In, therefore, sifting and comparing with other evidence the numerous papers which we receive from, and relative to, the various colonies, it is our aim to give such true pictures of colonial life as enable the reader to judge fairly of the pains, pleasures, losses and gains of all the new homes which have been established by and for Englishmen in various parts of the globe. We have been led into these remarks by a communication now before us from the gentleman already mentioned who has passed five active years in the colony of the Cape of Good Hope. His characteristic preface to the amusing and instructive sketches of Cape Life is as follows:— “I cannot but think, that, in the present rage for promoting emigration, too much attention is paid to new and untried countries whose resources are as yet doubtful and undeveloped, to the detriment of the old established colonies, whose constant cry is for ‘labour, labour, labour.’ Amongst the least popular of our old colonies is the Cape of Good Hope. Yet I think, that most, if not all, the objections usually raised against it are erroneous; while many of its undoubted advantages are overlooked. It is my desire, if possible, to remove some of the prejudices entertained against a land where I spent five happy years of my life. My intention is simply to give a few travelling sketches, and to portray some of the characteristic features of the country and its inhabitants.” Cape Wine enjoys a very unenviable notoriety in England. Order a glass of sherry at a fourth-rate tavern: taste it—it is _very_ bad—you turn up your nose and cry “Cape!” Mr. Lazarus, a Hebrew dealer in wine and money, “does a little bill” for you, and sends you home as part payment a few dozen of “excellent Madeira.” Are you rash enough to taste it? If so, as soon as you have recovered from the sputtering caused by its fearful acidity, you mutter a phrase never mentioned to ears polite, and say again—“Cape!” In fact, whenever you drink any vile compound, under the name of wine, to which you are at a loss to ascribe a native land, you cry—“Cape!” The old adage of “give a dog a bad name and hang him,” is fully exemplified here. Still it must be admitted that the dog must first have _earned_ his bad name. So it is with Cape Wine. It _was_ very bad, and a great part of it is so still; while decidedly the worst of it is sent to England. I have often endeavoured to persuade the wine farmers that this is bad policy on their part; but they will not be convinced. They say that Cape Wine has a bad name in the market; that it is bought only as “Cape Wine,” without any distinction of vintage or class; and that the worst of it brings them as good a price as the best. And yet there is a vast difference in the various qualities; and even the best of them are still susceptible of wonderful improvement.