angel. No, not
the angel; he belongs to a different sphere, but that last expression
of humanity upon which I will not speculate. While man is man--that is,
before he suffers the magical death-change into spirit, if such should
be his destiny--well, he will remain man. I mean that the same passions
will sway him; he will aim at the same ambitions; he will know the same
joys and be oppressed by the same fears, whether he lives in a Kafir
hut or in a golden palace; whether he walks upon his two feet or, as for
aught I know he may do one day, flies through the air. This is certain:
that in the flesh he can never escape from our atmosphere, and while
he breathes it, in the main with some variations prescribed by climate,
local law and religion, he will do much as his forefathers did for
countless ages.

That is why I have always found the savage so interesting, for in him,
nakedly and forcibly expressed, we see those eternal principles which
direct our human destiny.

To descend from these generalities, that is why also I, who hate
writing, have thought it worth while, at the cost of some labour to
myself, to occupy my leisure in what to me is a strange land--for
although I was born in England, it is not my country--in setting down
various experiences of my life that do, in my opinion, interpret this
our universal nature. I dare say that no one will ever read them; still,
perhaps they are worthy of record, and who knows? In days to come they
may fall into the hands of others and prove of value. At any rate, they
are true stories of interesting peoples, who, if they should survive in
the savage competition of the nations, probably are doomed to undergo
great changes. Therefore I tell of them before they began to change.

Now, although I take it out of its strict chronological order, the first
of these histories that I wish to preserve is in the main that of an
extremely beautiful woman--with the exception of a certain Nada, called
"the Lily," of whom I hope to speak some day, I think the most beautiful
that ever lived among the Zulus. Also she was, I think, the most able,
the most wicked, and the most ambitious. Her attractive name--for it was
very attractive as the Zulus said it, especially those of them who were
in love with her--was Mameena, daughter of Umbezi. Her other name
was Child of Storm (Ingane-ye-Sipepo, or, more freely and shortly,
O-we-Zulu), but the word "Ma-mee-na" had its origin in the sound of the
wind t