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 across a cottage,—hardly more than a cabin,—with half a dozen dirty children at the door. Such are the back streets at Potchefstroom. And here too, as at Pretoria, there are hedges of roses, long rows of crowded rose-bushes round the little houses of the better class. There are spots so picturesque as almost to make the wanderer fancy that it would be pleasant to live in a place so pretty, so retired, and so quiet. But weeping willows and rose hedges would, I fear, after a time become insufficient, and the wanderer who had chosen to sojourn here under the influence of these attractions, might wish himself back in some busier centre of the world's business.

Here also there is a great square in the centre of the town, with the Dutch church in the midst of it,—by no means so ugly as the church at Pretoria. The square is larger and very much more picturesque,—while the sardine boxes and paper shirt-collars, so ubiquitous at the newer town, are less obtrusive. The square when I was there was green with grass on which horses were grazing, and here and there were stationed the huge waggons of travellers who had "spanned out" their oxen and were resting here under the tent coverings erected on their vehicles. The scene as I saw it would have made an exquisite subject for a Dutch landscape painter, and was especially Dutch in all its details.

At one corner of the square the Judge was holding the Court in a large room next to the Post-office which is kept for that and other public services. The Judge I had met at Pretoria, and had been much struck by his youth. One expects a judge to be reverend with years, but this was