serviceable. To this criticism I do not doubt but that my friends at the Cape will object;—but when they do so I would ask whether their own opinion of their own town is not the same as mine. "It is a beastly place you know," one Capetown gentleman said to me.
"Oh no!" said I in that tone which a guest is obliged to use when the mistress of a house speaks ill of anything at her own table. "No, no; not that."
But he persisted. "A beastly place,"—he repeated. "But we have plenty to eat and plenty to drink, and manage to make out life very well. The girls are as pretty as they are any where else, and as kind;—and the brandy and water as plentiful." To the truth of all these praises I bear my willing testimony,—always setting aside the kindness of the young ladies of which it becomes no man to boast.
The same thing may be said of so many colonial towns. There seems to be a keener relish of life than among our steadier and more fastidious folk at home, with much less to give the relish. So that one is driven to ask oneself whether advanced Art, mechanical ingenuity, and luxurious modes of living do after all add to the happiness of man-*kind. He who has once possessed them wants to return to them,—and if unable to do so is in a far worse position than his neighbours. I am therefore disposed to say that though Capetown as a city is not lovely, the Capetowners have as good a time of it as the inhabitants of more beautiful capitals.
The population is something over 30,000,—which when we remember that the place is more than two centuries old
