ost tropical in
character. Many of the houses are no more than one-storey bungalows;
half the folks one saw were coloured; a rare Malay woman flaunted
colour like a tropic bird. Avenues of pines resembled huge scrub; they
cast strong shadows even in the greyness of the day. Far above the huge
ramparts of Table Mountain lay the clouds, and the wind whistled
mournfully from the organ pipes of the Devil's Peak. In unoccupied lands
were great patches of wild arum, and suddenly I saw the gaunt Australian
blue gum, which flourishes here just as well as the English oak. Two
white gums shone among sombrest pines. They took my mind suddenly back
to the bush of the Murray Hills, for there they gleam like sunlit
lighthouses among the darker and more melancholy timber of the heights.

The houses grew fewer and fewer beyond Rondebosch, and at last we came
to Wynberg, a quiet little suburban town. The tram ran through and
beyond it, and I got off and walked for a while among the side roads.
And the aspect of the country was so quiet, and yet so rich, that I
wondered how any could throw doubts upon the wonderful value of the
country. Surely this was a spot worth fighting for, and, more certainly
still, it was a place for peace. A long contemplative walk brought me
back to Rondebosch, and again I took the train-like tram and went back
to busy Capetown.

In any new town the heights about and above it appeal strongly to every
wanderer. I had no time to spare for the ascent of Table Mountain, and
the tablecloth of clouds indeed forbade me to attempt it. But someone
had spoken to me of the Kloof road, which leads to the saddleback
between the Lion's Head and Table Mountain, so, taking the Kloof Street
tram, I ran with it to its stopping-place and found the road. There the
houses are more scattered; the streets are thin. But about every house
is foliage; in every garden are flowers. As I mounted the steep,
well-kept road I came upon pine woods. Across the valley, or the Kloof,
I saw the lower grassy slopes of Table Mountain, where the trees
dwindled till they dotted the hill-side like spare scrub. Above the
trees is a cut in the mountain, above that the bare grass, and then the
frowning weather-worn bastions of the mountain with its ancient
horizontal strata. It is cut and scarped into gullies and chimneys; for
the mountain climber it offers difficult and impossible climbs at every
point. Down the upper gullies hung wisps of ragged cloud,