TO MY MOTHERLAND.
Drums were beating, the women singing, and as many
as had sufficient command of their legs were dancing.
They permitted me to see the corpse, and to my aston¬
ishment I found it wrapped with cloths, in exactly the
same manner as are Egyptian mummies. The cloth is
usually the best the friends of the deceased can pur¬
chase. On this occasion they used one which I had
presented the chief a few days before. It was laid
in an open piazza, the walls around which were draped
with velvet and other costly cloths. All this time there
was moving through the city a procession, made up of
djummers, men bearing a board covered with cloths
to represent the corpse, women singing alternately
songs of lamentation and of praises to the dead, with
other men firing guns, and all dancing and otherwise
enacting the most extravagant gestures.
The deceased is always buried in the house in which
he lived. Sometimes a stone is placed on the spot, on
which offerings to his manes are occasionally deposited.
In some cases, where the party was greatly respected,
on account of his position on earth, he becomes after
death the subject of religious adoration.
The Africans are not behind either the English or
Americans in their love of pageantry. The writer does
not remember a day spent at Abbeokuta without
having witnessed something of this sort. The most