good, and which, whether good or bad, is a splendid product of the human mind, — favours what is known by the name of " liberal- REyERENCE. 155 ism " in religion, which is not always accompanied by a reverence for their own inherited faith. Heathenism and Mohammedanism in South Africa can scarcely be suspected of having any such decided influence, but that they should exert some influence of the kind is at least possible. We turn from this speculation to facts and influences whose tendencies as well as whose character can be readily understood. Nowhere, except perhaps in America, do Christian sects rejoice in a greater variety than in this Colony. The two nationalities — Dutch and English — pre- serve sacredly their peculiar ecclesiastical institutions, and the teeming womb of Protestantism in Great Britain and Holland has given to this scanty community all its motley births. Then, also, we have Presbyterianism from Scot- land and Roman Catholicism from Ireland, while France, Germany, Scandinavia, and America have contributed by their missions to give to the white and seamless garment of Christ the look of a coat of many colours and of many patches. Private judgment, independent thought, the authority of the personal conscience, toleration, are phrases beyond criticism, as they are precious things that cannot be assailed. They are of that great value in themselves that they are not to be endangered by any discovery that in their operations and embodiment they are attended by certain drawbacks. Yet these drawbacks ought to be noted and removed as far as possible. Divi- sion, so far as it lessens in anything the quantity of size, lessens that which commands respect. Other things being present, a Christian Society, comprehending all within its ample circle, would impress the imagination and ensure reverence in a degres unknown under the 156 REVERENCE. present circumstances of perplexing division. The unity of the Faith is a much grander thing than variety of opinion, how^ever the various facets of this much- lauded jewel may sparkle and glow with irridescent rays. It is, not, however, the simple facts of division which so much militate against a reverence for religion as the rivalries, jealousies, and uncharitableness which are the too common elements of sectarian life, and which prevail the more in inverse proportion to the smallness of the disjointed community. Few things make religion look more unlovely and less dignified than the squabbles of schools, the hatred between parties, and the strife of sects. The Christian clansman may respect religion in his own Church, but he despises it in another ; and thus his reverence is mixed with the base alloy of selfishness, and, in fact, ceases to be reverence, which in its very essence is the subordination of self to the object venerated. No charge is made against any one Church, or any group of Churches, in this Colony. We have used generalities in order to avoid what is not intended. The object of these remarks is to ask attention to the almost certain influence of the remarkable number of Churches in this country. There is another consideration to be advanced in con- nection with reverence for religion, which, however diffi- cult in itself, cannot well be avoided. We refer to the influence of all that can only be expressed by " Colen- soism," — not, however, to the whole influence of that fact of the day and of our place, but to a lateral influence which it is possibly calculated to exert. It is the singular lot of British South Africa to be the home of the man and the REFERENCE. 1 57 ecclesiastic who in modern times has given the most practical effect to the great Protestant principle of free private judgment in matters deemed sacred. It is no part of our duty to value the methods or the results of Bishop Colenso's labours. There is no necessity for us to call him heretic, or to call him reformer, — to condemn or to applaud. With us the task is to see virhether the fact of the celebrated critic being one of us, and doing his work here, taken together with the incidents of the ecclesiastical struggle in which he is the central figure, and by which he naturally attracts to himself some sym- pathy and much ardent partizanship, is not likely to have an effect not wholly favourable on the popular regard for religion. The question is not whether the studies, investigations, and conclusions of the Bishop are likely to make him irreverent. In all probability they do not. We should regret to think they did. In an essay personal experience is admissible, and the writer in this case would be sorry to erase the impressions of his youth and the knowledge of after years concerning this great man — great, at any rate. Following him at a public school, we found the name of " John William Colenso" printed in gilded letters on a tablet which included the names of all the scholars who had won honours and were worthy of emulation. Since then we have heard him teach in his Cathedral with lips breathing loving kind- ness to man and devotion to God, and have seen the modest palace 'midst the tumbled hills eastward from Maritzburg, where, with an untiring and unambitious zeal, he spent so much of his life in the humble but arduous work of a mere missionary. And we find 158 REVERENCE. it difficult to suppose otherwise than that, whatever his work, his motives are honest and unselfish, and his spirit towards religion devout, devoted, and full of worship. We are insinuating nothing against the author, nor against his books. Neither are we attempting to consider whether the tendency of his writings is to foster irrever- ence among those who are themselves able to judge them by the test of accumulated learning and sound, manly reason, and who may accept them as contributions to human discovery in the Divine and, therefore, mysterious Word, It is possible to believe that such disciples may preserve their respect for the faith, whose depository their master has taught them to handle without what to them appears to be a superstitious dread. The case we are to consider is this : A Bishop startles the world with books which contain strange investigations and bold conclusions on a subject hitherto held to be sacred, at least to Bishops. By an accident, this Prelate rules a South African See. He is a colonist — a South African colonist. This launches his books upon the colonies, gets them a local cir- culation amongst persons and classes of persons with v/hom, had there been no relationship of place, such literature would have found no acceptance. The books, it may be, are but little read, less studied, still less understood ; but through allusions in the newspaper press and by the mouth of rumour and shallow, sounding talk, the bare and bald, but bold, conclusions of an elaborate process of criticism get a lodgment in the common mind ; and knowing how scant is the learning of the Colony in the depart- ments of biblical, philological, historical, or other criticism, as well as how little accustomed are the majority to really REVERENCE. 1 59 exercise their own judgment ; — knowing also how great a proneness there is in these days to loose thinking on questions of religion, and how welcome to the flippant would be the seeming authority of a great Church dignitary; — is there not reason for supposing that all this would be pretty sure to encourage an irreverent temper towards religion ? Anon the Bishop is declared to be a heretic, the effect of which, in some quarters, is to make heresy respectable, especially so as everywhere in South Africa this heretical Bishop is renowned for his zeal and respected for his learning. At the next stage he is excommunicated, and his bishopric is given to another. This makes him a martyr, and fires the sympathies of many, who, in embracing the cause of the man and the officer, become attached to his views, which, however, they are more likely to misunderstand than to comprehend, and which, when received without intelligence, cannot, it is to be feared, but conduce to irreverence. If it be the case that the painful labours of his later years should, however indirectly, contribute to bring religion into disrespect among the colonists of South Africa, we believe no one would deplore so evil a result more than the Bishop himself. We have now reviewed some of the causes which may possibly favour, perhaps, the most serious form of irrever- ence in the South African Colonies; and with this closes an essay which may itself be charged with the fault it has endeavoured to exhibit. It is possible to exaggerate evils and to distort facts and national characteristics by insisting upon looking at them through the medium of a foregone theory. Much that has been said may seem to be the l6o REVERENCE. result of a want of respect for South Africa. As yet, as we have already said, there is not much fervour of nationality or true patriotism amongst any of us. But this much may be ventured, that national character in most new countries early takes the form of vain-glory. The best corrective of this is the discipline of criticism, which, however, should not be ill-natured ; and we hope in this case it is, at least, free from that fault. THE VISIOjN* The night had wasted in the hope of rest Which came not, for a weary grief had pressed Upon my frame, refusing hope's control, Or slumber's ease ; then fell upon my soul The shadow of the future, not all dark. Nor bright, but like the solitary spark Of a lone beacon on the midnight sea, Streaming afar ; so in my memory The brightness of that vision holds its sway. The darkness marks the doubt of life's uncertain way. In gloom I seemed to sit ; a dread obscure Spread o'er me and around me, rayless, pure. Appalling — darkness like eternity. Where nearness, distance, shape, or boundary There was not ; and the widening, far-strained eye Was conscious of its place and power alone, Lightless and visionless ; nor thrill, nor tone Came there upon the ear ; the weight of gloom Was then the mind's sole sense ; as if the tomb Had sealed upon the heart its last and awful doom. As on the void I gazed, its bosom seemed To pour a faint ray from its depths, which gleamed ♦ The reality of what is here described consisted in a dream experienced by a brother clergyman in this country, very soon after the death of his wife ; and while tidings of the death of his sister-in-law were on their way from Scotland, but had not reached him, he thought he saw their spirits entering heaven, and while pressing after them, heard from the sister-in-law the words above given. All else in hhese lines is ideal. — James AdamsqN'. M 162 THE VISION. Like a dimmed star in winter's vapoury sky, Or the dawn struggling to reality. For lo ! the darkness glimmers into light, And form, and beauty, to the earnest sight, Wavering, and shadowy, and soft, and weak, As the cloud-wreath around the distant peak Beneath the calm ray of the southern moon. Still, still it grew and widened, until soon It shaped the outlines of two radiant forms, With mingling trace ; as drifting Alpine storms Mantle with fleecy snow, soft, steep, and high. Stainless of earth, twin sister crests, that lie In the rich azure's deep immensity. Still, as the radiance freshened, to the view In sister grace and dignity they grew. Alike, yet not the same, and memory. Startled, recalled that, 'mid the things that die, Such had been seen,— while statue-like they stand Silently still, my stretched but doubting hand. With baffled movement^ sought to reach the flow Of snowy light, which, like a silver veil, Drooped low from off the bowed and humble brow Of her that nearer seemed ; while dim and pale The other distant paused — whereat, with slow And stately motion, they passed shrouded by. Then did I know them of the things that die No more ; but hesitating fancy told Their forms and gesture had been known of old. So moved they on a space ; till each waved back Her veil, and stood, star crowned, against the black 7HE VISION. 