By the bye, a Bonn man, Dr. Bleek, called here with ‘Grüsse’ from our old friends, Professor Mendelssohn and his wife. He is devoting himself to Hottentot and aboriginal literature!—and has actually mastered the Caffre _click_, which I vainly practised under Kleenboy’s tuition. He wanted to teach me to say ‘Tkorkha’, which means ‘you lie’, or ‘you have missed’ (in shooting or throwing a stone, &c.)—a curious combination of meanings. He taught me to throw stones or a stick at him, which he always avoided, however close they fell, and cried ‘Tkorkha!’ The Caffres ask for a present, ‘Tkzeelah Tabak’, ‘a gift for tobacco’. The Farnese Hercules is a living _truth_. I saw him in the street two days ago, and he was a Caffre coolie. The proportions of the head and throat were more wonderful in flesh, or muscle rather, than in marble. I know a Caffre girl of thirteen, who is a noble model of strength and beauty; such an arm—larger than any white woman’s—with such a dimple in her elbow, and a wrist and hand which no glove is small enough to fit—and a noble countenance too. She is ‘apprenticed’, a name for temporary slavery, and is highly spoken of as a servant, as the Caffres always are. They are a majestic race, but with just the stupid conceit of a certain sort of Englishmen; the women and girls seem charming. _Easter Sunday_.—The weather continues beautifully clear and bright, like the finest European spring. It seems so strange for the floral season to be the winter. But as the wind blows the air is quite cold to-day; nevertheless, I feel much better the last two days. The brewing of the rain made the air very oppressive and heavy for three weeks, but now it is as light as possible. I must say good-bye, as the mail closes to-morrow morning. Easter in autumn is preposterous, only the autumn looks like spring. The consumptive young girl whom I packed off to the Cape, and her sister, are about to be married—of course. Annie has had a touch of Algoa Bay fever, a mild kind of ague, but no sign of chest disease, or even delicacy. My ‘hurrying her off’, which some people thought so cruel, has saved her. Whoever comes _soon enough_ recovers, but for people far gone it is too bracing. LETTER XIV Capetown, Saturday, May 3d. DEAREST MOTHER,