Hospitality of Cape colonists — Cheating and jealousy in business — Comfortless homes — Spoilt children — Education — The "Schoolmaster" — Convent schools — A priest-ridden nation — The _Nachtmaal_ — Old French names — A South African duke in Paris — Fine-looking men — Fat women — Ignorance of _Vrouws_ — Boers unfriendly to English — A mean man.
There is much to be admired in the character of those decidedly unpolished diamonds, the colonial-born, English-speaking inhabitants of the Karroo. They are a fine, sturdy, self-reliant race, splendidly fitted in every way for their extremely rough-and-ready surroundings. In kindliness and hospitality they are unsurpassed, even by the much-praised dwellers in Arab tents or white, flat-roofed Moorish houses; and in the isolated homesteads where they live their rough, but simple and healthy lives, the heartiest reception is invariably accorded alike to friends, slight acquaintances, and even perfect strangers. Perhaps you are one of the latter, and, on a long journey, you outspan at the dam of a farm, with the intention of remaining only long enough to give the horses the necessary water and rest before you trek again. But no sooner is your cart or spider seen to stop than you are sought out, with kind and pressing invitation to come in. No matter how full the house may already be, how late or inconvenient the hour of your unexpected arrival on a Cape farm, a place is always found for you at the table; and, if needed, some sort of a night's lodging, of however impromptu a description, will be prepared for you. The colonist joyfully makes you welcome to his best. If you are staying in his house, a mount or a seat in his conveyance is always at your disposal; and the longer you can remain, the better he and all his kind-hearted family are pleased. It is true that their home is far from being a luxurious one, and that none of them have much idea of comfort; but the latter article being, on account of the isolation and of the bad servants, somewhat difficult of attainment, it is on the whole just as well that no one misses it sufficiently to regret its absence; and one cannot but admire and envy the philosophical manner in which the colonists take things as they come, making themselves perfectly happy under any circumstances.
Altogether there is so much that is lovable in the colonial character, that you are sometimes disappointed to find that there is a reverse to this bright side of the picture, and that—even by those who have received you the most hospitably, and who apparently, while you were their guest, could not do enough for you—you are liable, in business transactions, to be woefully cheated. It is thought no disgrace to get the better of any one in a bargain, whether on an iniquitously large or contemptibly small scale; on the contrary, it is considered rather clever and smart to "do a shot" on the guileless and unsuspecting new chum, fresh from a country where a somewhat different code of honour obtains.
Business jealousies, too, are another source of trouble to the uninitiated. If any farmer has a project which seems likely to turn out a good thing for him, he had better be careful that no bird of the air whispers it about beforehand among his neighbours and rivals, who, one and all, will only be too glad if they can bring his plans to naught.
Time seems to be of no more value to the Cape colonists than it is to the followers of Islam, and "letting things slide" is pretty generally the order of the day. One is rather puzzled at this weak point in otherwise active, energetic characters; and certainly, living as these people do in the splendid air of the Cape—exhilarating as champagne, and making all who inhale it feel glad to be alive—they cannot, like the limp, supine inhabitants of Eastern lands, plead the excuse of an enervating climate. Much of the discomfort in the houses is due to this frightful habit of procrastinating. Whatever is broken is, as often as not, left unmended for an indefinite time; little repairs, which need but the minimum of time and trouble, but the neglect of which would cause daily annoyance and discomfort to any but these easy-going mortals, are put off from week to week and from month to month. And every one is just as happy and contented, with violent draughts and clouds of dust blowing in through two or three broken windows at once; or with a glass outer door whose handle has been off for months, and which continually flaps noisily backwards and forwards, admitting gusts of cold wind and flocks of turkeys and fowls into the room; as if all things were in perfect order. Poultry and domestic animals, indeed, have it all their own way on Karroo farms with the delightful freedom enjoyed by their brethren in Irish cabins. At one house, for instance, if the dining-room was left for a moment when the cloth was laid for a meal, half a dozen fowls would be on the table, picking the bread to pieces; while in another I have several times assisted our hosts in ejecting a too-friendly pig from the bedroom. To give South African pigs their due, I must say that in that driest of climates they are less uncleanly in their persons, and hence rather less objectionable indoors, than they would be in Europe. But we had English prejudices, and discountenanced the visits of members of the farm-yard; and Toto had standing orders, which he faithfully obeyed, to keep the rooms clear of live stock of all kinds, with the exception of privileged pets.