165. And steadfast darkness, like a funeral pall Of midnight gloom encircling, shrouding all. There, hand in hand, they bent, and with a tone Clear, calm, and still, as that the prophet lone Heard in the wilderness, their voices spoke, And my heart thrilled, for memory awoke To tones familiar long, as at their home The music of their voices sang " We come;" And a clear welcome answered, calm and still, " Ye blessed come! it is your Father's will." Then at the word, a spell in strength awoke, The veil of darkness waved, and rent, and broke, Burst through by spreading light, and back there rolled What seemed the opening gates of pearl and gold Of Zion's City in the Apocalypse. As from the sun fresh blazing, when the eclipse Is past, the eye shrank down ; while they two stood And with immortal vision drank the flood Of holy light. On the raised brow, the crown Blazed with new splendour, as, far wide and down. From that high portal, like an ocean, came The shadowless day of Heaven ; as lightning's fiame It sped throughout the darkness. When once more The still voice sounded — " Ye have gained the shore. The flood is passed, enter ye chosen in !" Then my heart bounded, and, forgetting sin, Nature, and time, and death, and mortal birth, The stains and weakness of our shroud of earth, I rose with plaintive prayer, — " Here, Lord, I come !-^ Me, too, receive to an eternal home," M 2 164 THE VISION. And would have headlong rushed, with covering hands Shading my downcast eyes, amid the bands Whose music murmured in my distant ear. As round the source of living light, and near The Holiest, they sang ; where clay-built frame Would die, and the soul sicken in the shame Of sin-stained nature; but then, soft and calm, A voice fell on my weary heart, like balm To its sore wounds ; while in the glowing light The nearer spirit turned, to bless my sight With features loved in a far distant land ; And her lips' tone, which came clear, still, and bland. Spoke soft — " Forbear ! await your time — it comes." Then gently turned she to the heavenly homes Where grief is not. Meanwhile the distant one Nor turned, nor showed a look, nor uttered tone, But entered last. Yet in her lingering pace Perhaps fond fancy might have caught a trace Oi earth's affections, scarcely yet suppressed. As coveting some partner to her rest In the bright mansions of Eternity. So passed they in, in silence — Who were they ? Let time unlock its sacred mystery. The portal closed, the darkness fell, the clouds Together rolled ; again the deep gloom shrouds All form and sense j until returning day Awoke the pilgrim on life's weary way. To think in dread, or hope, upon the end. To which time, life, and strength, and weakness tend. jfAMES ADAMSON. THE jNJTU^RJL history OF A MOSS. What is in a Moss ? Not much that most people care for. It cannot be turned into money ; that is condemnation sufficient. Yet it can a tale unfold, which lacks not interest ; and, indeed, man may not be required even in a utilitarian age to stand up solely for Utilitarianism. How would Science, Literature, and Art have fared had this spirit been the mainspring of human action ^. Is it not enough that we should be compelled to consider the utilitarian to the extent of filling our mouths I Those who persist in recognizing it as man's chief end to follow Mammon must not think of natural history. In truth, they would be sorry students of it. Nature can only give the reward of a kindliness of disposition akin to herself — and that is better than gold, — and a nobility of spirit in the love of all truth, which is above any possession the world has to bestow. Science must be followed for her own sake, and her motto is, " Whatever God has taken the trouble to create cannot be unworthy of man's study." There are somewhere about eight thousand mosses described from different parts of the world. How lavish Nature is of her power in such an obscure section ! Some species are large, and all their prominent characters 1 66 rUE NArURAL HISTORY OF A MOSS. can be easily made out by the eye or a common lens : others, again, are almost microscopic in their minuteness. They grow on all possible and impossible places. At the greatest elevations they are found on the hard, glis- tening surface of granite. They abound in the colder regions of the earth, and especially favour moist places. They love bogs. One genus, indeed, the Sphagnum^ often stretches, in such countries as Scotland, for miles in patches, densely matted , and, covering the miry sloughs, allures the unwary into muddy depths. Peat is mainly the accumulation of ages of this Bog Moss. On high- land hill-sides some most beautiful species grow on the excrements of deer and sheep. By streams, in streams, in shade, in sunshine, on rich loam, on barren sand, they are found accommodating themselves to their varying circum- stances. Where all other vegetation ceases, lichens and mosses cherish the barren soil, as if to hide the hideous nakedness of the waste, and prepare a loam for higher forms. Perhaps one of the most interesting and enigmatical studies in natural history is the relation of species to their habitats. How, in all the range of rational and possible theories, has the minute fungus, Myxotrichum Treverani^^ come to associate itself with the corks of champagne bottles, and to grow solely on them. Mosses in this respect are most remarkable, for we find in the majority a most exclusive dependence upon special soils, rocks, &c. Some species are only to be found on basalt, others. » Dr. Schimper, the great Cryptogamic Botanist, Prof. Trever, and others were dining after a botanical tour in Switzerland at Geneva, and Trever observing a fungus on the cork of a champagne bottle, handed it to Schimper, who detected it at once as new to science, and named it on the spot in his honour, notwithstanding the protestations of the discovere'' .igainst being associated to all time with champagne ! -THE NAIURAL HISTORT OF A MOSS. l6j again, choose limestone, others schistose roclcs, while some restrict themselves to sandstone. Certain species are even delicately particular in their choice of habitat. The Bristle Mosses [Orthotricha) may be instanced as afford- ing a marvellous illustration of this. The genus consists of upv/ards of thirty European species, w^hich grow nearly all on trees. One species favours trembling pop- lars, another the Canadian poplars. Several, again, are confined to ash-trees, one to willows, another to beeches, and so on in other remaining members of the genus. Some further species favour isolated trees, while others choose, rather, trees in woods. Three or four others, still, are usually found growing intermixed on the same tree. One of the genus frequents rocks occasionally inundated in rivulets ; another is found on the same habitats in river courses. The latter also grows on the trunks of inundated trees, while the nearest allied form selects young willows and the new bark, which fills the cracks and abrasions of old bark on full-grown trees in similar situations. What means this subservience of life forms to particu- lar conditions of soil and climate ? Seeds are blown by the wind far and wide on other habitats than their own special ones, but there they come to naught. What an amazing waste of life germs there must be in connection with this class of facts ! Is not one tempted to imagine, with the author of the " Vestiges of Creation," that they are the offspring of the conditions in which they are found ? But then how account for the fact of exceptional species abounding intermixed on the same tree ! Mosses belong to the Cryptogamic section of plants, or 1 68 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF A MOSS. that section which have hidden organs of reproduction. They are immediately under the ferns and above the liverv^^orts. They have distinct leaves, branches, and stems. I shall have occasion to argue that they have a legitimate inflorescence analogous to the stamens and pistils of flowering plants. Their structure is generally cellular ; one genus, the Bog Mosses, are vascular plants. It is on this account that, although dried up and parched, they immediately revive when moistened, — a fact of con- siderable importance to the student, who can thus at pleasure get the actual appearance of any moss, which has been sent him by a correspondent. Here is this slender, pellucid, shining fabric of a moss ; let us examine its strange life, its marvellous adaptations to the vicissitudes of this present evil world ; and let us imderstand what its special worth is in the polity of Nature. We shall find much that is, if I mistake not, very wonderful, and worth all the time and attention I shall have occasion to bestow on it. It is the crisped Neckera (Neckera crispa)^ so called from the beautiful crisping or rippling of the leaf, which I happen to have in my hands. Holding it before the light I find it beautifully translucent, but in a number of places at the roots of the leaves, if you look closely enough, you will detect small opaque dots, or rather points. These are tYiQ Jiowers of the moss, and on putting them under the microscope you will find them like beautiful minute buds or mosses in miniature. I can see from the rounded appearance of the buds that they are male flowers. On searching through my collec- tion of the species, I came at last on one with longish' slender buds, — the female flowers. Let us examine them THE NAIURAL HISTORY OF A MOSS. 169 together under a pretty fair power. I take the outer minute leaves from them, and in the interior find the male flower contains bladder-like bodies and slender-jointed processes ; in the female flower we find also these slender processes and bodies like Florence flasks in shape. The bladder- like bodies are called antheridia ; and the Florence-flask- shaped ones are, for similar reasons, named pistillidia. Most flowers proper are hermaphrodite, having stamens and pistils in the same receptacle. A goodly number, however, have stamens only or pistils only in the one flower; while some plants are found with both kinds of flowers on the same tree ; others, again, have the different kinds on separate trees. In the two last classes the aid of insects is required to bring the .pollen dust from the anthers to the pistils. Otherwise they would be perpe- tually barren. Contiguity and winds may also fertilize them. Now mosses, for the greater part, belong to the class which have, like the example I have quoted, — the crisped Neckera — the antheridia and pistillidia on separate plants. Few are hermaphrodite. The remaining class is more common. Many interesting and peculiar details of moss life depend upon this sexual classification. A bryologist often comes to a moss and finds it without fruit. On examination he will probably discover that the specimens are either male or female. Some mosses are rarely in fruit, as the two forms are seldom found together. Some species, indeed, are always barren in particular provinces. The gigantic Feather Moss existed in Europe till late years as a female plant. The celebrated Klingraff had an American correspondent who found the moss in that 17° THE NAIURAL HISTORY OF. A MOSS continent in fruit. Male plants were sent over and planted beside the females, and the first capsules grown in Europe were gathered in the following season. Morium stellare (the stellated drooping Moss) is always barren in Britain. Yet the two kinds of flowers occur in different parts of that island ; but they have never been seen growing together. One genus of mosses, the Campylopi^ are nearly all stubbornly barren from similar causes. Now I can fancy some sharp-minded critic is by this time wrought up into a marvellous state of unbelief in what I have thus advanced. How, he demands, are mosses propagated, when they do not seed ? How do they not ultimately perish ? Here the two flowers live in single blessedness — seas roll between them, or mountains stand up a wall of separation. How is it that generation after generation finds them fresh and green ? Unfortunately for the importunity of our reader, we have something more marvellous still to state to him, before we can answer his question. There is one moss, Orthotrichum phyllanthutn (the frizzled Bristle Moss), which has never been seen even in flower. It grows all over the world, on rocks and on trees, not only barren, but flowerless ! There are, indeed, several other mosses in the same ano- malous position. One of these species, the papillose Screw Moss, has turned up lately, in Australia, in legitimate fruit ; and it may be some future bryologist will find the other anomalies in inflorescence and fructification in some now unexplored regions. Yet, meanwhile, how do they main- tain their hold ? Every one knows the process by which the apple and other cultivated trees are propagated. They are not raised THE NA)IURAL HISTORY OF A MOSS. IJl from seed, but from slits or grafts, or buds even. Mosses, like all plants, may be generated by this mode. Indeed, some of them voluntarily shed their leaves for this purpose. A clump of Campykpi is generally covered with myriads of loose leaves, w^hich are carried about by the w^inds and deposited where they may