Nasby in Exile: or, Six Months of Travel in England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany, Switzerland and Belgium, with many things not of travelLocke, David Ross
Philosophy
Nasby in Exile: or, Six Months of Travel in England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany, Switzerland and Belgium, with many things not of travel
Locke, David Ross
Europe -- Description and travel
Except there be a special dispensation this party will never repent, and
if there be such a hell as the preacher described they will find it.
Their to-morrow for becoming good, like everybody else's, will never
come. The negro who, when asked why, in view of the punishment that must
follow his sinful life, he would continue in his evil courses,
replied:--
"Boss, de great comfort and 'scurity I has, is in a deff-bed 'pentance."
"But suppose you die too suddenly to repent?"
"Boss, I alluz keeps myseff ready for 'pentance."
The road down is lined with public houses, little quaint inns in which
nobody sleeps, but which are devoted exclusively to the selling of beer
and spirits. At each of these half the vehicles stopped, and the scenes
about them were curious, if not altogether enjoyable. The only business
done inside was the drawing and drinking of beer, and outside--heaven
help an American--negro minstrelsy. Imagine three cockneys burnt corked,
and dressed in trowsers striped in imitation of the American flag, with
long blue striped coats and red vests, one playing the banjo, another
the concertina, and the third doing the silver sand clog, with that
peculiar soul-depressing, spirit-quenching expression that all clog
dancers wear habitually.
[Illustration: ENGLISH NEGRO MINSTRELSY.]
[Sidenote: THE ROADSIDE REPAST.]
A clog dance on a stage in a hall is sufficiently depressing to send a
middle-aged man home to make his will, but imagine it done by an
Englishman on a board outside an inn, on a hot day, so hot that the
perspiration streaming down his face washed the burnt cork out in
streaks, and then when this doleful performance was finally
accomplished, think of a negro melody sung in the genuine cockney
dialect, and accepted as a correct representation of the American
African. By the way, in a first-class music hall I heard an English
minstrel use the word "nothink," and misplace his h's as fluently as the
most accomplished shopman. But the un-enlightened Englishman who had
never heard the rich, mellow tones of the genuine African didn't know
any better, and so it was as well. People who love minstrelsy deserve
nothing better.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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