Even more terrible than the intrusive animals are the spoilt children. During their earlier years the little colonists are left very much to themselves: they run wild, like young colts, about their native farm, no one takes the trouble to interfere with them, and they are allowed to retain, unchecked, all the rude, rough habits which they have acquired from their uncivilized Hottentot nurse-girls. They do as they like, say whatever comes uppermost, and behave at table in any sort of outrageous fashion that pleases them; while the father and mother sit unmoved, apparently surprised at nothing their progeny may see fit to do. The latter being totally unencumbered by bashfulness, the presence of strangers acts as no restraint; and a dinner taken in the company of a large family of boys, of stolid parents, and indifferent elder sisters, is for the newly-imported English visitor a novel and rather startling experience, the details of which, however, are best left to oblivion.
But, on the whole, the young Africander's bringing-up—unpleasant though he certainly is during the process—is no doubt the best possible one to fit him for the rough and active life of the farms, and to form in him that independent character and those habits of self-reliance and smartness in money matters which, when he is grown up, stand him in such good stead. And he does grow up with astounding rapidity; being at fifteen a thorough man of business, able to "do a deal" with any one, and taking good care, you may be sure, that the transaction is no unprofitable one to himself. In this respect he affords a decided contrast to the average young Englishman, who, at twenty-five, is often—where business matters are concerned—as inexperienced as a boy.
The difficulties in the way of providing the children with a good education are by no means one of the least of South African drawbacks; especially for those living on the far-off country farms. Colonial schools do not seem to be much in favour, at least for boys, and the great ambition of a Cape parent is to send his sons home to be educated in Europe—most frequently for the medical profession, a doctor's position being the most coveted one in the colony. In the Edinburgh University, especially, the Africander element is in great force. Those parents who cannot afford to have their boys educated in Europe generally contrive to secure the services of some broken-down gentleman, occasionally even of a clergyman, who lives on the farm and—too often for a shamefully small salary, indeed in one or two instances for nothing but his keep—fills the post of tutor, or, as his employers call him, "schoolmaster," to the turbulent young tribe. As may be imagined, his life is not a very enviable one, the breaking-in process being all the harder in consequence of the long period, prior to his advent, when his charges were allowed to run wild out of doors all day long—to the immense benefit, no doubt, of their robust young bodies, but to the utter neglect of all intellectual and moral training.
The schoolmaster does not seem to have been a very general institution in the days when some of the older colonists were young; and a business correspondence with Karroo farmers sometimes elicits the wildest vagaries of orthography. T——, for instance, received a letter from one of our neighbours, in which the following sentences occurred: "Your hostridges are vary onpleasand on the public outspan. Pleas to try and halter tham." Another correspondent, intent on the purchase of ostriches, told us he wished "to bye buirds."
For girls, the convent schools in several of the larger towns are undoubtedly the best, both as regards the good, sensible education imparted, and the refined, lady-like manners which are invariably acquired by all who have been brought up under the tutelage of the nuns. Throughout the whole country, the convent-bred girls can always be recognised at a glance, and the contrast is very striking between them and the less fortunate ones who possess but the superficial education and second-rate manners of the average colonial boarding-school. Even the daughters of the roughest Boers, if sent to a convent school, are turned out perfect ladies, and return to their up-country homes with gentle and gracious manners strangely out of keeping with their uncouth surroundings. But there are many parents, of course, to whom all the advantages of convent education could not compensate for that insuperable objection, the risk of Romanizing influence; and intending settlers in the colony who do not wish to expose their daughters to that risk will do well to bring out a good governess with them, and keep the girls at home.
The Boer's great desire, like that of his English-speaking neighbour, is to get his boys educated in Europe; but, instead of the medical profession, the pastorate is the object of his ambition. For these Cape Dutch, although Protestants, are quite as priest-ridden as any Roman Catholic nation; the predikant is a great man indeed throughout the widespread circle of his parishioners, and to offend him, or even to fail in paying him the exact amount of deference he considers his due, means to be boycotted.
