There is no novelty in the Mpongwe funeral rites; the same system prevails from the Oil Rivers to Congo-land, and extends even to the wild races of the interior.  The corpse, being still sentient, is accompanied by stores of raiment, pots, and goats’ flesh; a bottle is placed in one hand and a glass in the other, and, if the deceased has been fond of play, his draught-board and other materials are buried with him.  The system has been well defined as one in which the “ghost of a man eats the ghost of a yam, boiled in the ghost of a pot, over the ghost of a fire.”  The body, after being stretched out in a box, is carried to a lonely place; some are buried deep, others close to the surface.  There is an immense show of grief, with keening and crocodiles’ tears, perhaps to benefit the living by averting a charge of witchcraft, which would inevitably lead to “Sassy” or poison-water.  The wake continues for five days, when they “pull the cry,” that is to say, end mourning.  If these pious rites be neglected, the children incur the terrible reproach, “Your father he be hungry.”  The widow may re-marry immediately after “living for cry,” and, if young and lusty, she looks out for another consort within the week.  The slave is thrown out into the bush—­no one will take the trouble to dig a hole for him.

The industry of the Mpongwe is that of the African generally; every man is a host in himself; he builds and furnishes his house, he makes his weapons and pipes, and he ignores division of labour, except in the smith and the carpenter; in the potter, who works without a wheel, and in the dyer, who knows barks, and who fixes his colours with clay.  The men especially pride themselves upon canoe-making; the favourite wood is the buoyant Okumeh or bombax, that monarch of the African forest.  I have seen a boat, 45 feet 10 inches by 5 feet 11 inches in beam, cut out of a single tree, with the Mpano or little adze, a lineal descendant of the Silex implement, and I have heard of others measuring 70 feet.  These craft easily carry 10 tons, and travel 200 to 300 miles, which, as Mr. Wilson remarks, would land them, under favourable circumstances, in South America.  Captain Boteler found that the Mpongwe boat combined symmetry of form, strength, and solidity, with safeness and swiftness either in pulling or sailing.  And of late years the people have succeeded in launching large and fast craft built after European models.

The favourite pleasures of the Mpongwe are gross and gorging “feeds,” drinking and smoking.  They recall to mind the old woman who told “Monk Lewis” that if a glass of gin were at one end of the table, and her immortal soul at the other, she would choose the gin.  They soak with palm-wine every day; they indulge in rum and absinthe, and the wealthy affect so-called Cognac, with Champagne and Bordeaux, which, however, they pronounce to be “cold.”  I have seen Master Boro, a boy five years old, drain without winking a wineglassful of brandy.  It is not wonderful that the adults can “stand” but little, and that a few mouthfuls of well-watered spirit make their voices thick, and paralyze their weak brains as well as their tongues.  The Persians, who commence drinking late in life, can swallow strong waters by the tumbler.