cipitation of which was due to incentives from a much higher than any African quarter, he was troubled by the maddening fear that Mr. Rhodes had not forgiven him for the upsetting of his apple-cart. But Mr. Rhodes was not a man who wore his heart upon his sleeve. He schooled himself to repress manifestations of affection, but an incident for which Lord Grey is my authority shows how unfounded were Dr. Jameson’s misgivings. If Mr. Rhodes loved anything in the world, he loved his house, and Groote Schuur was the nest which he had built for himself in the shadow of Table Mountain, which he had filled with all manner of historic and literary treasures. When the year 1896—the year of the ill-fated Raid—was drawing to a close, Lord Grey, then Administrator of Rhodesia, received a telegram early in the morning to the effect that Groote Schuur had been burnt down with most of its contents. Knowing how intensely Mr. Rhodes was attached to his home, Lord Grey shrank from breaking the news to him until they were alone. He feared that Mr. Rhodes might lose his self-control. They rode out together that morning, and not until they were far out in the country did Lord Grey think of telling the evil tidings which arrived that morning. As they rode together Mr. Rhodes began talking of the misfortunes of the twelve months then drawing to a close. Nothing but ill-luck had attended him for the whole course; he did not think that his luck could mend, and could only hope that the new year would dawn without any further disaster. Lord Grey said to him gently—
“Well, Mr. Rhodes, I am very sorry, but I am afraid I must give you a rather ugly knock.”
Mr. Rhodes reined up his horse, and turning
