CALEDON
Caledon,January 19th.
Dearest Mother,Till this last week,the weather was pertinaciously cold and windy;and I had resolved to go to Worcester,which lies in a 'Kessel',and is really hot.But now the glorious African summer is come,and I believe this is the weather of Paradise.I got up at four this morning,when the Dutchmen who had slept here were starting in their carts and waggons.It was quite light;but the moon shone brilliantly still,and had put on a bright rose-coloured veil,borrowed from the rising sun on the opposite horizon.The freshness (without a shadow of cold or damp)of the air was indescribable -no dew was on the ground.I went up the hill-side,along the 'Sloot'(channel,which supplies all our water),into the 'Kloof'between the mountains,and clambered up to the 'Venster Klip',from which natural window the view is very fine.The flowers are all gone and the grass all dead.Rhenoster boschjes and Hottentot fig are green everywhere,and among the rocks all manner of shrubs,and far too much 'Wacht een beetje'(WAIT A BIT),a sort of series of natural fish-hooks,which try the robustest patience.Between seven and eight,the sun gets rather hot,and Icame in and TUBBED,and sat on the stoep (a sort of terrace,in front of every house in South Africa).I breakfast at nine,sit on the stoep again till the sun comes round,and then retreat behind closed shutters from the stinging sun.The AIR is fresh and light all day,though the sun is tremendous;but one has no languid feeling or desire to lie about,unless one is sleepy.We dine at two or half-past,and at four or five the heat is over,and one puts on a shawl to go out in the afternoon breeze.The nights are cool,so as always to want one blanket.I still have a cough;but it is getting better,so that I can always eat and walk.Mine host has just bought a horse,which he is going to try with a petticoat to-day,and if he goes well I shall ride.
I like this inn-life,because I see all the 'neighbourhood'-farmers and traders -whom I like far better than the GENTILITY of Capetown.I have given letters to England to a 'boer',who is 'going home',i.e.to Europe,the FIRST OF HIS RACE SINCE THEREVOCATION OF THE EDICT OF NANTES,when some poor refugees were inveigled hither by the Dutch Governor,and oppressed worse than the Hottentots.M.de Villiers has had no education AT ALL,and has worked,and traded,and farmed,-but the breed tells;he is a pure and thorough Frenchman,unable to speak a word of French.
When I went in to dinner,he rose and gave me a chair with a bow which,with his appearance,made me ask,'MONSIEUR VIENTD'ARRIVER?'This at once put him out and pleased him.He is very unlike a Dutchman.If you think that any of the French will feel as I felt to this far-distant brother of theirs,pray give him a few letters;but remember that he can speak only English and Dutch,and a little German.Here his name is CALLED 'Filljee',but I told him to drop that barbarism in Europe;De Villiers ought to speak for itself.He says they came from the neighbourhood of Bordeaux.