The nachtmaal, or communion, is only administered—as among Scotch Presbyterians—twice or three times during the year; and on these rare occasions the little town or village where there is a Dutch church becomes the lively scene of an immense gathering of Boers, vrouws, and families. They have come, many of them from long distances of three or four days' journey, plodding along in waggons drawn by long spans of oxen, driving in roomy conveyances of every possible queer and antiquated shape, or travelling on horseback—the stout, ungainly women, in their white kappjes and gaudily-coloured dresses, cantering clumsily by the side of their lords. The crowd of outspanned vehicles, drawn up close together, form a kind of large camp and, the Boer being always ready to combine piety with business—and, if need be, with a good deal of cheating—the nachtmaal ends with a busy fair or market, in which a very brisk trade is carried on, all kinds of farm produce being sold or bartered.
In nearly all the Dutch houses you find curious old family Bibles, many of them in black-letter, with quaint and interesting maps. In some of the latter, representing Africa, the lakes Victoria and Albert Nyanza are marked, though quite in the wrong places. The good old French names borne by so many of the Boers tell of their Huguenot descent; Du Plessis, De Villiers, Du Toit, Du Barry, etc., are all names of frequent occurrence in South Africa, although the French language is never spoken, the Dutch having prohibited its use among the refugees when the latter settled in the colony. Some time ago, Napoleon III., anxious to restore the ancient nobility, sent for one of these Boers, who, in the old country, was the heir to a dukedom, inviting him to resume his title and estates. The colonist came to Paris, and, after giving European life a fair trial, became homesick for his vineyard and his farm, and—perhaps impelled by that attraction which seems to draw back to the Cape those who have once lived under its bright sky—decided in favour of his old-fashioned life, and, resigning all his ancestral rights, went joyfully home to the rough surroundings of his childhood.
Although the Boers are fine, well-built, handsome men, their feminine relatives, far from equalling them in good looks, are as fat and ungraceful as any inmates of Turkish harems. Fortunately, however, excessive obesity is in the eyes of a Boer the very quality of all others which constitutes the chief attraction of a mooie vrouw (handsome woman); and when he uses the latter expression you may be sure that he speaks of a ponderous being, no less than thirteen or fourteen stone in weight. In this matter of taste the Boers resemble not only the Turks, but also the Zulus, who can pay a woman no higher compliment than to compare her to a she-elephant. The vrouws become passées at a very early age, and are apparently shortlived in comparison with their lords, if one may judge from the fact that it is no uncommon thing to meet a man of fifty who has already had three wives.
Intellectually, no less than physically, the Boer women are considerably the inferiors of the men. They have evidently lived for generations in blissful ignorance, with no more education than falls to the lot of the Oriental ladies they so closely resemble in figure. Their husbands and fathers have been quite contented with the existing state of things; and it is only of late years that a few of the more enlightened parents, beginning at last to recognise the value of female education, have been sending their daughters to the convent schools.
In Spain, an equally strong contrast may be observed between the men and the women; but it is reversed, the advantage being on the side of the señoras, who somehow appear too handsome and intelligent to belong to the ignoble, mean-looking men.
The Boers used to be very friendly with the English; but now—thanks to the sad and too well-known manner in which our Government has muddled South African affairs—we are most unpopular. Formerly, if an Englishman on his journey came to a Dutchman's house, he was most hospitably received—though etiquette demanded that on his departure he should offer money in payment for his food and bed, in order that his host might have the pleasure of refusing it; but now, were he to present himself, the chances are that the Boer would insultingly offer him a night's lodging in the negroes' quarters, as was once the case with T——.
Meanness is a prominent trait in the Boer's character. Indeed, the reputation which he has acquired—not altogether justly—for being such a splendid shot, really and truly proceeds from his excessive care to make sure of his game, and thus waste no cartridges. Here is an instance which almost equals Max Adeler's mean man. When T—— was at the Kimberley Diamond Fields, a Kaffir fell one day from the narrow pathway left between the claims into one of the latter, belonging to a Dutchman. He landed on the little table used by the Boer for sorting his diamonds, and—the height from which he had fallen being eighty feet—not only the table, but nearly every bone in the unfortunate man's body was broken. He seems, however, to have possessed a wonderfully strong constitution, and actually recovered from his terrible injuries: and, his case exciting very general sympathy among the kindly diamond-diggers, a subscription was made for him. But, long before he was convalescent, the Boer called on him, demanding payment for the broken table, the whole value of which did not amount to more than thirty shillings.
