The spot is one of extreme beauty. The sea passes in and out between two rocks 160 yards apart, and is so deep that even at low tide there are 18 feet of water. Where we stood the rocks were precipitous, but on the other side it was so far broken that we were told that bucks when pressed by hounds would descend it, so as to take the water at its foot. This would have seemed to be impossible were it not that stags will learn to do marvellous things in the way of jumping. On our right hand, between us and the shore of the outer Ocean, there was a sloping narrow green sward, hardly broader than a ravine, but still with a sward at its foot, running down to the very marge of the high tide, seeming to touch the water as we looked at it. And beyond, further on the left, there were bright green shrubs the roots of which the sea seemed to wash. A little further out was the inevitable “bar,”--injurious to commerce though adding to the beauty of the spot, for it was marked to us only by the breakers which foamed across it. The schoolmaster told us much of the eligibility of the harbour. Two men of war,--not probably first-class ironclads, modest little gun boats probably,--had been within the water of the Knysna. And there were always 18 feet of water on the bar because of the great scour occasioned by the narrow outlet, whereas other bars are at certain times left almost waterless. A great trade was done,--in exporting wood. But in truth the entrance to the Knysna is perhaps more picturesque and beautiful than commercially useful. For the former quality I can certainly speak; and as I stood there balancing between the charms of the spot and the coming darkness, aggravated by thoughts which would fly off to the much needed leg of mutton, I felt it to be almost hard that my friend the magistrate should have punctilious scruples as to his duties on Monday morning.