germinate. The process of shedding is interesting. Young shoots or buds appear, especially after rain, on the stem where the leaves are fixed ; and as new teeth in children push away the old ones, these buds strike off the foliage, which yields the only reproductive germs some species possess. Not merely in this way are barren mosses perpetuated. There is a more wonderful mode still. Look closely with the microscope on the leaf of some moss, and you will perceive some warty processes or tubercles. These drop off and germinate into mosses. They are called gemma?, and while most mosses have them sparsely, some barren species are covered with them. Mosses in the three modes of reproduction are strikingly analogous to the lower forms of animal life. Several zoophytes, as sponges, have normal young gemmae, and they may be propagated by fissure. The lower forms of both kingdoms have, indeed, marvellous resemblances. There is a great difference between a lion and an oak- tree, but one is at a loss to describe in so many words how a moss differs from a zoophyte. A particular example will do more to exhibit the analogy between them. The zoophyte Eudendrium ramosum^ as its name implies, much resembles a plant in appearance. It has a main stem, branchlets, and twigs ; and, moreover, the hydra heads at the ends of these processes may be likened to the 172 rUE NATURAL HISTORY OF A MOSS. inflorescence of plants. The hydras drop off like so many mature flowers, and their places are taken by rounded ova, which are ultimately liberated, and become, after metamorphosis, Ei'dendria. If a close watch is kept on all parts of the parent zoophyte, very small pear-shaped vesicles (called by Rhymer Jones, Pyrula) will be detected nearly on every part clinging by delicate pedicles ; and these, like the gemmae of mosses, are in due time set free, to pass through various changes into Eudendr'ia. Further, consider the fact that, by lopping off any branch or twig, you have another mode of multiplying the species, and there now will most distinctly appear to be three distinct forms of reproduction in the zoophyte's history, analogous to the three in mosses. In what consists the bond of union between these three modes of reproduction — gamiparous, fissiparous, and gemmiparous? Or is there no connection whatever? Do they spring from one primordial function ? In the simplest forms of life there is no differentiation, for reproduction and nutrition are performed in the same cell. Fissiparous and gemmiparous reproduction are undoubtedly connected ; it may be, indeed, that they are merely forms of ordinary cell development. What shall be said, however, of normal or gamiparous reproduction to indicate any connection with those others? I have read with great care the last work of the celebrated Darwin, and particularly that part on his hypothesis of Pangenesis. But I cannot say that he makes a clear case to my humble comprehension. Undoubtedly, many facts point out mutual relations and analogies in the two THE NATURAL HISTORY OF A MOSS. 173 sexes. In the instances of internal gemmation in Par- thenogenesis, as in the young of wood-Hce (aphides) ; in the phenomenon of alternate generation ; and conspicu- ously in the fact of the simplest forms of life consisting of a homogeneous mass only requiring a cell or gemma to reproduce them, while more complex bodies, as plants, need branches, or gemmae and legitimate seed (which must, however, pass through various retrogressive changes before they arrive at the branch stage) to reproduce the plant, — we may observe in all these indications a pro- gression of modes of reproduction. In the higher animals with differentiated parts neither division nor gemmation can obviously suffice, and Nature must depend there solely on normal reproduction by sexes. Throughout the whole animal and vegetable kingdom, indeed, we have, in the different modes for perpetuating organisms, progression and analogy ; but progression and analogy can never mean of themselves development and identity. The whole matter is too hypothetical for publication and defi- nite enunciation by so illustrious and careful a naturalist. But the facts, in the form in which he has advanced them, cannot but throw light on the mystery of life, which is at its threshold a mystery of mysteries. This digression has led us away from some details of the fructifying process in mosses. It is very generally known how the process of fertilizing the ovule in flower- ing plants is consummated. The pollen containing the spermatozoids is brought into contact with the pistils by different agencies — such as winds, rain, and insects. In moss-flowers on the antheridia there is no analogue to pollen dust, but in their sack-like bodies there are 174 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF A MOSS. legitimate spermatozoids, which escape when these burst. Wind, rain, the numerous small snails and insects which den in the moss, probably carry them to the pistillidium in species which have the two organs on separate recep- tacles. By-and-by a small, delicate, thread-like process makes its appearance, which in course of time becomes a capsule, containing myriads of spores or seeds. A beautifully adapted agent for scattering spores and emptying itself is this capsule, with its elastic sides, which shrink, when mature, to let free the lid. It is generally ribbed by four, eight, sixteen, or thirty-two striae. The mouth is adorned with a fringe-work of little teeth, which are either eight, sixteen, thirty-two, or even sixty-four in number. Some mosses have capsules with a double fringe. Every one of these teeth is a study in exact chiselling and marvellous symmetry. The spores themselves, like dust of the finest quality, when put under the microscope are found to be two and four-chambered cases, each having a germ. But something must be said of this law of division into four and multiples of four. The cellular growth of a moss is by division : a cell divides into two, each of these again into tw^o, and so on. The cross section of a young stem has generally eight cells. Leaves necessarily dis- turb this law ; but as a rule the cells round the periphery of any moss-stem are eight or some multiple of eight. The divisional growth, therefore, going through the plant tends ever to produce numbers which are some power of two. Much might still be said on the natural history of a moss ; but as the purpose of this paper is rather to give a chapter in natural science, with a moss as my text, I must draw to a close. As a class of plants, thev are singularly THE NATURAL HISTORY OF A MOSS. 1 75 well adapted to face, amid all changes and hardships, the great law of the struggle for existence which they in common with all organisms must undergo. Frail, tmy, perishable they are ; but how beautifully and bountifully provided with vitalizing and reproductive energy ! You may crush their slender structure with your finger, yet they eat into and crumble the hardest rocks. A summer's sun shrivels them into an apparently dead mass ; but with extraordinary power they take in the moisture of a summer's shower, and load themselves with it like a sponge. Frost and cold come to some of them as their proper season, for many species reach maturity in winter ; indeed, some of the finest never can know change of season, for they flourish luxuriantly in the regions of eternal snow. Who would not love their submissive, clinging, struggling ways ? For my own part, I can never rid my mind of the fancy that they are living, sentient beings. They have been my companions in many a lonely time ; and as I look out on a dry upland, mossless South African landscape, the picture of a " far other " rises before me. It is such a valley as the poet has de- scribed, "with its own blue sky." Flanked by high verdant wooded hills, it runs to the south-west, rising gradually upwards through a long vista of dim woods to the everlasting mountains in the distance. A stealthy, winding stream runs through the mingled shade and sun- shine of trees. As the eye glances along, it catches the gleam here and there of " some proud ancestral home." In such a valley, densely wooded, the mild south-western winds of the Atlantic bring on their wings rain to the lap of nature, steep everything in soothing moisture. The 176 THE N.4TURAL HISTORY OF A MOSS. gloaming brings ghostly vapours, which drench the valley as vs^ith dew. In a region like this mosses luxuriate. They grow everywhere, on trees, rocks, and the ground. There is not a blank spot, for every such is covered by a moss. Somehow, too, you look round and feel that you are in old mother Earth. The fresh green face of the mossy covering turns to a hoary aspect, which remains as its permanent complexion. And do we not associate mossy growth with age and decay ? They, more than aught else, give objects the look (in the conceit of the poet) " familiar with forgotten years." Who has not wished to quote a piece of poetry at the end of a popular paper ? I confess that I have had to hunt for one for my poor subject. Shakspere has some references to a mossy bank-, but his high-souled, myriad-sided genius could be hardly thought to stoop to such lowly objects. Nor the heavenly muse of Milton ! I waded through all our great poets in vain. My hopes certainly did rise when I came to Wordsworth, whose pre-Raphaelitism could see poetry concealed in the most humble and trite subjects. But no ! Accident at length put me in the way of a poem on a moss — a poem as unpretending as its subject : THE POET AND THE MOSS. For 1 was kind to old Decay, And wrapped it softly round in green. On naked root and trunk of grey Spread out a garniture and screen. He praised my varied hues — the green. The silver hoar, the golden, brown ; Said lovelier hues were never seen ; Then gently pressed my tender down. — Dana. MO(hE(kJ^ Q he carried along also. Nor must we forget his egg- making machines, called cocks and hens, which, if the supposition of some eminent naturalists concerning their descent from the jungle fowl prove to be correct, he 224 ACCLIMATIZAriON. must have captured in the forests of India. However, the origin and spread of most of these domestic animals is shrouded in mystery ; but of some we do know a Uttle. Sir Walter Raleigh brought the potato and tobacco from the then New World. Where will you go now and not find them ? Turkeys came from the same place — Virgi- nia probably. Captain Cook took the first, with many other good gifts, to New Zealand, and they have flourished abundantly, and saved thousands of lives. How tobacco has spread eastward, and become a necessary of life. to thousands, we need hardly point out. The ladies should side with the acclimatizers for the sake of the silk-worms' eggs, brought by the Jesuit Fathers from China, at the risk of their lives ; and surely the hundreds of beautiful flowers which deck their gar- dens, brought from every clime, claim their gratitude. We remember a remark made several years ago by a philosophical naturalist friend, that no new animals (taken in a wide sense) had been domesticated or naturalized (the word acclimatixed was not then invented) for many past years, but that the time would come when men would be so tired of beef and mutton that they would ransack the earth to find fresh edibles, and important zoological changes would be the result. Our friend has not lived to see the changes he foretold ; but had he done so, he would have rejoiced at the gigantic efforts now being made to exchange the live products of one country for those of another, or, in other words, to acclimatize foreign creatures. We rather object to that word " acclimatize." Climate has, in our opinion, not so very much to do with the ./ACCLIMATIZATION. 