I Walked Back To Breakfast,
And Thought Worcester The Prettiest Place I Had Ever Seen.
We then
started for Paarl, and drove through 'Bain's Kloof', a splendid
mountain-pass, four hours' long, constant driving.
It was
glorious, but more like what one had seen in pictures - a deep,
narrow gorge, almost dark in places, and, to my mind, lacked the
BEAUTY of the yesterday's drive, though it is, perhaps, grander;
but the view which bursts on one at the top, and the descent,
winding down the open mountain-side, is too fine to describe.
Table Mountain, like a giant's stronghold, seen far distant, with
an immense plain, half fertile, half white sand; to the left,
Wagenmaker's Vley; and further on, the Paarl lying scattered on the
slope of a mountain topped with two DOMES, just the shape of the
cup which Lais (wasn't it?) presented to the temple of Venus,
moulded on her breast. The horses were tired, so we stopped at
Waggon-maker's Valley (or Wellington, as the English try to get it
called), and found ourselves in a true Flemish village, and under
the roof of a jolly Dutch hostess, who gave us divine coffee and
bread-and-butter, which seemed ambrosia after being deprived of
those luxuries for almost three months. Also new milk in
abundance, besides fruit of all kinds in vast heaps, and
pomegranates off the tree. I asked her to buy me a few to take in
the cart, and got a 'muid', the third of a sack, for a shilling,
with a bill, 'U bekomt 1 muid 28 granaeten dat Kostet 1s.' The old
lady would walk out with me and take me into the shops, to show the
'vrow uit Engelland' to her friends.
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