The white man who has to rule natives soon teaches himself that he can do no good if he is overscrupulous. They must be taught to think him powerful or they will not obey him in anything. He soon feels that his own authority, and with his authority the security of all those around him, is a matter of “prestige.” Prestige in a highly civilized community may be created by virtue,--and is often created by virtue and rank combined. The Archbishop of Canterbury is a very great man to an ordinary clergyman. But, with the native races of South Africa, prestige has to be created by power though it may no doubt be supported and confirmed by justice. Thus the white ruler of the black man knows that he must sometimes be rough. There must be a sharp word, possibly a blow. There must be a clear indication that his will, whatsoever it may be, has to be done,--that the doing of his will has to be the great result let the opposition to it be what it may. He cannot strain at a gnat in the shape of a little legal point. If he did so the Zulus would cease to respect him, and would never imagine that their ruler had been turned from his way by a pang of conscience. The Savage, till he has quite ceased to be savage, expects to be coerced, and will no more go straight along the road without coercion, than will the horse if you ride him without reins. And with a horse a whip and spurs are necessary,--till he has become altogether tamed. The white ruler of the black man feels all this, and knows that without some spur or whip he cannot do his work at all. His is a service, probably, of much danger, and he has to work with a frown on his brow in order that his life may be fairly safe in his hand. In this way he is driven to the daily practice of little deeds of tyranny which abstract justice would condemn. Then, on occasion, arises some petty mutiny,--some petty mutiny almost justified by injustice but which must be put down with a strong hand or the white man’s position will become untenable. In nineteen cases the strong hand is successful and the matter goes by without any feeling of wrong on either side. The white man expects to be obeyed, and the black man expects to be coerced, and the general work goes on prosperously in spite of a small flaw. Then comes the twentieth case in which the one little speck of original injustice is aggravated till a great flame is burning. The outraged philanthropist has seen the oppression of his black brother, and evokes Downing Street, Exeter Hall, Printing House Square, and all the Gospels. The savage races from the East to the West of the Continent, from the mouth of the Zambesi to the Gold Coast, all receive something of assured protection from the effort;--but, probably, a great injustice is done to the one white ruler who began it all, and who, perhaps, was but a little ruler doing his best in a small way. I am inclined to think that the philanthropist at home when he rises in his wrath against some