This intermediate country between the ‘Central African wilderness’ and Capetown has been little frequented. I went to the Church Mission School with the English clergyman yesterday. You know I don’t believe in every kind of missionaries, but I do believe that, in these districts, kind, judicious English clergymen are of great value. The Dutch pastors still remember the distinction between ‘Christenmenschen’ and ‘Hottentoten’; but the Church Mission Schools teach the Anglican Catechism to every child that will learn, and the congregation is as piebald as Harlequin’s jacket. A pretty, coloured lad, about eleven years old, answered my questions in geography with great quickness and some wit. I said, ‘Show me the country you belong to.’ He pointed to England, and when I laughed, to the cape. ‘This is where we are, but that is the country I _belong to_.’ I asked him how we were governed, and he answered quite right. ‘How is the Cape governed?’ ‘Oh, we have a Parliament too, and Mr. Silberbauer is the man _we_ send.’ Boys and girls of all ages were mixed, but no blacks. I don’t think they will learn, except on compulsion, as at Gnadenthal. I regret to say that Bill’s wife has broken his head with a bottle, at the end of the honeymoon. I fear the innovation of being _married at church_ has not had a good effect, and that his neighbours may quote Mr. Peachum. I was offered a young lion yesterday, but I hardly think it would be an agreeable addition to the household at Esher. I hear that Worcester, Paarl, and Stellenbosch are beautiful, and the road very desolate and grand: one mountain pass takes six hours to cross. I should not return to Capetown so early, but poor Captain J— has had his leg smashed and amputated, so I must look out for myself in the matter of ships. Whenever it is hot, I am well, for the heat here is so _light_ and dry. The wind tries me, but we have little here compared to the coast. I hope that the voyage home will do me still more good; but I will not sail till April, so as to arrive in June. May, in the Channel, would not do. How I wish I could send you the fruit now on my table—amber-coloured grapes, yellow waxen apples streaked with vermillion in fine little lines, huge peaches, and tiny green figs! I must send dear old Klein a little present from England, to show that I don’t forget my Dutch adorer. I wish I could bring you the ‘Biltong ‘ he sent me—beef or bok dried in the sun in strips, and slightly salted; you may carry enough in your pocket to live on for a fortnight, and it is very good as a little ‘relish’. The partridges also have been welcome, and we shall eat the tiny haunch of bok to-day.