2 2 5 success of experiments in this line. Doubtless, it has a considerable influence ; but food has more. We do not suppose that a Polar bear would feel specially comfortable, or be without a liver complaint, in the Torrid Zone ; nor would an orang or chimpanzee resist the cold of the Arctic Circle ; but we think each would die of hunger before he died of climate. Some animals bear transport to any clime, — more or less successfully, it is true ; but they bear it. Why ? Because their food is either so varied that they can always get something to eat, or so generally distributed that they always find the article they require. The first question, then, in introducing foreign animals — we use this term generally to denote beasts, birds, fishes, insects — is not, will the climate suit them ? but will they find in their new home the food to which they have been accustomed, or one which so closely resembles it as to be a good substitute ? Secondly, will the climate suit them, and not interfere with their powers of propagation ? This has forced itself on our attention more than once, and especially lately ; as we know that our energetic Attorney-General and several other o;entlemen have revived the idea of introducing salmon, trout, and other European fish into our waters. Encour- aged by the success of Australia in the introduction of salmon, they fondly hope that before long that lordly fish will swim in our South African rivers. We confess we are not so sanguine. We have not the least doubt that the ova could be brought here and hatched out ; but then comes the question, what are the young fish to live on when they descend into the waters of the Breede, or the 226 ACCLIMATIZATION. Berg, or Orange River ? We have looked in vain for the caddis-worm, the earth-w^orm, the minnow and fresh-water shells, the small fry and insect tenants of an English stream. They may fight a good fight, and survive the attacks of native carp, river turtles, otters, swart-muishonds, herons, hammerkops, and kingfishers, but will they make head against a scanty larder ? That some species will thrive here has been demonstrated by the exertions of Mr. Charles A. Fairbridge, who has introduced carp and dace ; the former are gradually spreading, the latter are still confined to that gentleman's pond at Green Point. We believe carp, perch, and pike would flourish in the long, deep zeekoe-gats of many of our small rivers. Of trout we have some hopes ; but we despair of the best of all — the salmon. While on this subject, we cannot forbear to notice a recent shipment of one hundred and ten thousand salmon ova and five thousand sea trout ova to New Zealand — a previous shipment of three hundred thousand ova last year having failed from remediable causes. They were dispatched on the 2ist of December last in a vessel called the Mindora^ laid on tiers of moss in tin boxes, and packed in thirty or forty tons of ice in a space specially prepared for them in the hold of the ship. (See " Land and Water," January 2, 1869, p. II.) The editor says: — "A creature which, in itself, is more valuable than the sheep, inasmuch as it requires no feeding from the hands of man, but simply his pro- tective aid, is now being sent across the wide seas, with a hope that it may accommodate itself to the circumstances and conditions it finds at the other side of the world." ACCLIMATIZATION. 227 It has already shown that, from its enormous fecundity as a producing animal, its value to man is incalculable. "The main purposes of acclimatization are," to quote the words of a circular issued some time ago, "to introduce, acclimatize, and propagate .... such animals, birds, fishes, insects, and vegetables as are lilcelv to be of use or ornament, whether for domestication or for varying the common food of the people, or for manufacturing, or for any other useful purpose, and whose constitution and habits offer a reasonable prospect of successful cultivation." Our Australian colonies stand foremost in their endeavours to carry out these great principles, and have pushed their experiments on a large scale. We regret to learn that in one (Victoria) the annual grant has been withdrawn by the Legislature, and that the efforts of the Acclimatization Society are propor- tionably crippled. But the good has been done, and numbers of different animals, birds, fishes, insects, and vegetables have been introduced, and now only require a fostering care, and wise parliamentary enactments against their wilful and indiscriminate destruction. Then they will increase and multiply and replenish the land ; they will prove blessings to generations yet unborn ; thev will provide food for countless thousands. The waters of the rivers will teem with the lordly salmon and the lively speckled trout j the now silent forest will ring with the crow of the pheasant or the shrill call of the peacock ; the whir-r-r of the startled partridge will scare the traveller on the grassy plain ; the noble elk of India, the spotted Axis of Ceylon, the dappled fallow deer of Europe will roam through the forest glade. These will give food to 0^2 228 ACCLIMAIIZAIION numberless mouths, while busy fingers will weave the silk spun by strangers of the insect world, or cotton introduced from the Isles of the Sea. The laggard in the race is South Africa ! With millions of acres of wild uncultivated land, what has she done to people them with denizens of other lands ? Nothing ! We know we shall be told that a deficient exchequer forbids the attempt. Terms accepted and agreed to. But what has she done to protect what she has already ? Nothing ! and worse than nothing ! ! Her Legislature for two sessions has refused to sanction a Bill to preserve her valuable wild animals and birds from utter annihilation. In vain comes the voice of warning from every district in the Colony. The ostrich, with its valuable feathers, which used to be plentiful in this district a few years sincCj has been quite destroyed. The hartebeest, with its many pounds of solid flesh, has disappeared from that district. Bucks here, birds there, all gone ! What would be the good of turning out salmon or trout, or carp or dace, in the rivers of our land if the Legislature persists in refusing that protection which every other civilized country affords ? A single sweep of a net would in a few moments destroy the labour and care of years, and the expenditure of hundreds of pounds. It will be an interesting study to watch the effect of successful acclimatization on the balance of power in the great struggle for existence. Already, in some places, the introduced strangers have entirely destroyed the aboriginal inhabitants, whether human or of the lower grade of animal or vegetable. In Tasmania the native race has entirely disappeared before the white man, the very last ACCLIMATIZATION. 229 specimen having died this year ; in Madeira (and also in St. Helena, we believe), the old Flora has almost faded out, to be replaced mixed by a selection from various countries. In Australia the introduction of European grasses seems to carry certain death to the native timber. This was pointed out to us in the plainest manner in the neigh- bourhood of Adelaide, where, in spite of every precaution to preserve some of the noble, gigantic gum-trees as ornamental timber, as soon as the grass sprung up they all perished. The introduction of grasses into New Zealand seems also to have brought a pest which was quite unforeseen, and which will certainly not be got rid of again. Together with the grass-seed probably came the eggs of a grass-feeding moth (Jgrotis segetum)^ which has increased to such an extent that in the season when the caterpillar is about, the land behind the advancing army is a barren desert. The link in the chain of life is here wanting. Some parasitic fly, or insectivorous bird or beast, whose peculiar province it is to feed on and keep this moth in check, has not been introduced. Rabbits have been acclimatized in Australia, and have succeeded so well that their skins, we are told, are now an article of export ; but they have increased so fast that the farmers begin to fear the total destruction of their crops ! The polecat, weasel, and stoat are wanting to keep down what Malthus would term " the too dense population." But the worst of all the attempts at accli- matization, which has unfortunately succeeded, has been the act of a demented Scotchman, who was so enamoured of his country and productions that (although he in the usual manner left it) he took with him a parcel of seeds 230 ACCLIMATIZATION. of his native thistle, which, on landing at the Antipodes, he cast forth with a liberal hand. The result may be imagined. " 111 weeds grow apace," and the memory of the acclimatizer is anathematized. In this country we have a somewhat similar instance. Mr. D., a French gentleman, had presented to him as a hon bouche^ by the captain of one of his national vessels, a barrel of snails ! Mr. D., with an eye to the future, ate only a portion of his barrel, and sowed the remainder in the gardens of his friends and neighbours, where, as we have no winter, the brutes have increased at a double ratio, and inflict dreadful damage. If Mr. D. had but introduced at the same time their natural enemies, the blackbird and thrush, and the " household bird with the red stomacher," we would have forgiven him on account of their song. It seems strange, but, we fear, true, that things power- ful for evil are easier of acclimatization than those for good. Fleas, bugs, lice, mosquitoes, rats and mice, and noxious herbs follow man wherever he sets foot. We have but too much reason to know how the Xanth'ium spinosu?n came into the Cape ; and we had the " melan- choly pleasure" of seeing the first of the obnoxious weed carefully petted by a gentleman in New Zealand " as a curious new plant !" We soon enlightened him on the merits of the "illustrious stranger," who had made his appearance soon after the introduction of a prize ram and ewe from some celebrated wool farm in France. Of course a " burr" had remained concealed during the voyage in the fleece of one of them, and had dropped to the ground on arrival in New Zealand, the first plants ACCLIMATIZATION. 23I appearing in the pasture into which they had been turned on arrival. A white ant (Termes) has been introduced into St. Helena in firewood, brought in some ship from the coast, and its ravages are too well known to need further allusion. A curious instance of the want of a link in the chain causing an attempt at acclimatizing to fail may be found in New Zealand, and, we believe, Australia. Clover grows luxuriantly when sown, fresh seed being brought from Europe, but it will not seed. Those little " go- betweens of Flora," the humble-bees, are wanting ! The plant is incapable of fertilizing itself, and depends on the humble bee for that office. None are found in the *' Southern Britain," nor does any native fly appear equal to the task. We have heard that the Colonial Legislature has offered two thousand pounds as a reward for the successful introduction of the " Bumble bee." ! ! 77/ MEMOmAM E. ^. WATE(kMEYE(k. Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus Tam cari capitis ? Praecipe lugubres Cantus, Melpomene, cul liquidam pater Vocem cum cithara dedit. Ergo Q^uinctilium perpetuus sopor Urget ! cui Pudor et Justitis sorer, Incorrupta Fides, nudaque Veritas Ouando ullum inveniet parem ? Multis ille bonis flebilis occidit. * s * * Horace, Odes, I, 24, Shall shame restrain the fond regret. Or check the falling tear — The tear for him, now laid in death. Regret for him, so dear ? Prompt, tragic muse, a mournful dirge, With tuneful voice and lyre ! He sleeps the world-long sleep, life's close. The prelude to a higher. He*s gone ! and when shall Justice pure. Faith's spotless sister, show His equal ? When shall artless Truth His equal find below ? He's gone ! and many a good man's tears Fell on his early tomb : But faith and hope may dare to pierce, Beyond the cold grave's gloom. L. D. TJCBLE MOUJ^TJIjN, AN ART STUDY. Five years ago the good ship Roman^ William Strutt, com- mander, hove to some few miles beyond Robben Island, and about as many from Cape Point. She had been thirty- six days at sea, and was only waiting for better light to enter Table Bay. There was no lighthouse then on Robben Island, and as it wanted but three hours to midnight, and the atmosphere was dark and hazy, the cap- tain deemed it prudent to lay by for the night. At that hour, and from the deck of the steamer, I had my first view (if, indeed, it could be called a view) of Table Mountain. It was the first and only landmark by which we had accurate information of our bearings, as, from some peculiar condition of the atmosphere, every part of the vast continent we were nearing but this block of rock and earth was hidden from our gaze. It needed a strained attention to discover even that through the deepening gloom, and, then, what we were assured was Table Mountain looked like some huge solitary mass of rock in the wild waste of waters. The waves seemed breaking at its base and round its sides, and, by some strange process I could not understand, to fall back again in flying foam over the summit. Now that I have become familiar with the strange action of 234 TABLE MOUNTAIN. wind and vapour on the brow of the mountain, I can understand the unusual appearance which presented itself and how the waves seemed to enwrap it on every side. All night long T paced the deck, contemplating steadfastly the weird-like grandeur of the bold rock before me, the while thinking of the land that I had left, and conjuring up pictures of the country in which I had come to sojourn, with nothing but the dim outline of Table Mountain as the "fabric of the vision." The morning brought me a glimpse, as far as the exter- nal appearance was concerned, which I shall long remem- ber. We had drifted considerably to the southward, and entered the bay, as if coming from the east, skirting the bold shore of the peninsula which forms the long western arm of Table Bay. A good deal of rain had fallen in the night, and a Cape winter morning broke clear and fresh over one of the most striking landscapes I had ever witnessed. I say striking, because there was little of the tender beauty of quiet pastoral scenery with which an Englishman is familiar in his native land. A broad, calm lake of blue water lay before me, edged with a white and curving shore, and surmounted with bold, rocky mountain ranges. I have never lost, indeed scarcely changed, the impression of South African scenery received that morning. I had bid farewell to the green hills and valleys of Old England, the quiet country lanes, with the wild-briar and honey-suckle, the meadows rich in the tints of green and gold, the wandering inland rivers with the overhanging willows on the bank and the white lilies on the surface of the stream, and the leaping trout below ; and I had changed it for a country where the light was 7 ABLE MOUNTAIN. 