the history of colonization. It is the now-familiar and well-nigh
universal struggle for self-determination waged in this instance between
all-British elements and without violence.

All the way from Capetown I had followed the trail of Cecil Rhodes,
which like the man himself, is distinct. It is not the succession of
useless and conventional monuments reared by a grateful posterity.
Rather it is expressed in terms of cities and a permanent industrial and
agricultural advance. "Living he was the land," and dead, his imperious
and constructive spirit goes marching on. The Rhodes impress is
everywhere. Now I had arrived at the cap-stone of it all, the domain
that bears his name and which he added to the British Empire.

Less than two hours after the immigration inspector had given me the
once-over on the frontier I was in Bulawayo, metropolis of Rhodesia,
which sprawls over the veldt just like a bustling Kansas community
spreads out over the prairie. It is definitely American in energy and
atmosphere. Save for the near-naked blacks you could almost imagine
yourself in Idaho or Montana back in the days when our West was young.

Before that first day ended I had lunched and dined in a club that would
do credit to Capetown or Johannesburg; had met women who wore French
frocks, and had heard the possibilities of the section acclaimed by a
dozen enthusiasts. Everyone in Rhodesia is a born booster. Again you get
the parallel with our own kind.

To the average American reader Rhodesia is merely a name, associated
with the midnight raid of stealthy savage and all the terror and tragedy
of the white man's burden amid the wild confines. All this happened, to
be sure, but it is part of the past. While South Africa still wrestles
with a serious native problem, Rhodesia has settled it once and for all.
It would be impossible to find a milder lot than the survivors and sons
of the cruel and war-like Lobengula who once ruled here like a despot of
old. His tribesmen--the Matabeles--were put in their place by a strong
hand and they remain put.

Bulawayo was the capital of Lobengula's kingdom. The word means "Place
of Slaughter," and it did not belie the name. You can still see the tree
under which the portly potentate sat and daily dispensed sanguinary
judgment. His method was quite simple. If anyone irritated or displeased
him he was haled up "under the greenwood" and sentenced to death. If
gout or rheumatism racked the royal frame