A RACE WITH A KAFFIR. 115 



heavy spirated horns and rich striped skin, still 

 graced the scene. Alas ! that such noble and 

 interesting animals should have been pushed back 

 by the ruthless hand of man from these open valleys 

 to safer haunts and more secluded pastures. Yonder 

 in the valley is a pool in the nearly dry river-bed ; 

 it is called zee-koes gat (sea cows, or hippopotamus' 

 deep), but the hippos have long since departed ; 

 whether from the attacks of human foes or from lack 

 of sufficient water space, caused by that mysterious 

 desiccating process so common to this country, is 

 doubtful. The local names around us are mostly 

 Dutch, though a few of Bushman and Kaffir origin 

 still linger. I am not a thick-and-thin admirer of 

 the Boers ; but there is something in the strange and 

 moving history of their sufferings, struggles, and 

 wanderings in this land, in the quaint and uncouth, 

 yet singularly graphic, names they have bequeathed 

 to places and things, and in their simple Old World 

 customs, that has for me a curious interest. These 

 old names bring back to me scenes of long and weary 

 trekkings, of outspans and inspans, of vast herds of 

 game — now, alas ! sadly reduced — of desperate fights 

 with Kaffirs, and raids on Bushman hordes, too often, 

 alas ! sullied by deeds of unspeakable cruelty. 



However, though one sighs for the bygone days, 

 when this country was one vast game preserve — 

 game the noblest and the worthiest of the hunter the 

 world has ever seen — we must not grumble. There 

 are still plenty of the smaller antelopes, such as 

 rhebok iPdea capreola), klipspringer {Oreotragus 

 saltatrix), duyker {Cephalopus mergens), steinbok 

 [Nanotragus tragulus), and on the Karroo plains, not 

 far away, springbok {Gazella euchore) — with which to 