235 rich and brilliant, the atmosphere surpassingly bright and clear, and the scenery bold, spacious, and grand. The Hottentots' Holland mountains, though evidently at a great distance, stood out with a sharply defined outline in the morning air, — the ravines, and water courses, and terraced heights appearing with almost supernatural distinctness, albeit a certain sameness in the contour of the mountain range, and, indeed, in the shaping of every object in the landscape, struck me, as it must have done everyone who makes the acquaintance of South African scenery for the first time. Turning a sharp curve of the bay we came in full view of Table Mountain. It stood before us like a great curved wall of rock, following pretty much the sweep of the shore, but flanked with bold projections, which greatly relieved the somewhat tame appearance of the central pile. On the eastern extremity of the curve, was the Devil's Peak, a little lower than the mountain, and separated from it by a long irregular neck of sandstone. On the western side, and joined by a broad open kloof, was instantly recognized the couchant Lion of geogra- phical celebrity with his rocky head, long smooth back, and well-rounded rump. Cape Town looked secure and picturesque enough, guarded in the rear by Table Moun- tain, and on either flank by the Devil's Rock and the Lion's Hill. The whole mountain pile, which encircles the town, seemed to cover a space some four miles in length. But it must not be supposed that it stands alone. It was easy to see as we steamed into the bay that Table Mountain and the adjoining elevations form one extremity of a chain of mountains some twenty miles 23^ T^BLE MOUNTAIN. in length, stretching along the whole length of the penin- sula, and terminating in a bold headland at Cape Point* A stranger at first sight makes a pretty good guess at the shape of the mountain and of the whole range of which it forms a part. It may almost be said that "the length and the breadth and the height of it are equal." It indeed pre- sents an almost similar form to three points of the compass, breaking away at the fourth in irregular undulations as it joins the mountain chain to which I have referred. Though the aspect of the mountain is undoubtedly impressive on entering the bay, the traveller familiar with European scenery misses those aiguille peaks which are the glory of the Alpine ranges. It is satisfactory, however, to know that Table Mountain is constructed, after the true moun- tain pattern. It is after a true model as far as it goes, though lacking some few features which give artistic finish to more renowned elevations. Mr. Ruskin tells us that the longer he stayed among the Alps, and the more closely he examined them, the more he was struck with the broad fact of there being a vast Alpine plateau or elevated land upon which nearly all the highest peaks stood like children set upon a table, removed, in most cases, far back from the edge, as if for fear of their falling. The most majestic scenes in the Alps are produced, not so much by any violation of this law as by one of the great peaks having apparently v/alked to the edge of the table to look over, and thus showing itself suddenly above the valley in its full height. We in South Africa have the broad table- land, crowned, for the most part, with stunted peaks and domes. We have the high mountain fields without the spires of snow or the lapping sheets of glacier. We may TABLE MOUNTAIN. 237 be able to notice points in our scenery which are some compensation for the absence of these grander features of mountain landscape. At certain hours of the day, the side of Table Moun- tain facing the bay has a somewhat commonplace appearance. In the full glare of a noon-day sun, the whole surface is flattened by the too brilliant atmos- phere, and presents the appearance of a huge curved wall of rough stone. The light is too glaring for true atmospheric perspective, and the real shaping and contour of the mountain are lost in its excess. Even the abundant foliage of the Platteklip ravine, and on the broad slope rising from the valley, looks hot and dusty, and shares for the time the dull grey colouring of the mountain. But towards evening, when the sun is nearing the horizon, the whole scene is changed. Broad bosses of hard sandstone, bold rocky escarpments, deep and nearly perpendicular ravines, appear as if by magic. In no landscape that we call to mind is the work of the shadow more strikingly illustrated. Look closely at the mountain and you will see that the projecting crags over the whole face are made prominent by thousands of shadows, which not only show up the forms which they repeat in dark and ghostly outlines, but the uneven surfaces on which they fall. So that, instead of a mass of rock flattened by excess of light, we have a mountain pile, broken with kloofs and filled with cavernous recesses. No one after studying the face of Table Mountain will wonder that artists, for the most part, choose to paint a landscape when the sun is low. On the eastern side the difference of light js not so much observed, and the general appearance is 238 lABLE MOUNTAIN. always picturesque and striking. The ravines are cut deeper into the rock, and, after a northerly course through the slopes, rise perpendicularly to the very summit, breaking the "sky line" into zigzag undulations. From the Devil's Peak to the Hout's Bay Pass there are from, twenty to thirty of these kloofs, piercing the mountain more or less deeply, and richly clothed with bushes and trees. From many points the appearance of this side of the mountain is singularly beautiful. Perhaps, for a near view, that from the little spinet behind the Rondebosch station is as good as any. It is far enough to catch the general effect, and near enough for the detail. Immediately in front is the valley of the Liesbeek, thickly planted with pine, oak, and poplar, and dotted with handsome, comfortable-looking dwellings. On the other side of the main road, the land commences a gradual and upward slope, which in the neighbourhood of the Block-house is comparatively open and unsheltered, broad paths, not unpleasantly suggestive of the traveller's toil, winding away through the brushwood. Between Mowbray and Rondebosch the vegetation becomes denser ; and from Eksteen's Vineyard to Constantia, thick, broad belts and clusters of pine, brushwood, and oak, relieved by patches of white-headed silver-trees, cover the ascent from the road to the sandstone rock, from which point the mountain rises sheer for probably two thousand feet to the summit. Terraces of sandstone rock mount in regular succession, now hollowed into caverns and ravines, now projecting in bold escarpments, until they terminate in a long, ragged sky-line, about which the winds moan, and the clouds gather in mysterious groupings ! TABLE MOUNTAIN. 239 The foliage, it must be confessed, is somewhat stunted and dull of colour, as compared with the luxuriant and richly-coloured vegetation which covers the slopes of Mangerton and Turk mountains down to the very edge of Killarney Lakes. There the arbutus literally riots in wild and luxuriant festoons, creeping along the edge of the lake, and casting the bright reflection of its green boughs in the water. The pines of Table Mountain, though not of the most picturesque form, when looked at from a distance in clusters, are soft and rich. Mr. Ruskin has pointed out the singular circumstance that the one tree whose true home is the mountain is stiff and straight as a feathered arrow. Yet, surely, this is the very reason why it suits the rocky scenery in which its life is passed. Companies of pines rooted in the most unkindly soil never move their branches at the bidding ot the fiercest storm. They rise in "serene resistance " to the moun- tain blast, and with their " cone of green" are the very image and representative of the strong, unbending forms about them. But if Table Mountain cannot boast of any choice varieties of the " true mountain tree," its foliage is at least characteristic. The broad, level belts of firs and brushwood form a suitable covering to the spa- cious slopes open to the eye at all points. If the moun- tain sides were more angular and broken, taking sharp curves and sudden turns in the ascent, a more luxuriant and wayward foliage would be much appreciated, but what there is is not unsuited to its extended projec- tions and broad, open surfaces. The silver-trees, though not displaying their richest beauties at a distance, are quite in keeping with the colour of the rock, and give 240 TABLE MOUNIAIN. somewhat of the venerable appearance to the old moun- tain which grey locks do to the human figure. In the dip of the road below Constantia, on the way to Hout's Bay, there is a singularly beautiful plantation of silver-trees. When the sun is low a myriad of leaves glisten like silver scimitars, and set off with picturesque effect the dark face of the mountain beyond. Their rough but bright and silken coats are seen in greater number and with more dis- tinctness from Mr. Vipan's farm at Constantia, than from any spot known to me in the vicinity of the mountain. From Hout's Bay valley a broad hoek pierces the mountain, enclosed on the seaward side by the " Twelve Apostles," and on the other by the broken, irregular ground, which is joined to the peninsular range by the pass above Constantia. I am afraid the space allotted to me will prevent our making a closer acquaintance with the kloofs, which con- tribute so much to the beauty of the mountain, albeit these recesses, where the light is low^ and dim, and the silence is broken by the sound of falling w^ater and the crackling of the pine branches, have a charm of their own. A ride or walk over what is specially called the Kloof to Camp's Bay, or round to Sea Point, is a popular recrea- tion with Cape Town folk. The road winds gradually up from the western extremity of the town, past clusters of pines and a few old-fashioned habitations. A. back- ward glance after half an hour's ride gives a fine view of Table Bay and the Blueberg hills. The full sweep of the broad, white beach, making the blue of the sea look so deep and rich, is nowhere seen to greater advan- tage, except, perhaps, from the block-house underneath \ TABLE MOUNTAIN. 