Recalled to England — Regrets and farewells — Cape horses lacking in intelligence — "Old Martin" — A chapter of accidents — A horse "after Velasquez" — The Spy's revenge — Virtues and faults of Cape horses — Horse-sickness — Good-bye to Swaylands — Kaffir crane — The voyage home — Dogs in durance — St. Helena — A visit to Longwood — Home again.
At last, after several busy and most enjoyable years of ostrich-farming life, the time came when—our presence being required in England—we bade farewell to our colonial home, and, leaving the management of affairs in the able hands of a friend from the old country, with whom T—— had recently entered into partnership, took our departure from Swaylands, not without many regrets. Although, within the wide circle enclosed by our wire fence, we were not leaving many of our human fellow-creatures, there were plenty of good-byes to be said; for those who live on these out-of-the-way farms come to be on very intimate and familiar terms with their live stock, and all our creatures—even the fowls, and those tamer members of our large family of ostriches which for years had been daily looking inquiringly in at our windows, and picking and stealing round the kitchen door—were old friends, from whom we were sorry to part.
But, strange to say, the very animal which in England becomes one of the friendliest seems here the least domesticated; and it cost us less of a pang to bid adieu to our horses than might be imagined by people at home, unacquainted with the surprising lack of intelligence which, in the Cape Colony, distinguishes the equine race. Their independent lives, and the freedom which most of them enjoy to roam as they will about the veldt, unfettered by the restraints of a stable, seem to have rendered them very indifferent to human society. It is no use trying to make a friend of your horse; he contemptuously repels all your advances, obstinately refuses to eat out of your hand, despises pieces of bread, lumps of sugar, and all such delicate little attentions wherewith you have never failed to win the heart of his English brother, and, however many years he may have lived with you, persists to the last in remaining on the coldest and most distant of terms.
Among all our horses the only really intelligent animal was one of Arab descent. But our good-bye to him was said a year before; and now, on leaving Swaylands, we can but take our last look at "the place where the old horse died." The faithful old grey friend who lies under that rough clump of bush was a favourite of long standing. He had belonged to T—— many years ago, was sold by him on leaving the colony, and, after changing hands several times, chiefly among acquaintances of his former owner—in remembrance of whom he acquired the name of "Old Martin"—was repurchased by T—— soon after we came out. Although by this time he was a long way past his prime, he was still considerably the best of all our horses, and for pluck and endurance we have never seen his equal. At the end of the longest day's journey—even though it had covered sixty miles—he would come in pulling as hard as at the start, and apparently as fresh. No matter how poor his condition—and South African horses do indeed get poor during long droughts—he was at all times equally ready for work. We never insulted him by carrying so unnecessary an article as a whip; for he did everything with a will, and whether cantering, trotting, or only walking, always seemed to be endeavouring to run away with you. As a lady's horse he was simply perfect, all his paces being equally delightful for the rider.
In former times T—— and his four-footed namesake had gone through many adventures together; and now, when after the lapse of years these two friends and comrades met again, the old horse instantly recognised his master with unmistakeable signs of pleasure.
One of these early adventures came very near costing the good grey his life. T——, during a journey on horseback, came one evening to a river crossed by an open railway-bridge consisting only of iron girders. To save time and avoid a circuitous route he decided to take a somewhat reckless short cut and lead the horse over that bridge. In this Blondin-like fashion they had proceeded about half-way across, when poor old Martin's foot slipped, and down he came, falling in such a position that his body lay prone on the narrow iron pathway formed by the rail and girder, while on either side two of his legs dangled helplessly over space. Sundown was approaching; so too was a train which, as T—— remembered, was very nearly due; but, though he tried his utmost to help the poor animal to his feet, all was unavailing, and presently the train hove in sight. T——, waving his handkerchief with wild gestures, succeeded in attracting the attention of the engine-driver, who stopped the train and came to his assistance. But, with all their efforts, they could not succeed in raising the horse from his perilous position; the train could wait no longer, and they had no choice but to resort to the kill-or-cure expedient of rolling him over into the water below. Falling from a height of some twenty-five feet, he went so deep into the mud at the bottom of the shallow African river that T—— was unable to pull him out, and had to leave him there all night. On coming back next morning with a span of oxen and some stout riems, he was horrified to find that during the night the unfortunate animal had sunk deeper and deeper into the mud, till little more than his nose remained above water. It was the work of much time and exertion to drag him out; and during the process his neck got such a twist that for the remainder of his days there was a crook in it, which caused his head to hang meditatively a little on one side.
