This is a memorial to the poor fellows who fell in the Langalibalele affair. As to the other public buildings of the city, I recall the Cathedral where Dr. Colenso preached-about this worthy Bishop there is much divergence of opinion, but he was by no means generally popular in Natal. There is a Scotch church, and a Congregational church, and there is a church built in barbarous red brick-in pseudo-Romano-Ionic style, which is really a painful sight to behold. To make amends for this enormity there is a church near the Royal Hotel as attractive to the eye, as a church could well be. The principal street is called Church Street, and in this highway, the shops have generally overhanging verandahs, which produce a very pleasing effect. The Club House as a building, possesses some claim to mention. Government House is a very unassuming edifice, resembling a suburban villa of a by no means pretentious nature. In Sir Henry Bulwer I found a most affable and agreeable gentleman, evidently weighted by an appreciation of the responsibilities and difficulties of his position. The streets of Maritzburg are generally laid out in right angles and parallel lines, and the town gives one the impression of being a larger place than Durban, though I believe in reality it is about the same size. When I was at Maritzburg, deep and tolerably wide sluices intervened between the pathways, and the fences enclosing the gardens of the houses. These have now been covered in; but in those days one had to walk over coupled-together planks, which passed muster for bridges, before one could open the garden gates and so make for the houses themselves. These ditches were supposed to keep the streets healthful, and the town pure and free from scavenge and debris, and in this way they were doubtless useful.

It was no uncommon thing for unlucky individuals who chanced to be coming home somewhat fresh, to fall into these unkind trenches, and, if report lie not, the wearers of Her Majesty's uniform were very often found in what the vulgar call this "awkward predicament". A drunken man, however, deserves a ducking as much as a scolding wife; and without entering into a comparative analysis of the two cases, I may roughly assert a good deal more. The inhabitants of Maritzburg are a kindly hospitable race, and

ACT I.: SCENE III.-CURTAIN FALLS.

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they spare no pains to find amusement for a visitor. To-day they will drive you out to the Umgeni Falls or the Table Mountain, tomorrow they will be your cicerone to the volunteer shooting butts. They will organise private theatricals, balls, tennis matches; in fact, if you behave yourself, they will do anything for you. For my own part, I spent a happy time in the city. The inference is obvious. In addition to those young and old men of misfortune, whom I have mentioned, there are a great many men of good fortune there is also a clique of Britishers-well-born and wellbred-who, having sowed their wild oats too freely in England, are sent here to settle down and reform. A very questionable policy, I take it. I remember a warm discussion upon this very question of sowing one's wild oats, after a little dinner at the Royal one evening.

Time, 2 A.M.

Dramatis persona. Three or four English refugees, a Captain and Lieutenant of a Regiment quartered at Pieter-Maritzburg, and myself.

Captain A. "Time cures everything. A man can better eschew evil from a personal knowledge of its dangers and exactions. A mere greenhorn who knows nothing about sin and its punishment will be far more likely to fall into some abominable vice or mistake, for they are about the same thing in the long run, which will probably chaw him up altogether. A well-seasoned though confirmed rake will be less likely to come to ultimate shipwreck."

W. B. "Do you belong to the fallen-angel though redeemed class, Captain ?"

B. C. "Perhaps he's never been tempted, and in consequence has never fallen."

Lieut. Blank. "The fact of the matter is, he can't have been tempted of the devil-for he's the devil himself, I really believe, as any of you fellows would find out if you had had as much of his company as I have."

From this edifying conversation we drifted into politics and ultimately arrived at the threshold of religion. I have noticed elsewhere than in the colonies, that whenever men begin to feel

elevated by liquor, they try to express themselves upon religious topics.

The Turnery works at Maritzburg are interesting enough. Great wooden lumps like butcher's logs are quickly transformed into the legs of tables and chairs, while massive pieces of wood resembling large Gruyere cheeses are as rapidly metamorphosed into cart and barrow wheels. The paving stones of the streets are simply death to pedestrians. Pyramidical pinnacles, which oblige one to turn involuntary circles with every step.

Maritzburg would appear to be bestirring itself just now. I hear that Mr. Hulet, of Kearnsey, has recently landed machinery, to be used in the manufacture of tea. Moreover, it would appear that the cultivation of cotton is again receiving attention in the vicinity of the capital. It is satisfactory to learn that the example set in this matter, by the farmers of Albany, in the old colony, with the Honourable S. Cawood at their head, is being followed in Natal.

CHAPTER XXXV.

LIFE IN THE COLONIES AND ENGLAND COMPARED.

"A CERTAIN COMPENSATION OF GOOD AND EVIL."

"C'est lorsque nous sommes éloignés de notre pays, que nous sentons l'instinct qui nous y attache."-Chateaubriand.

THE question has often been asked me: Is there any charm in colonial life which could compensate a man for voluntarily exiling himself from England in favour of a permanent residence in the colonies?" This question can only be answered relatively. It is almost entirely dependent upon the individual temperament of the man concerned in the inquiry. If you be a great sportsman, South Africa will be an Elysium to you. If leaden skies and constant wind and rain, have wearied you of this

dull land of ours, and "every living man that dwells therein," then again, Africa will suit you. If you hate turmoil and love quiet and solitude, I would still say, come to South Africa, but keep clear of the natives. But these are all extreme and isolated cases. If we are dealing with generalities I should answer the question in the negative, a most decided negative too. South Africa has a beauty of its own, a rare beauty no doubt; but it has few inspirations for me. I missed "sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain," the dear old baronial halls with "donjon towers and castle keeps," ivy-green coats and vests, moats, portcullis gates, and thick massive walls, to which must be added their countless traditions and lore, so hallowed, so sacred to the true patriot. In these hoary ruins of the past we see the promising germs of modern comfort, the hopes and aspirations of our noblest men, the very mantle and canopy which has half covered, half foreshadowed, our present wide-spread civilisation. For mental and æsthetic pleasure I should prefer my old haunts to wild primitive Africa.

One learns much, however, from a visit to these far-off shores, new forms and new phases of life are found everywhere, added to which is the insight one must receive into the habits and ideas of the native tribes. Still I yearned for old London, its acute pleasures, its genial warmth, proceeding as it does from the circulation of the purple fluid of rarefied life through the countless veins and arteries of its ramified structure. Dear London, the centre, the very centre, of the world. And as to African beauty, is there anything to equal the romantic scenes of the Trossachs, of which Scott sang so heroically, investing every hill and dale, loch and streamlet, with a double life, a double interest. As to the mountainous districts of South Africa, they are not unlike those of Scotland in many ways, but they have no associations which another Scott could weave into a delightful web of poesy. The African mountains are minus the hallowing touch of history, beautiful as they are in themselves. Where again are our fine old country seats and manors, and churches of every age? Where is the quiet beauty of Richmond or Twickenham, of Westerham or Knockholt, the golden and