24 1 the Devil's Peak, and, of course, in the ascent of the mountain. But it is on the neck of the kloof, or just below it, that the finest view is to be had. On the right a narrow, richly^-clothed ravine rises almost perpendicularly to the Lion's Head, and on the left the more sloping ground is dotted with silver-trees, oaks, and pines, while stretching down to the sea is the deep-cut ravine in which the Round House is almost hidden in almond trees. Further on is the shore, with its huge granite boulders, and still beyond, the bay, land-locked on three sides, but open on the fourth to the broad and boundless waters of the Southern Ocean. It is this strange ming- ling of the bounded and the boundless that makes bay scenery so beautiful, and appeals to a sense within having fellowship with higher things. Our life itself is like an indented bay, bounded on most sides, but on one stretch- ing away in an endless track, on which nought is seen but here and there a solitary sail. On the eastern side the kloofs are more retired, and awake a different order of feeling. They symbolize the best and deepest joys of solitude. The leaping of the waterfall from crag to crag, the gentle waving of the tree fern, casting its fretted shadow on the waterw^orn rock, the dark mosses with their mimicry of summer life, the brilliant lights above contrasting with the half tones of colour and not unpleasant gloom below, the deep and hollow reverberations of every sound, the footsteps or voice of the climber, the breaking of a stray branch or the sound of falling water, — all these things leave their own peculiar impression, and awake chords not touched by the broad, open landscape outside. 242 TABLE MOUNTAIN. Not many days before writing this paper I strolled to what is known as the Waterfall Kloof, within a few hun- dred yards of the upper block-house. It was about four o'clock on a bright afternoon, and the sun sinking slowly, threw the shadow of the mountain with perfect distinctness on the white sandy flats below. So per- fectly clear and exact was the outline that I believe a tracing of it would have repeated the shape of the mountain with as much distinctness as its image re- flected in some of the valley vleis. As the sun got lower, the shadow crept miles and miles away over the plain, until its outline was lost in the broken ground below the further hills. The time of my walk was just after the early rains had freshened the foliage and the springs, and as I followed the winding path which leads from the block-house to the water- fall I could not help mentally exclaiming. Surely a more beautiful ravine never climbed its way into the mountain solitudes. A good part of it is broad and open, covered with a rich variety of foliage, and dividing the slopes, by which the ascent is comparatively easy. Then it makes a clean-cut opening in nearly perpendi- cular rocks a thousand feet or more in height, and climbs by steep, irregular steps (down which the water falls gently in the summer, but in a full, rushing stream after the winter rains) to the summit. In the lower part of the kloof the watercourse is hidden by the thickness of the foliage, but it is curious to note how the droop of the trees in the centre of the ravine suggests water, almost as much as the sound of its descent through the boulders. It will be remembered that in Turner's picture " By the r^BLE MOUNTAIN. 243 Brookside," the water is scarcely seen, but there is, so to speak, the feel of the water in the light, vapoury spray that fills the well-lighted arch and the indescribable atmos- phere that follows the stream upward through its rocky bed, and in the dark, chilly look of the lower rocks. Another feature which catches the eye is the dark shade of the foliage, as the ravine enters the mountain. Below, it is brilliant and variegated, but as the light grows dim and the atmosphere chilly, it is dark as the mosses and ferns which clothe the rocks beside the waterfall. Standing beneath the waterfall, the tiers of sandstone strata that look so level and comparatively smooth at a distance, rise like mighty towers of stone with rugged breastworks and pinnacles, worn into grotesque shapes by the winds and rains of many centuries. But yet there is nothing savage in the aspect of the rocks from this point. Every now and then there is a ledge or projecting platform covered with trees and creepers, which imparts to them the appearance of some fine old ruin. It is the abundant brushwood on these ledges that kindles so readily when the mountain is on fire. Driven by 'the wind, the flame leaps from crag to crag, until sometimes the very summit of the mountain is literally wreathed in fire, and the illumination is so brilliant as to cast shadows from the trees and houses at two or three miles distant. On either side of the waterfall the rocks are covered with rich ferns, kept continually fresh and green by the weeping of the sandstone rock. Indeed, all the beauties of the inner ravine are microscopic. The visitor must look from point to point, or he will miss many a cool R 2 244 TABLE MOUNTAIN. little nook, hidden perchance by an arbutus bough. On at least two sides of the mountain there are many kloofs as beautiful, and some far more extensive, than the one to which I have referred ; some in which the ferns are absolutely luxuriant, and others, clothed with oaks and pine, which grow to an immense height, drawn upwards by the light. So much for the structure and appearance of the moun- tain. It remains for me to give some account of the atmospheric effects which are associated with its bold heights, and of the strange grouping of mist and cloud about its summit. To the work of wind and cloud and light we are indebted for the ever-varying, ever-beautiful appearances which it presents. By their help its '' gloom and glory " become a possession. Except to those who have had opportunities of closely watching it from day to day, the wonderful variety of the mountain landscape can scarcely be appreciated. Every morning brings some new effect, some fresh transfiguration of familiar forms, effected by wandering clouds and wavering lights struggling through the mists, or glowing on the piles of cloud. Perhaps to the constant play of the wind upon the moving vapour we are indebted for the most grotesque and striking, if not the most beautiful, appearances. I do not mean to say that the sunbeams fail in their great work upon our mountain. They strike shafts of fire through the hollowed kloofs, and fall softly on the flowing masses of cloud. But if we may separate the agencies at work in producing strange and startling effects, wind and cloud are, perhaps, the most potent. The characteristic beauty of sunlight in this country is the full and even splendour Ij^ble mountain. 245 with which it penetrates the air. Even distant objects, that in a less brilliant atmosphere fade away in hazy out- line, stand out with perfect distinctness. Small boulders, almost pebbles, cavernous hollows in the rock, or tufts of green bush at the head of the kloofs, at an elevation of two or three thousand feet, are seen without difficulty. Let a spectator place himself at a distance of twenty or thirty miles from Table Mountain and Snowdon or Mangerton, respectively, on what in each country Would be called a clear day, and he will be astonished at the difference in the effect. The two latter will appear in hazy outline against the sky, with the details of face and profile all obscured. But in the clear atmosphere of South Africa, the direction of the watercourses, the curves of the kloofs, indeed every bold wrinkle on the slope or face of the mountain, will be clearly discerned. I have sometimes looked at Table Mountain from the Cape Flats, — at what the photographers would call the sharp definition of every line, until the sense of distance almost vanished, and it has seemed as if I must see a human figure if it were climbing the heights, or hear a human voice if it broke the silence of the kloofs. But the effect of sunlight in its marriage with the manifold forms of vapour is not nearly so beautiful here as in Europe. Our clouds are more localized, and not so varied as in colder latitudes. The light breaks more rapidly, and the twilight is of shorter duration ; and this circumstance, together with the greater clearness of the atmosphere, prevents the recurrence of those marvellous cloud-colourings so often witnessed at sunrise and sunset in the British Isles. Only rarely, very rarely, do we 246 7ABLE MOUNTAIN. see the sun sink behind those long bars of light cloud, '^ edged with intolerable radiance," or those little islands of fleecy vapour " floating in an emerald sea," and glow- ing with many-coloured lights that flash up and fade away before the darkness covers them. We are rather familiar with the changing forms of white cloud, with riotous processions and strange eddyings of vapour about the summit of the mountain than with any peculiar effects of sunlight or codour. One of these latter, however, must not be forgotten. I allude not to the sunrise, but to the reflec- tion of the sunrise on the eastern side of the mountain. This is the first notice to the dwellers in Rondebosch and Wynberg of the breaking of the day. The sun itself rises far away behind the Hottentots' Holland mountains, and a wide waste of sand and broad belts of pine intervene. So that some time before the face of the sun itself, its reflection is seen on the mountains. Any- thing more beautiful than the line of crimson light which falls upon the face of the higher rocks I never beheld. The dawn-light, as it meets and fills the mists which have hung all night upon the earth, is generally red, or, as the novelists call it, " rosy ;" but that which irradiates the mountain on a winter morning, after the kloofs have been exhaling moist vapour, is like a sheet of crimson fire. Slowly as the shadow creeps down the rocks the light changes to its normal colour, and by mid-day it is almost white, casting shadows of a deep soft blue. Of the three winds that have most to do with the adornment of the mountain, the north-wester brings a heavy leaden vapour, the south-easter a thin white cloud, and the south-wester a white, but draggling mist, that rABLE MOUNTAIN. 247 creeps sulkily over the necks of the kloofs into the valleys below. One or other of these is perpetually altering the aspect of the mountain throughout the year ; sometimes hiding every part of it from view but the sloping fields of bush at the base, sometimes veiling the peaks and sky line, and hanging over Table Valley in white and lake- like fields, floating in level bays and winding gulfs about the lower bosses of rock, and sometimes falling like a cataract of foam over the level ridge on the northern side. When the moist salt air is stealing across the Flats at sunset, we know well what is taking place on the summit of the mountain and elsewhere. As night comes on, masses of dark, heavy vapour gather round the Lion's Head, and slowly spread over Table Mountain. The ships in the bay are heading seaward and light showers have fallen through the night. A gentle breeze, from a point of the compass a little to the westward of the north, just ripples, and nothing more, the surface of the bay. In the morning the whole mountain will be wrapt in a heavy leaden cloud, and away over the Flats there will probably be processions of watery vapour moving sulkily ' towards the eastern shores of False Bay. Under such conditions there is certainly nothing very beautiful in the appearance of Table Mountain, or of its heavy funereal covering. Its shape would hardly be discovered but that the mist, lying evenly over the whole mass, in a rough way repeats its outline. But now is the time for a walk up the mountain slopes to see its shrubs and flowers. Their colours are never half so rich and brilliant as under this hazy canopy. In the most brilliant sunshine they are tameness itself compared with their appearance when heavy leaden clouds 248 t:able mountain. are overhead. Lovers of flowers in the old country w^ill remember that the brilliant scarlet of the geranium or the verbena, or the yellow of the calceolaria, are never seen in their glory until the heavy autumn light gathers about them. So the flowers of Table Mountain, the heaths and lobelias and geraniums, the little eye-brights, and flowering shrubs, are not seen at their best except when the clouds are low and the light is dim. When the wind is fairly what is called a north-wester, or a little to the eastward of the north, the cloud pheno- mena are very different from those we have been describing. Mountain and vapour then share the general disturb- ance of the elements, and mirror faithfully the violence and terror of the storm. Indeed, it is difficult to say whether the dark angry frown of the mountain or the wayward rush of the wind first betokens the approach of a gale. The warning of the coming tempest is first felt along the valley of the Liesbeek. On the river's bank a low wailing sound is heard, as if a sharp air current were driven through its narrow banks by some mighty and yet unrevealed force behind. The long branches of willow stream along the air, and the poplars shiver as if chilled by the tokens of the storm. I can well remember the effect during the gale of 1865, when so many gallant ships were wrecked in Table Bay. Before a single disaster had occurred in the bay, there was something so unusual in the aspect of the mountain, in the sound of the wind, and the general condition of the atmosphere, that I and many others had an instinct that some- thing terrible was in store. The wind, steady at first, broke out now and then as if into wild sobs, and finally. Tj^ble mountain. 