Another time he was attacked by a large swarm of vicious bees, which settled all over him, stinging him so severely that his whole body swelled up, and he assumed the proportions of that preposterously inflated horse by Velasquez in the picture-gallery at Madrid. For three days the poor old fellow stood immoveable; then, after taking an enormous drink of water, he gradually recovered.
Very different, too, from the unintelligent Cape horses was "The Spy," a well-known steeple-chaser, imported into the colony by T—— some years ago. An incident which occurred during his voyage out recalls the oft-told anecdote of the elephant and the tailor. The horse-box in which the Spy was placed being just outside the door of the saloon, his head was in close proximity to the waiters as they passed and repassed during their attendance at meals. One of these waiters, being of a malicious turn of mind, found great enjoyment in teasing the unoffending animal, and missed no opportunity of giving him a rough knock on the nose in passing. For a while the Spy bore this treatment patiently; but he was biding his time, and at last had his revenge. One day, as the obnoxious waiter, bearing in either hand a steaming dish of currie and rice, was stepping briskly along to the saloon, he suddenly found himself grasped in a pair of powerful jaws, whisked clean off his legs, shaken like a rat in the grip of a terrier, and, finally, ignominiously dropped on to the deck among the débris and scattered contents of his dishes.
Although the horses produced by the Cape Colony are the best in South Africa, they have been much over-rated. It is true that a large number of them are capable of getting through a good deal of slow, continuous work under the saddle, with poor food and hardships as to shelter; but the vast majority of the colonial horses are in all respects indifferent animals, and devoid of good looks. In one point, perhaps, they surpass all other equine races in the world—their feet being generally excellent, and the hoofs so firm and hard as rarely to require shoeing, even on very long journeys. Many horses of most unprepossessing exterior are scarcely to be matched for speed and endurance in the field; but, taken en masse, South African horses are a failure. They are almost invariably poor and timid jumpers, and, when in harness, move but very small weights. A light cart containing two persons is sufficient to tax the powers of a pair of average horses, and even then jibbing is always imminent. At least eighty per cent. of the Cape horses are desperate stumblers, and uneasy in their paces—faults attributable to round, heavy shoulders and defective hind-quarters. Among the good horses the greater proportion are ill-tempered, and delight in buck-jumping, whenever they have the rare chance of being in good condition.
The terrible distemper known as "horse sickness" periodically causes great destruction in many parts of the colony; and the fear of it operates as a check on breeders, who would otherwise import better horses to improve their studs. A "salted horse"—one which has had horse-sickness—is very valuable, even if abounding in all kinds of equine misfortunes or faults. Such animals range in price from £25 to £100, according to age and quality. Horse-sickness is most partial in its operations; and sometimes, in the case of two adjoining farms, one will be severely attacked by the disease, while the other remains perfectly free from it.
And now, at length, the day of departure has come; and we leave Swaylands, though not in our own cosy little American spider. That fairy chariot, alas! is hors de combat; its strong, though delicate-looking wheels have succumbed at last to the roughness of Karroo roads and the dryness of the South African climate; and as we pass out at the little gate we take our last look at it as it lies there on the ground, a forlorn, sledge-like thing. What glorious drives we have had in that once daintiest and prettiest of little carriages—travelling to hunts or dances, fetching our mail, or sending off precious freights of feathers to the Port Elizabeth market! and how vividly the recollection of them comes back to us as we pass for the last time along the familiar Mount Stewart road!
Even now, at this time and distance, we can still conjure them up, and see and hear once more the well-known and loved sights and sounds of the Karroo. Animal and bird life start into quick motion all round us: the little duyker antelopes spring up from their forms among the bush, and dart gracefully away; the flights of pretty Namaqua partridges run along the ground quite close to us; the knorhaans, rending the air with discordant, over-powering noise, chatter out their loud disapproval of our approach; the little bright-eyed meerkats stare audaciously at us, then dive into their holes in pretended fear of us; the air is all full of the sweet scent of mimosa-blossoms, and T——, singing joyously in the overflow of good spirits induced by its pure, fresh, exhilarating qualities, enlivens the journey with one song after another as we spin merrily along on our airy, bicycle-like wheels; while Toto, equally happy, careers at our side, chasing every animal and bird that he sees, though seldom able to catch anything much swifter on its feet than a tortoise.
