Through Lands That Were Dark

South Africa exercises a great charm over those who visit it. It is a land of sunshine. An unkind critic has described it as “a land of trees without shade, rivers without water, flowers without scent, and birds without song.” It is a land of vast distances and sparse population. The portion of the African Continent which is popularly referred to as “South Africa” is that part which lies south of the Zambesi. This great expanse of country is as large as Europe without Russia, Scandinavia and the British Isles, but its entire population is less than that of greater London.

I left England in the late autumn and arrived at Cape Town seventeen days later in the early summer. Londonfog was exchanged for a land of lovely flowers and luscious fruits. Cape Town has been so often described that I will not dwell upon its beauties or attempt to draw a picture of Table Mountain, The Devil’s Peak, The Lion’s Head, or The Twelve Apostles.

My first impression—and it is a lasting one—was of the abounding kindness and hospitality of the Colonials wherever I went. On the day of my arrival I was entertained by the Executive Committee of the Congregational Union of South Africa. On the following day I was the guest of the Archbishop of Cape Town at his lovely home at Bishopscourt, where I met fourteen South African Bishops in full canonicals gathered together for their Annual Synod. Bishopscourt is a beautiful old Dutch House with a far-famed garden which surpassed in luxuriance of colour anything I had ever seen except in Japan. All through South and Central Africa I was often the guest of Government officials and European residents, and everywhere received, as the representative of the Society, a warm welcome and the utmost hospitality and kindness.