re the
carriage is standing under some splendid oak trees, swallow a
sort of stirrup-cup of delicious hot tea, and so home again as
fast as we can go.

OCTOBER 19.

It is decided that I must take a drive in a Cape cart; so
directly after breakfast a smart workman-like-looking vehicle,
drawn by a pair of well-bred iron-gray cobs, dashes up under
the portico. There are capital horses here, but they fetch
a good price, and such a pair as these would easily find
purchasers at one hundred and fifty pounds. The cart itself
is very trim and smart, with a framework sort of head, which
falls back at pleasure, and it holds four people easily. It
is a capital vehicle, light and strong and uncommonly
comfortable, but I am warned not to imagine that all Cape
carts are as easy as this one. Away we go at a fine pace
through the delicious sparkling morning sunshine and crisp
air, soon turning off the red high-road into a sandy, marshy
flat with a sort of brackish back-water standing in pools here
and there. We are going to call on Langalibalele, and his
son, Malambuli, who are located at Uitvlugt on the Cape
downs, about four miles from the town. It is a sort of
farm-residence; and considering that the chief has hitherto
lived in a reed hut, he is not badly off, for he has plenty
of room out of doors as well as a good house over his head. We
bump over some strange and rough bits of sandy road and climb
up and down steep banks in a manner seldom done on wheels.
There is a wealth of lovely flowers blooming around, but I
can't help fixing my eyes on the pole of the cart, which is
sometimes sticking straight up in the air, its silver hook
shining merrily in the sun, or else it has disappeared
altogether, and I can only see the horses' haunches. That
is when we are going _down_ hill, and I think it is a more
terrible sensation than when we are playfully scrambling up
some sandy hillock as a cat might.

Here is the location at last, thank Heaven! and there is
Langalibalele sitting in the verandah stoep (pronounced
"stoup") on his haunches on a brick. He looks as comfortable
as if he were in an arm-chair, but it must be a difficult
thing to do if you think seriously of it. The etiquette seems
to be to take no notice of him as we pass into the parlor,
where we present our p