These tortoises, by the way, always afforded Toto excellent sport; he considered it his bounden duty to bring to us—no matter from what distance—all that he could possibly grasp with his teeth; and, many of them being much too large to be carried in this way, he was often obliged to put them down for a while, to rest his poor aching jaws. Sometimes he would come to a standstill before a gigantic specimen, and call us, with loud, excited barks, to the spot where some fifty pounds of splendid material for soup were to be had for the picking-up. He would stand barking triumphantly at the creature, which, in response, kept up a low, roaring noise, expressive of deepest disgust at his proceedings. And when the prize was secured, and we drove off with it safely ensconced at our feet, Toto was a proud dog indeed.
Somehow, on this last drive into Mount Stewart, everything is tantalizingly looking its very best; the veldt, refreshed by recent rains, is of a lovely soft green, and delicate flowers peep from it in all directions; the dazzling sunshine—so soon to be exchanged for cold northern skies—seems brighter than ever; and, in the clear atmosphere of the Karroo, the bold outlines of the far-off Cock's Comb are lifted up, as it were, by a strange effect of mirage—the mountain appearing quite detached from the horizon, and with blue water flowing at its foot. Just before we reach the turn in the road which hides the homestead of Swaylands from our view, we stop and look back; and, if it must be owned, that last look at the poor little ugly house—our dear home for the past few years—is taken by not quite undimmed eyes.
Then on, at a brisk pace, to Mount Stewart, where, at the pleasant little hotel in which we have so often been hospitably entertained, the host and his numerous family are assembled in full force to bid us God-speed. I take my last, wistful look at a long-coveted tame Kaffir crane, a delightful bird, who, in his neat suit of softest French-grey plumage, stalks solemnly—as he has been doing any time these four or five years—about the precincts of station and hotel; and am introduced to a newly-captured baby jackal, which T—— has just bought, and which is to accompany us to England. Then the train, at its usual leisurely pace, crawls down with us to Port Elizabeth. More good-byes—and at last we and all our zoological collection are safe on board the Union Company's S.S. Mexican; and soon the coast of Algoa Bay recedes from our view.
Toto does not enjoy his journey as he did when outward-bound; for there are too many of the canine race on board, and one little pair of pugs in particular—belonging to richly-jewelled passengers of the Hebrew persuasion, who have not trained up their dogs in the way they should go—commence the voyage by invading everybody's cabin, and making themselves generally so objectionable that on the second day the captain's fiat goes forth for the impartial consignment of all the dogs—good, bad and indifferent—to hen-coops. There they are accordingly, on the second-class deck, ranged in a dismal row, at one end of which poor little caged Anubis, the jackal-cub, yelps piteously for mother, brethren and freedom; and there, for the four weeks of the voyage, they are condemned to remain. All are profoundly miserable; but poor old Toto—being so much the largest—is the most to be pitied. In that narrow cage, where there is hardly room for him to turn round, he travels through the steaming heat of the tropics; his legs become cramped and stiff from want of exercise; he fattens like a Strasburg goose on the Irish stew and other substantial viands from the saloon table with which the waiters—cruelly generous—persist in stuffing him; and when, as a rare treat, he is allowed half an hour's liberty for what is ironically called a "run" on deck, he is able to do little more than sit down and pant.
With better luck than often falls to the lot of travellers by steamer, we remain a sufficient time at St. Helena to allow of a somewhat hurried visit to Longwood; and, going ashore with a good number of fellow-passengers, we charter the few carriages and saddle-horses to be had in the little town, and proceed, as fast as we can, up the steep, zigzag road. We notice that in this island there seem to be two completely different climates within a very short distance of one another. Down near the sea-level, bananas and other tropical plants grow luxuriantly in the close, stifling heat: but as we ascend we come into another climate; the air is almost cold, there is a fine, drizzling rain; blackberries, bracken, and other home-like plants border the roadside, and we might imagine ourselves in England, but for the bright-hued little birds which peep fearlessly at us from the bushes. Though the excursion is a most enjoyable one, especially after being cooped up on board ship, Longwood itself is disappointing, the house being quite dismantled, and containing nothing but a very beautiful bust of Napoleon, which has been placed by his family in one of the rooms.
