Great Britain -- Social conditions -- 19th century; London (England) -- Description and travel
Once I lost a friend by death, who had been troubled in his time by the
Medicine Man and the Conjurer, and upon whose limited resources there
were abundant claims. The Conjurer assured me that I must positively
‘follow,’ and both he and the Medicine Man entertained no doubt that I
must go in a black carriage, and must wear ‘fittings.’ I objected to
fittings as having nothing to do with my friendship, and I objected to
the black carriage as being in more senses than one a job. So, it came
into my mind to try what would happen if I quietly walked, in my own way,
from my own house to my friend’s burial-place, and stood beside his open
grave in my own dress and person, reverently listening to the best of
Services. It satisfied my mind, I found, quite as well as if I had been
disguised in a hired hatband and scarf both trailing to my very heels,
and as if I had cost the orphan children, in their greatest need, ten
guineas.
Can any one who ever beheld the stupendous absurdities attendant on ‘A
message from the Lords’ in the House of Commons, turn upon the Medicine
Man of the poor Indians? Has he any ‘Medicine’ in that dried skin pouch
of his, so supremely ludicrous as the two Masters in Chancery holding up
their black petticoats and butting their ridiculous wigs at Mr. Speaker?
Yet there are authorities innumerable to tell me—as there are authorities
innumerable among the Indians to tell them—that the nonsense is
indispensable, and that its abrogation would involve most awful
consequences. What would any rational creature who had never heard of
judicial and forensic ‘fittings,’ think of the Court of Common Pleas on
the first day of Term? Or with what an awakened sense of humour would
LIVINGSTONE’S account of a similar scene be perused, if the fur and red
cloth and goats’ hair and horse hair and powdered chalk and black patches
on the top of the head, were all at Tala Mungongo instead of Westminster?
That model missionary and good brave man found at least one tribe of
blacks with a very strong sense of the ridiculous, insomuch that although
an amiable and docile people, they never could see the Missionaries
dispose of their legs in the attitude of kneeling, or hear them begin a
hymn in chorus, without bursting into roars of irrepressible laughter.
It is much to be hoped that no member of this facetious tribe may ever
find his way to England and get committed for contempt of Court.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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