249 in regular intervals, burst against all the solid material in its way with a sound like the boom of a minute gun. Sea-birds, who had evidently lost their reckoning, were flying wildly over the Flats, and screaming, half in terror, half in joy, at the strange sights and sounds in earth and heaven. And now the mountain wore its most angr}' and terrible aspect. It was covered with heavy embank- ments of cloud almost to the base, as when the wind is lighter and more westerly. It had, moreover, the same dark, leaden hue. But there the resemblance ended. Under a gentle breeze from the sea the clouds brood in calm stillness over the hidden rocks and kloofs ; but on the 17th of May, 1865, every atom of vapour was in wild and wayward motion. The clouds seethed and boiled over the edges of the rock, rolled down the ravines, and back again up the ridges in billowy eddyings and processions. The wild waters of the bay, that drove fifteen ships from their anchors, and hushed for ever the cries of many brave men, were not more disturbed by the winds, and did not more faithfully mirror the violence of the storm, than the clouds upon Table Mountain. Many a time during a north-wester I have noticed the same phenomena. The vapour looks more like the steam of a caldron or the smoke of a vast furnace than the moist mists from the sea. Over and over again, when looking at the mountain, those words have occurred to me, "And Mount Sinai was altogether in a smoke ;" " and the smoke thereof ascended as the smoke of a furnace." It is curious to notice how these clouds are fed from the sea while the gale is still raging. The cloud about the Lion's Head seems the connecting link between the fields / of vapour around the mountain and the water below from which their moisture is obtained. A graduated procession of clouds may be seen moving to this point from the waters of the bay. Rising at first in thin masses, they increase in volume until they reach the rock and finally spread themselves over the neck of the kloof and across the table-land beyond. During a south-easter the appearance of the mountain, crowned with its thin and flowing stream of vapour, is both more beautiful and more familiar to the public eye than that which I have just described. Not a seaman enters Table Bay who has not seen and described the white table-cloth, that may be said to have done as much for the fame of the mountain as the mountain has done for it. The south-east cloud is not an " angel of the sea," or, indeed, a true water-carrier, though it moistens the high ground, drenches the traveller, and feeds the moun- tain springs. The driest air is charged with moisture, which, under given conditions, is distilled into vapour or rain. And as the warm summer wind, rising miles away across the ocean, comes into contact with the cold plate of the mountain, it changes into a snow-white cloud, which, driven by the fierce wind, falls like a cascade over the edge, and melts away in the warmer air below. Hence the cloud is solitary ; it was not drawn to the mountain by attraction, but was born there of the marriage of the warm wind and the cold land. Often when the deep blue overhead is not traversed by a single cloud, — when the upper spaces are hushed and clear, and not a cloud shadow rests upon the open bosom of the plain, the white mists are wreathing themselves TABLE MOUNTAIN. 25 1 in fantastic shapes over the brow of the mountain. The first notice of a south-easter is given by the piling of white clouds similarly formed over the Hottentots' Holland range. Within an hour or two after this appear- ance a thin fleece of vapour may be seen creeping over the Devil's Peak. It soon increases in volume, and descends in one broad cataract of snow-white foam over the whole breadth of the curved front which faces the bay. As it falls over the ridge, the stream is as perfectly smooth and glassy as a river tumbling over the edge of a weir. Unlike falling water, however, it does not dash up again in foam and spray, but edges off, like a thin, flowing mane, into the air below. Sometimes when the cloud is thicker, and peculiar air currents eddy round the gates of the kloofs, there is a wild riot of vapour over the whole face of the mountain, and sometimes far down into the valley, which is exceedingly grand. If we take a view of the " table-cloth " from the eastern side, on the Cape Flats, the effect is altogether different. From thence we see its profile extending often from the Kalk Bay mountains to the Devil's Peak. Every atom of vapour is hurrying forward in one continuous stream to the front of the mountain. In its wild hurry it fairly leaps the Hout's Bay Pass, and presses on to the heights above. Here and there a cross current breaks the stream, and the vapour rears up impatiently and curls backward like a wave before a wind from the land. The rear of the cloud loses the stainless snow-white hue which is so beautiful as it falls over the ridge, and is frequently heavy and dirty over Wynberg and Claremont. Steaming into the bay on the other side, we have still another variety. The 252 TABLE MOUNTAIN. clouds which from the Flats look so wild and disorderly, are here " couched " in quiet masses on the broad breasts of the "Twelve Apostles." There they rest, massy and motionless, filled with rich light, and casting long broad shadows athwart the rocks. The dying away of the south-east cloud is, perhaps, as beautiful as its rising. Once let the wind be hushed, and that vast pile of vapour melts in the warm motionless air like snow before the spring sun. If the rain falls during the process, the clouds will hang in long grey bars about the lower hills, and finally vanish before a light wind from the sea. I have only once been to the top of Table Mountain, so that I am not so well able as many to describe the ascent from the three points at which it is often made. Three or four years ago I accompanied a small party, ambi- tious of seeing sunrise from the summit. We started at one o'clock in the morning on a dark night, and made the ascent up the face of the mountain by the Platteklip ravine. I have not had a great deal of experience in mountain climbing, and am not one of those sneered at by a writer in the Times^ who spend the best part of their existence in trying to obtain a higher elevation than their fellows ; but I never climbed so singular a mountain path as that which leads from the Platteklip to the summit of Table Mountain. It follows a broad but steep and nearly straight ravine the whole distance. There are no dangerous precipices to skirt, no ridges to pass, such as the saddle back at Snowdon j but just one long, hard, climb by a steep but not perilous path, ever and anon crossing the ravine for the ease of the traveller, but for the most part rising straight to the summit. Yet, there is plenty of variety in the T^BLE MOVNTMN. 253 journey. Kloofs, the existence of which is never suspected, open on either side, and rocks whose shape can be seen from below become bold and lofty clifFs that would by themselves make the reputation of a watering place. I can remember the many incidents and impressions of the ascent, — the hearty laugh which rang along the defile when one or other of the party stumbled in the darkness, spite of his trusty staff, the sobbing of the wind about the rocky recesses just before the dying of the old day, the breaking of the dawn upon a thousand strange fantastic shapes, and the soft brightness of the stars as they faded slowlv before the advancina; lieht. I must confess that I, for one, did not reach the summit before the sun rose ; but I was not far ofF, and looked wistfully to see what it was doing with the world below. But it was not easy to say. For some time nothing could be discovered but a vast sea skirting the mountain and stretching away to the horizon at all points. What could it be ? It must surely be the sea, for it is covered with tiny wavelets, sparkling like crystals in the growing light, and driven as if before a light wind to a shore in the rear of which loomed mountain ranges, stretching away into a distance from which the darkness had hardly gone. And yet the surface of the sea was white as opal and soft as flakes of snow. And yonder to the left is a rounded dome, looking black as ink and standing like a solitary island, with thewhite breakers seeth- ing all around. Everything seems strange and unearthly. Yet surely I know the shape of that rounded dome. Yes, I see clearly, as the light increases, it is the Lion's Head, just emerging from what must surely be a sea of vapour. One by one dark openings like " breathing holes " in the ice floes 254 TABLE MOUNTAIN. begin to appear, and through them, as the sun mounts higher, I can see the dark waters of Table Bay. Half an hour more and the deception is all over ; the vapours, thinking they have shown enough for one morning how they can deceive simple people, wreathe themselves in ghostly shapes and disappear. Then the Blueberg hills and the mountain peaks, like " topmost Gargarus," stood out and " took the morning," and the blue bay dotted with ships, and the streets of Cape Town, and the winding roads, all filled the landscape; and with the clear view came distinctly the busy hum of life that told us that the world below was awake and stirring. As to the appearance of the mountain on the summit, it was not quite what I expected. It v/as more rocky and broken and less of an open plateau. But from all points the view was glorious. Looking from three sides, it seems as if the spectator is standing on a huge rock .set in the midst of the ocean. While on the fourth, a level waste of sand seems bounded by impassable mountains. I had hoped to witness sunset from some high point, but a heavy blinding rain sent us wet and weary to our homes and beds. THE (hOTAJ^Y OF TACKLE MOUJ^TAIJ^. *' Not a tree, A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains A folio volume. We may read, and read, And read again, and still find something new — Something to please, and something to instruct E'en in the noisome weed." The vegetation of Table Mountain — its plateau, slopes, and kloofs — represents the botany of the Cape peninsula generally. On this the most southern part of the African Continent are to be found types of families of plants, genera and species, which are spread over a large portion of the continent, reaching frorr> Cape Point to the Zambezi. Other species, again, are quite local, and confined in their range to Table Mountain and the mountains and kloofs away back to the Cape of Good Hope. Proteaceas, Orchideaceae, Irideaceas, and other families have representatives on the peninsula which have not been found elsewhere. The true locus natalis of the beautiful silver-tree ( Leucadendron argenteum) is the Cape peninsula, where it is found more or less plentiful on the slopes of dry secondary hills, sheltered from the sea breeze. Looking landward from Table Bay during certain months — January, February, and March — the vegetation 256 THE BOTANY OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. of Table Mountain does not offer an inviting appearance to the botanist and collector. The whole aspect is brown, rigid, and scrubby. The largest tree seen above the line of villa gardens is the silver-tree, which, although in itself of great beauty, does not, in its dingy setting, add softness or beauty to the landscape of " brown heath and barren rock." But a closer examination of this apparently barren scene, and an exploration of its kloofs, valleys, and hills at any season, will well reward the naturalist with a rich harvest of rare and beautiful examples of the Cape Flora. The variety within this area is immense ; the Flora of the Cape peninsula alone exceeding in number of species that of many of the old countries in Europe. The conformation of the hills, and the influence of climate on their exposure, have arbitrarily determined the distribution of the plants over the surface of the peninsula. The northern and western sides, which are fully exposed to the sun, and may be called the dry face of the mountain, have a flora for the most part stiff, rigid, dwarf in habit, and