CAPE FLOWERS AT HOME 
47 
pretty well all of the same species. As a matter of fact, there 
are large numbers of them, varying with different localities, so 
that there is no single one which to us takes the place of the 
daisy in England. We are rather proud of our variety in this 
respect, and sometimes in the Dutch farmhouses one finds the 
most exquisite permanent decorations made up of these ever- 
lastings and dried grasses. 
One must not suppose from the number of beautiful flowers 
that have come from the Cape that they always form a prominent 
feature in the landscape. Just after the rains, in what we call 
winter which is really spring, there is a great and universal out- 
burst of oxalises and various kinds of marigold, so that every 
open field of grass becomes a veritable carpet ; but, taking the 
whole country round and the whole year round, the vegetation 
is not at first sight of a very striking description. Whether it 
be the open Karroo, or the dry mountain slopes, or damp 
mountain plateaux, the first impression is that of sameness. On 
the Karroo you pass mile after mile of the rhenoster-bosch, 
Elytropappus rhinocerotis, varied by a few more miles of some other 
composite. On the mountain side there will be millions of such 
commonplace plants as the Cliffortia , , Rhus, Agathosma and all 
sorts of heath-like shrubs. On a mountain plateau or on a 
marshy flat you come across acre upon acre of Restiacew. The 
walrus and the carpenter would continually have to “ weep like 
anything to see such quantities” of the same sort of thing. The 
monotony, however, is only apparent, for it is by diligent search 
amongst these bushes, or in the very heart of these restios that 
the botanist finds his daintiest morsels nestling in what shelter 
they can get. It may be a delicate orchid, or perhaps a sweet- 
scented gladiolus. 
The Karroo plants are peculiarly interesting for their mag- 
nificent struggle for existence. One plant is specially ingenious, 
Cotyledon reticulata. Its stem, swollen and succulent, is a desirable 
object, but is rendered quite inaccessible to the roving bands of 
antelope of old, or of cattle now. It puts forth every year a 
lovely and delicate inflorescence, intricate as a spider’s web and 
tasty as young shoots of asparagus. At a distance it looks as if 
this inflorescence was going to be an easy prey. The hungry 
antelope approaches, sniffing and confident, but he finds that 
every attempt to seize the dainty morsel is barred by an almost 
invisible, but very effective, prickly wire cage. The fact is, that 
each year when the delicate inflorescence has done its work, the 
peduncles of it harden and are slightly raised, so as to leave room 
for the next year’s flower. Meanwhile the old year’s wire cage 
falls off, and thus the plant lives for ever. 
The natural consequence of this kind of flora is that the 
botanist is always coming across some delightful surprise. It 
may be away on the Cape Flats, where the winds have formed 
sand dunes barely held together by quickgrass and a kind of 
Mesembryanthemum called the Hottentot’s fig. Anything 
