144 
LETTERS FROM SOUTH AFRICA.— I. 
]HE pleasure Nature Notes gives me is responsible for 
this and following letters from a part of the world 
where the naturalist’s harvest is plenteous, but ob- 
servers very few, and while expressing the hope that 
your readers will be interested, I could wish they were not so 
far off, since there is no encouragement even to dream of a 
Field Club or a Selbornian Society here. 
From my seat on the “ stoep ” (Afrikanderism for path 
immediately round house) under the verandah, I gaze upon a 
part of the tepid Indian Ocean, about three-fourths of the 
distance from the Cape to Natal ; and, early though it be, the 
Mozambique hot current some miles out has begun its curious 
mirage effects. I can see the surf beat upon long miles of 
yellow sand, and follow to the horizon on both sides the promi- 
nent bush-clad ridge running closely parallel with the shore. 
Behind is a fresh, luxuriant-looking country of undulating grassy 
downs, freely dotted with thickets and scattered mimosa, the 
“ kloofs ” (vales) between being more or less densely wooded. 
As the sea is approached the land more noticeably becomes 
blocked out into somewhat geometrical relief by the many 
streams and tidal rivers that near their mouths form deep, 
beautiful “ creeks,” where much dark-green impenetrable bush 
is lodged and mirrored in the passing waters, along with the 
recurring grey “ krantzes ” (precipitous rock) into which the 
steep sides break, while over all is a sky not so unfailing in its 
unclouded blue as we would like. 
Soon after breakfast my Kaffir boy “ Sixpence,” gets the 
order to saddle-up the pony, and as the sun is rapidly warming 
to that sub-tropical race over which he becomes so heated, I 
set out hoping to see, at all events, the reeds shaken by a cooling 
breeze. 
Passing along a glade where clumps of the wonderfully 
specialised Strelitzia Regina alternated with beds of a large white 
and yellow Iris, and the edge of the bush was here and there 
festooned by the bright scarlet Tecoma , I came upon an artisan 
seeking fresh captives for his aviary ; but instead of the ethics 
of the proceeding I discussed with him his modus operandi and 
the habits of the birds he specially sought. In his trap-cages 
were two species of waxbill ( Estrclda ) which he called wrens, 
each not more than four inches long, — one with head and nape 
ashy, back greenish, wings rufous, rump red, tail black, throat 
likewise, underparts from white to yellowish, and, as if these 
markings do not afford variety enough, the upper mandible 
black while the lower is scarlet. The other, known as the 
Ruddy Waxbill, is dark olive brown above, vinaceous beneath, 
as are the cheeks and rump, vent and tail black, while sides of 
breast are curiously speckled with tiny yellow dots. It will thus 