Our passage is throughout a calm and prosperous one: we have pleasant company on board; there are none of the cliques and small enmities which so often spoil the enjoyment of a voyage; some of the passengers play and sing well; good concerts and theatricals enliven many of our evenings; and our only disappointment is the unkind fate which again brings us through Madeira in the dark. And at last, one lovely April morning—which seems to have been made on purpose to welcome returning colonists, spoilt by a long continuance of Cape sunshine—we drop quietly into Southampton; English violets and primroses are brought on board in delicious profusion; the usual hurried farewells are exchanged while most of us struggle wildly with refractory bags and wraps; Toto, in an alarmingly plethoric condition, waddles forth from his hen-coop; and very soon we are on terra firma, and—paying the first dread penalty of the newly-landed—pass through the ordeal of the Custom House. This turns out to be a very lengthy and tedious business; for, since we have been away, new and stringent regulations have come into force, and we find that our innocent cabin-trunks and hand-bags are all suspected of containing dynamite. Not until every package has been thoroughly ransacked are we allowed to depart, and seek our train. Then the latter bears us along through woodland scenery, brilliant with all the fresh tints of an English spring, which for us seems to have a new beauty. And in a few hours we find ourselves back in old, familiar scenes; friends from whom we have long been parted are round us once more; and the dear, delightful, rough South African life is a thing of the past.
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A SHORT HISTORY OF NATURAL SCIENCE; and of the Progress of Discovery from the Time of the Greeks to the Present Time. New edition, revised and rearranged. With 77 Illustrations. Cloth, $2.00.
"The work, though mainly intended for children and young persons, may be most advantageously read by many persons of riper age, and may serve to implant in their minds a fuller and clearer conception of 'the promises, the achievements, and claims of science.'"—Journal of Science.
New York: D. APPLETON & CO. 1, 3. & 5 Bond Street.
NEW EDITION OF ENGLISH ODES. Selected by Edmund W. Gosse. With Frontispiece on India paper from a design by Hamo Thornycroft, A.R.A. Forty-two Head and Tail Pieces from Original Drawings by Louis Rhead. 16mo. Cloth, special design in gold, $1.50. Same, in parchment, $1.75.
NEW EDITION OF ENGLISH LYRICS. Uniform with "English Odes." With nearly Eighty Head and Tail Pieces from Original Drawings by Louis Rhead. 16mo. Cloth, special design in gold, $1.50. Same, in parchment, $1.75.
THE MUSIC SERIES. Consisting of Biographical and Anecdotical Sketches of the Great German Composers; The Great Italian and French Composers; Great Singers; Great Violinists and Pianists. Five volumes, 18mo. Bound in half white and red sides, $3.50 per set; half calf, $8.00.
THE HOUSEHOLD BOOK OF POETRY. By Charles A. Dana. Entirely new edition, from new stereotype plates, enlarged and brought down to the present time. With nearly Two Hundred additional poems. Illustrated with Steel Engravings. Royal 8vo. Cloth, gilt extra, $5.00; half calf, $8.00; morocco, antique, $10.00; tree calf, $12.00.
A CHARMING AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
THE LIFE OF AN ARTIST. By Jules Breton. With Portrait. Translated by Mrs. Mary J. Serrano. 12mo. Bound in cloth, $1.50.
"… One of those books the success of which is assured from the first because of its perfect naturalness…. The reader of Jules Breton's memoir … will close the book without having experienced one misgiving as to its entire truthfulness. From the first page to the last his memoir will be found not merely readable, but fascinating, and the translator has very well reproduced his charms of style, his beautiful simplicity, and that perfume of the love of Nature which breathes through the book and ennobles it."—New York Tribune.
"The method and spirit … are most delicate and delightful…. Filled with the poet's glow and the philosopher's peace."—New York Sun.
"One understands modern France the better for this autobiography of her highly gifted son."—Boston Pilot.
"Jules Breton, by writing his autobiography, has conferred a lasting favor on the lovers of this class of literature."—Detroit Journal.
WIDOW GUTHRIE. A Novel. By Richard Malcolm Johnston. Illustrated by E. W. Kemble. 12mo. Bound in cloth, $1.50.
"It is understood that Colonel Johnston regards 'Widow Guthrie' as his strongest work."
"One of the happiest, sweetest, quaintest novels that have come from the press in a long time is 'Widow Guthrie,' a vigorous, breezy, and faithful picture of life in the South in the days before the war. There is no lack of virility, but there is also a refinement which is exquisite because it is genuine, and a humor which is mellow and sweet because it springs from a clean imagination."—Brooklyn Standard-Union.
