Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1879-08-09
WINTER IN SOUTH AFRICA.

For the last few days up there, however, the
eold had been unenduraole; snow had even
OF the sun for two or three days, fmparting to
the hills quite homelike effects. which we never
expected to have seen in South Africa. But,
refreshing as it was to be able to fancy our
selves for moment in England, the illusion,
unluckily, did not carry us SO far as to make us
imagine ourselves inside substantial walls, and
sheet OF plate glass, instead of thin canvas
between us and the cold. And 1t is marvellous
how unexhilarat1ng is even the most bracing
cold, when it has 10 be encountered In a tent
like sieve, with the moon and stars beautf-
rully, visible overhead, and through which the
wind sweeps as it listeth. ruffi!ng your hair as
you lie In bed. 1t is distinctly not amusing,
but, on the contrary, to the last degree dread
full and depressing, to have to lie In bed to get
warm, and finding that fail, to have to get up
to avoid being frozen; to have. to sit in tent
If Din laundry parlance) they had been damped
for ironing, with the utter impossibility of dry
Ing them staring you in the face. 1t is not in
sp1rlt1ng to know that nothing except the sus-
pension OF the ordinary laws OF cause and ef-
feet can save you from an attack Of ague or
rheumatic fever; to have your chair, your bed
stead, anything that unexpectedly touches the
tent, turned straight-way into a channel for
the conductton OF miniature Waterspout; to
strike your head against the tent, and bring a
perfect shoWer-bath upon your clothes, which
sun comes out, probably In a day or txo.-to
have no lunch, because the snow and rain have
put the fire out; to make your dinner Off wa
terry stew, plus any amount OF grease; and.
moreover, to have to eat the said stew out Of
It's native stew-pan because the state OF the
weather renders any attempt at dish1ng up
ridiculous. Since our return to Utrecht,
it is not the cold that we have been martyrs to-
but the dust. Oh, the hours that those sand
storms blow day after day! and oh, the I'M
speakable griminess and grittiness OF every
thing get-at-able. clothes and provisions In
cluded! All day long sort of dull-red cloud
seems sweeping across the Veldt, and an inces-
SAINT storm OF hot sand, that cuts into your
eyes like needless halls down upon the tent
The wind, too, which is hot and parchlng to an
extraordinary degree does not seem to come In
puf1s and gusts as 1t does at home, but In one
continuous, unbroken blast, that makes you
taken up from the table leaves perfect repre-
Sentat1On OF itself, printed in the dust which
has collected round it, though 1t may not have
been lying there more than five minutes or so;
door Of the tent, which is always OF course,
rfgidly laced and closed, as IL some one were
empty1ng it out OF a funnel. Everything eat
able has to be brought to table In covered
saucepan, and even the teapot: at such times,
appears with little hood OF linen to protect
the spout. The air, too, appears to get almost
intolerably dry and burning. Our skins regu-
larly seem to peel away, and our hands have
cracks and chaps In them, as In the coolest
weather at home. The few treasures the white
ants left us have been entirely ruined By sew.
eral weeks OF this weather-bOoks Of all kinds
Warp1ng out OF all recognition, even though
kept In drawers; and the ivory cases of my
until there is nothing left of them to hold the
leDses together. The incessant noise and flap
ping OF the tent Is Weary1ng beyond belief. and
the bullying and motion OF It make one feel al
sails; some people even going SO far as to say
that 1t makes them sea- sick.-[From Mrs.
Hufchfnson's "In Tents in the Transraal.