mountains through a picturesque country which produces some of the best wool of the Colony. Caledon is another village of oak trees and pleasant detached Dutch-looking houses, each standing in its own garden and never mounting to a story above the ground. In winter no doubt the feeling inspired by these village-towns would be different; but when they are seen as I saw them, with the full foliage and the acorns on the oaks, and the little gardens over-filled with their luxuriance of flowers, with the streets as clean and shaded as the pet road through a gentleman's park, the visitor is tempted to repine because Fate did not make him a wine-growing, orange-planting, ostrich-feeding Dutch farmer. From Caledon we returned through East Somerset, a smaller village and less attractive but still of the same nature, to Capetown, getting on to the railway about twenty miles from the town at the Eerste River Station. In making this last journey we had gone through or over two other Passes, called How Hoek and Sir Lowry's Pass. They are, both of them, interesting enough for a visit from Capetown, but not sufficiently so to be spoken of at much length after the other roads through the mountains which I had seen. The route down from Sir Lowry's Pass leads to the coast of False Bay,—of which Simon's Bay is an inlet. Between False Bay to the South and Table Bay to the North is the flat isthmus which forms the peninsula, on which stands Capetown and the Table Mountains, the Southern point of which is the Cape of Good Hope.
In this journey among the Dutch towns which lie around the capital I missed Stellenbosch, which is, I am told, the