"It is full of strong descriptions and curious and forcible character delineations. There is remarkable freshness in the figures of the story. The duel and the slaying of Duncan Guthrie are descriptive masterpieces."—New York Sun.
"The Widow Guthrie stands out more boldly than any other figure we know—a figure curiously compounded of cynical hardness, blind love, and broken-hearted pathos…. A strong and interesting study of Georgia characteristics without depending upon dialect. There is just sufficient mannerism and change of speech to give piquancy to the whole."—Baltimore Sun.
"… Some remarkably vivid portraitures of character…. The book is one that will please men as well as women."—Boston Evening Gazette.
A New Book by the author of "A Social Departure."
AN AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON. By Sara Jeannette Duncan. With 80 Illustrations by F. H. Townsend. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
A brilliant book, picturing English sights, society, customs, and amusements, as seen by an unconventional and witty observer. The same qualities which made "A Social Departure" so remarkable a success will make "An American Girl in London" a book which is "talked about everywhere."
"In the lighter literature of last year there was nothing more amusing than 'A Social Departure,' by Sara Jeannette Duncan, of Canada. It was just long enough—it could not well have been longer—but each reader wished that the author might write another book in similar style. Well, she has done it, and she could not have taken a better subject than 'An American Girl in London.'"—New York Herald.
"The raciness and breeziness which made 'A Social Departure,' by the same author, last season, the best-read and most talked-of book of travel for many a year, permeates the new book, and appears between the lines of every page. It is superfluous to say that 'An American Girl' is 'awfully fetching.'"—Brooklyn Standard-Union.
A SOCIAL DEPARTURE: How Orthodocia and I Went Round the World by Ourselves. By Sara Jeannette Duncan. Illustrated by F. H. Townsend. 12mo. Cloth, $1.75.
"It is a cheery, witty, decorous, charming book."—New York Herald.
"Widely read and praised on both sides of the Atlantic and Pacific, the diary is now republished in New York, with scores of illustrations which fit the text exactly and show the mind of artist and writer in unison."—New York Evening Post.
"… It is to be doubted whether another book can be found so thoroughly amusing from beginning to end."—Boston Daily Advertiser.
"A very bright book on a very entertaining subject. We commend it to those readers who abhor the ordinary statistical book of travels."—Boston Evening Transcript.
"A brighter, merrier, more entirely charming book would be, indeed, difficult to find."—St. Louis Republican.
"For sparkling wit, irresistibly contagious fun, keen observation, absolutely poetic appreciation of natural beauty, and vivid descriptiveness, it has no recent rival."—Mrs. P. T. Barnum's Letter to the New York Tribune.
SUMMER READING.
OUTINGS AT ODD TIMES. By Charles C. Abbott. 16mo. Cloth, gilt top, $1.25.
"Dr. Abbott's love and enthusiasm for Nature, and the things and creatures of Nature, knows no limit. The story they have to tell him is always new, always charming; and he interprets it with an enthusiasm and eloquence that carry conviction to his readers."—Providence Journal.
"A number of short studies of Nature in her outdoor aspects by one who has established a reputation as a close and sympathetic student and naturalist. He finds somewhat of interest and beauty in each season, and reveals to less observant eyes many of the curiosities and wonders of the living world about us."—Hartford Courant.
"Short essays on outdoor life set in charming shape."—Philadelphia Times.
THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. A Guide to their Interpretation. With a Map of the Mountains and Ten Illustrations. By Rev. Julius H. Ward. 12mo. Cloth, gilt top, $1.25.
Mr. Ward has spent his summer vacations in the White Mountains for several years, and has entered deeply into their life and meaning. This book is both a guide to a better knowledge of the White Hills and a souvenir of what one finds in them. "Nature," says the author, "in these retreats is very coy, and her secrets are only communicated to those who seek them. The ability to enjoy natural scenery is partly a gift, but it may be immensely increased by habits of observation."
"The author is thoroughly in love with his subject, and not less thoroughly acquainted with it. Though he disclaims intention to write a guide-book, the visitor to the White Mountains can hardly fail to profit by his picturesque descriptions, hints about paths and points of view, and abundant suggestions as to times and seasons."—New York Tribune.