40 THE GREAT THIRST LAND. 



Would you believe it ? this low, worthless scamp was 

 almost the only grumbler on board the ship. Food, 

 stewards in fact, everything he found fault with ; yet 

 " what can you expect from a hog, but a grunt ? " 



The Florence, in which we were prosecuting the re- 

 mainder of our journey, not being yet in sight, we had 

 time to take a run on shore. Port Elizabeth is a brisk, 

 pushing, prosperous business town, prettily situated, and 

 ornamented with many handsome buildings. Among 

 our late passengers, we had become intimate with many 

 who called this home. If we had accepted half the 

 invitations given to us, we must have remained a 

 week instead of a few hours, and one fair friend would 

 have induced me here to spend a life. 



At the Phoenix Hotel, an excellent house, we said 

 our last adieus, and drank a deoch-an-durass, and as 

 the boat bore us from the beach, I could long see a tiny, 

 well-gloved hand waving the most gossamer pocket- 

 handkerchief in token of farewell. But it behoves us 

 to hurry: the Florence looks impatient, and Captain 

 Jones is not the commander to lose time. As we 

 approach, we discover the wagon-tilt is safe, for already 

 we had felt grave doubts on the subject. And at this 

 stage of the proceedings it would have been a most 

 serious los*s. 



Ascending to the deck, we find ourselves on board a 

 yacht of about 600 tons, for as such the Florence was 

 built. She was purchased for her present traffic on 

 account of her light draught of water and sea-going 

 qualities. 



We find that through the captain's kindness a most 

 comfortable cabin has been allotted to our private use, 

 with Holly installed next door. This can scarcely be 



