foot of the hills were exquisite sites for country houses,—to be built, perhaps, by the future coloured millionaires of South Africa,—with grand opportunities for semi-tropical gardens, if only the water from the mountains could be used. Oranges, grapes, and bananas grow with the greatest profusion wherever water has been "led on." And yet it seems that the district is the very country for oaks. I had found more oaks during this last little tour through a portion of the Western Province of the Cape Colony than I have ever seen during the same time in England.
My kind host at Swellendam told me that it was imperative to go to the Tradouw,—or Southey's Pass through the mountains. The Tradouw is the old Dutch name for the ravine which was used for a pass before the present road was made. An energetic traveller will do as he is bid, especially when he is in the hands of an energetic host. The traveller wishes to see whatever is to be seen but has to be told what he should see. To such commands I have generally been obedient. He is too often told also what he should believe. Against this I have always rebelled;—mutely if possible, but sometimes, under coercion, with outspoken vehemence. "If it be true," I have had to say, "that I mean to write a book, I shall write my book and not yours." But as to the seeing of sights absolute obedience is the best. Therefore I allowed my host to take me to the Tradouw, though my bones were all bruised and nearly dislocated with Cape cart travelling and the sweet idea of a day of rest under the Swellendam oaks had taken strong hold of my imagination. I was amply repaid for my compliance.