dingy in foliage. On the eastern or humid side, it is more extensive in species, and the vegetation altogether more leafy and luxuriant in habit. Filices and crypto- gamic forms generally are not numerous on the western side. On the eastern side they abound. The graceful tree fern (Hemitelia Capensis) is found in the moist soils in the humid kloofs there in great luxuriance. There, too, are found the assegai wood (Curtisia faginea)^ stink- wood (Oreodaphne hullata)^ Cape Wild Vine (Cissus Capensis), and many other ligneous plants which do not appear on the northern or western sides. One of the two THE BOTANY OF T.4BLE MOUNTyflN 257 Cape Coniferae (TVtddringtonia cupressoides) occurs only on the eastern slopes of the mountain. Many other lesser forms are found on the slopes and in the kloofs on this side which are never found on the sides trending to the west and north. On the summit of the mountain, plants of the northern and western sides occur in the largest proportion. Ascending to the top of the kloof there are not many indigenous plants to be met with. The exotic Pinus pinea and some others occur intermittent on the route. Good specimens of Virgilia Capensis are found in the hollow between the old and the new road; and to the right on the eastern slope of the Lion's Hill the silver tree is plentiful, surrounded by the sugar bush (Protea mellifera)^ P. melaleuca^ Restios^ Muraltias^ and many other small-foliaged, prickly, rigid-looking shrubs. Several forms of Rutacea: are plentiful on the Lion's Hill. Agathosma^ Diosma^ Coleonema^ Adenandra^ and MacrostyUs occur. Stapelias, dwarf euphorbias, crassulas, mesembryanthemums, and some other succulents are found on the main ridge and among the cliffs at the head. The usual bulbous plants occur all over the surface of the Lion's Hill ; but principally on the slope facing to the east. From the top of the kloof which divides Table Mountain and the Lion's Head to the entrance of the gorge at Kasteelberg, a great and interesting variety of plants are to be met. Heaths (Ericas) abound, the most common being E. sebana^ baccans^ Plukeneti^ and ceran- thoides. The latter is everywhere raising its brilliant scarlet heads of flowers in the most stony, arid-looking s 258 rHE BOTANY OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. spots at all seasons. Among lesser forms, lobelias, struthiolas, and many compositas occur. At Stinkwater, a pleasant rivulet (the name not at all indicative of a quality in the water), the shovvy Leonotus leonurus and Pelargonimn cucuUatu?n are plentiful. On the dry slopes and ridges Ainphithalea^ Diosma^ Anthospermum^ Muraltia^ Elytropappus^ Roella^ Borbonia, Rhus^ and low-growing proteas compose the bush. The silver- tree does not occur on the western side facing the sea. Leucospermum conocarpum (the kreupel boom) is plentiful in groups on the lower slopes. Protea melalcuca and glauca — hand- some shrubs — also occur. In the kloofs leading from the mountain, Plectron'ia^ Phylica^ Cunonia^ Royena^ and Olea^ and some others with larger foliage, are found. On the sides of periodical rivulets and in damp places, Brunias^ Podalyrias^ Psorleas^ and some Umbelliferce are met. Here, too, in such localities, is found the most widely distributed Cape fern, Todea Africana. The herbaceous Mohria thur'ifraga^ a very delicately scented fern, is everywhere during the rainy season. At certain seasons this slope of country between the mountain and the sea is a carpet of rich colouring with the blossoms of Iridea^ Amaryllidea^ and Liliacece ; the following genera being well represented : Aristea, Gladiolus, Babiaria, Ixia, Trichoneme, Morcea, Antholiza, Watsonia, and others, Orinthogalutn, Albuca, Cyanella, Sic. Amongst amaryllids, there is the beautiful Belladonna and Nerine, Crinum and Hismanthus. With the first rains of the season Oxalidees in many species appear. The character of the flora does not much change from the cliffs to the sea. As the beach is approached, THE BOrANT OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 259 some salsolaceous plants, a Vihorgia^ and one or two species of Celastrinece^ are found. Further along the coast, at the foot of the Sugarloaf Hill, near Hout Bay, is found the curious Hydnora Africana^ or " Jackal's Kost," growing parasitically on the roots of Euphorbia Caput-medusa. The species of grasses [Graminecs') found here are of a coarse, tufty character. The creeping Cynodon occurs, and Briza maxima is everywhere. Ascending by the usual path through the Kasteelberg gorge to the summit of the mountain. Euphorbias^ Cotyledons^ Stapelias^ and several species of Crassula hang from the crevices of the dry rocks on each side. On emerging from the gorge at the top, whole fields in extent of a beautiful and stately JFatsonia are seen. Here, too, are acres of Jgapanthus minor ^ with its beautiful rich deep-blue flowers. This is a habitat of two remark- ably handsome parasitical Scrophularia^ viz., Harvey a Capensis, with white, yellow, and rose-coloured, very conspicuous flowers, and Aulaya Capensis^ with brilliant scarlet or purple flowers, somewhat even more distin- guished than the first named. Both grow parasitically on the roots of the low shrubs common at this spot. The cultivation of these beautiful plants has engaged the attention of both professionals and amateurs, but as yet without success. Advancing further on the top, the brilliant Rochea coccinea (Crassula) spreads its dazzling scarlet flowers from every crevice. Heaths (Ericas) in many species are met at every step. Specimens of upwards of fifty species of this beautiful genus have been gathered in a single day on the summit of Table Mountain alone. Composites are num3rous. Osmitopsis asteriscoides s 2 26o THE BOTANY OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. takes possession of large breadths, to the exclusion of all other forms. This, though rather a repulsive-looking plant, " Wears yet a jewel in its head," each part, indeed, yielding valuable medicinal properties. One species of Chifonia^ Vlllarsla ovata^ and a Sebea represent at this elevation the gentian-vi^orts of the Cape. Unlike their congeners in Europe, and other temperate countries, v\^herethey reach the elevated regions of perpetual snow, the gentian-worts of the Cape must be sought for on low sandy flats and damp vley grounds. Convohulacea have only one representative on the summit — a Cuscuta. Restiace^ are numerous everywhere. Sundews (Drosera) occur plentifully in every damp soil. Gladioluses are common— one, with lovely salmon-coloured flowers, opens in January-February. Several fine everlastings (Heli- chrysium) with white flowers are common. Dilatris viscosa is found on the summit of Table Mountain. Another species of the same genus is found on the Flats. Both are handsome and deserving of cultivation. The sugar bush (Protea mellifera)^ so common on the lower slopes of the mountain, is not found on the summit. Protea coccinea and Protea cynaroides^ and also some smaller types of the same family, have their habitat on the top. Protea grandlfiora does not reach the summit, although plentiful on the eastern face and towards Hout Bay. Villarsia ovata and Hydrocotyle centella are found growing wherever there is moisture. Bearing to the light, after emerging from the gorge, the Disa grandifiora is met in a deep gully. The principal habitat of this lovely orchid is a deep ravine, the main depression on 7 HE BOT^NT OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 2b I the summit, beginning at the easternmost edge of the main plateau, and taking a zigzag course all over the mountain, but mostly trending southward ; it ultimately opens into Camp's Bay, between the Kasteelberg hills. From the beginning of this depression at the main plateau to Kasteelberg, the spongy turf, of which the bottom and sides of the ravine are composed, is studded and lined with the beautiful Disa. During the winter season, and after heavy rains, the whole of this depression must be filled to a depth of many feet with water, and all vegetation submerged ; such a state of things is indicated by the driftwood on the sides of the ravine. In February, when the Disa is in flower, water has almost disappeared from the locality, a few shallow pools here and there being all that mark a course where torrents rush and rage at certain seasons. Early botanists and writers describe Disa grandijiora as being found only on Table Mountain, but late collectors have discovered it at distant places — notably on the Drakenstein moun- tains, and at the waterfall there, the Fransche Hoek mountains. Bain's Kloof, and Mitchell's Pass. Singly or in masses, the *' Pride of Table Mountain," fondly named so by the Capeites, is a magnificent representative of Flora, and many are the pilgrimages made to her shrine on the top of the mountain during the flowering season, Henchelia calestis and Disa ferruginea., both beautiful orchids, blossom at the same time as the D. grandijiora. Herschelia is found growing all over the summit, but principally on the Hout Bay side, in dry, grassy spots. D. ferruginea is distributed over the top in similar locali- ties, but is not so frequent. Another very beautiful orchid 262 THE BOIANT OF lABLE MOUNTAIN. on Table Mountain is Disa longicornis^ flowering in No- vember, and found in every damp crevice on the shady sides of rocks towards Hout Bay. During the four months, November, December, January, and February, a century of species of terrestrial orchids are to be found in flower on Table Mountain and its eastern slopes, species of the following genera occurring : Corycium, Pterygodium^ D'lsper'is^ BarthoUna.y Disa^ Penthea^ Holo- thrix^ and Herschelta. At the base of the mountain, on the Hout Bay side, Satyrium carneum and erectum are found. There are several pretty dwarf Indigofera on the summit. The beautiful Ind'igofera juncea is found low down at Hout Bay. It is a very social plant, growing close toge- ther in large patches, often an acre in extent. The " rood- els" (Cunonia Capensis) is very generally dispersed all over the Cape peninsula, — on the summit of the mountain and in the kloofs on all sides. The palmiet (Prionum palmita) occurs on the summit, and lines the margins of watercourses to the lower valleys, growing most luxu- riant on low lands liable to be periodically flooded. Amongst ferns, Todea Africana attains a stately height on the summit of Table Mountain ; it is very frequent, often in situations quite devoid of moisture in the soil. Glechinia argentea and polypodioldes are to be met in pro- fusion in the crevices of rocks, in damp, shady situations. Schizaa pectinata occurs here as well as on the sandy flats. Schizcea tenella is very rare on Table Mountain. Adian- tum^ Hymenophyllum^ Blechnum^ Asplenium^ Pteris^ Lo- marla^ Nephrodium^ Acrostichum, Asplenium^ and some other genera are found on the top. Mosses or lichens are not numerous, and little known. THE BOrANT OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. 263 Descending by the gorge facing Cape Town, the sur- rounding botany is not different from that of the western side at Camp's Bay. At the point where the lower red sandstone rests upon the granite, the pretty fern, Alloso- rus calomelanos^ is found growing on the dry rock. It is not found on the western side. On the right hand side, half way down the gorge, there is quite a field of Nerine sarn'iensis growing in company with restios, coarse grasses, and a little shrub, Penea mucronata. This little Penea occurs all over the summit and on the higher slopes. Lower down, at Platteklip, where the dark-grey granite is exposed in the bed of the stream, Phylica cordata^ Poly- gala myrtifoUa^ and some others named as occupying the western face, form a bush on the banks of the stream. The modest-looking Diasia iridifolia is common here in dry and shady situations. The Virgilia Capensis^ with its beautiful honey-scented flowers, is plentiful here, and attains the dimensions of a tree. Some Lobelias.^ Commelyna^ and Hydrocotile Aiiatica — the latter a plant of wide geographical range — grow along the damp margins of the stream. At this point naturalized exotics begin to make their appearances with the line of villa gardens, — " Where groves arranged in various orders rise, And bend their quivVing summits in the skies. The regal oak, high o'er the circling shade, Exalts the leafy honours of his head. The spreading gum a differing green displays, And the smooth willow in soft whispers plays. The kuur that blooms in Spring's eternal prime, The spiry poplar and the stately pine." LIOJ