At Belvidere we found an Inn and a ferry, and put them both to their appropriate use, drinking at the one and crossing the other. Here we left our mules and proceeded on foot each with his own bag and baggage. On the further side there was to be a walk of three miles, and it was very hot, and we had already trudged through some weary miles of sand. And though we had compelled the ferryman to carry our bags, we were laden with our great coats. But, lo, Providence sent the mounted post-boy along our path, when the resource of giving him the great coats to carry, and taking his pony for my own use was too evident to require a moment’s thought. He saw it in the same light and descended as though it were a matter of course. And so I rode into the village, with the post boy and the post boy’s dog, the ferryman and the Resident Magistrate following at my heels. Here was another English village, but quite of a different class;--and yet picturesque beyond expression. “The” Knysna as the place is called is a large straggling collection of houses which would never be called other than a village in England, but would strike an investigating visitor as a village rising townwards. It is, in a very moderate way, a seaport, and possesses two inns. The post boy with unflinching impartiality refused to say which was the better, and we went to the wrong one,--that which mariners frequented. But such is South African honesty that the landlord at once put us right. He could put us up no doubt;--but Mr. Morgan at the other house could do it better. To Mr. Morgan, therefore, we went, and were told at once that we could have a leg of mutton, potatoes, and cabbages for dinner. “And very glad you ought to be to get them,” said Mrs. Morgan. We assented of course, and every thing was pleasant. In fifteen minutes we were intimate with everybody in the place, including the magistrate, the parson, and the schoolmaster; and in half an hour we were on horse back,--the schoolmaster accompanying us on the parson’s nag,--in order that we might rush out to the Heads before dark. Away we scampered, galloping through salt water plashes, because the sun was already disappearing. We had just time to do it,--to gallop through the salt water and up the hills and round to the headland, so that we might look down into the lovely bright green tide which was rushing in from the Indian ocean immediately beneath our feet. From where I stood I could have dropped a penny into the sea without touching a rock.