some　small　money　to　bestow　upon　him；　I　casually　directed　my　eyes　to
  the　face　of　his　superior　officer；　and　in　him　beheld　the　Face…Maker！
  Though　it　was　not　the　way　to　Algeria；　but　quite　the　reverse；　the
  military　poodle's　Colonel　was　the　Face…Maker　in　a　dark　blouse；　with
  a　small　bundle　dangling　over　his　shoulder　at　the　end　of　an
  umbrella；　and　taking　a　pipe　from　his　breast　to　smoke　as　he　and　the
  poodle　went　their　mysterious　way。
  CHAPTER　XXVIII　…　MEDICINE　MEN　OF　CIVILISATION
  My　voyages　（in　paper　boats）　among　savages　often　yield　me　matter　for
  reflection　at　home。　　It　is　curious　to　trace　the　savage　in　the
  civilised　man；　and　to　detect　the　hold　of　some　savage　customs　on
  conditions　of　society　rather　boastful　of　being　high　above　them。
  I　wonder；　is　the　Medicine　Man　of　the　North　American　Indians　never
  to　be　got　rid　of；　out　of　the　North　American　country？　　He　comes　into
  my　Wigwam　on　all　manner　of　occasions；　and　with　the　absurdest
  'Medicine。'　　I　always　find　it　extremely　difficult；　and　I　often　find
  it　simply　impossible；　to　keep　him　out　of　my　Wigwam。　　For　his　legal
  'Medicine'　he　sticks　upon　his　head　the　hair　of　quadrupeds；　and
  plasters　the　same　with　fat；　and　dirty　white　powder；　and　talks　a
  gibberish　quite　unknown　to　the　men　and　squaws　of　his　tribe。　　For
  his　religious　'Medicine'　he　puts　on　puffy　white　sleeves；　little
  black　aprons；　large　black　waistcoats　of　a　peculiar　cut；　collarless
  coats　with　Medicine　button…holes；　Medicine　stockings　and　gaiters
  and　shoes；　and　tops　the　whole　with　a　highly　grotesque　Medicinal
  hat。　　In　one　respect；　to　be　sure；　I　am　quite　free　from　him。　　On
  occasions　when　the　Medicine　Men　in　general；　together　with　a　large
  number　of　the　miscellaneous　inhabitants　of　his　village；　both　male
  and　female；　are　presented　to　the　principal　Chief；　his　native
  'Medicine'　is　a　comical　mixture　of　old　odds　and　ends　（hired　of
  traders）　and　new　things　in　antiquated　shapes；　and　pieces　of　red
  cloth　（of　which　he　is　particularly　fond）；　and　white　and　red　and
  blue　paint　for　the　face。　　The　irrationality　of　this　particular
  Medicine　culminates　in　a　mock　battle…rush；　from　which　many　of　the
  squaws　are　borne　out；　much　dilapidated。　　I　need　not　observe　how
  unlike　this　is　to　a　Drawing　Room　at　St。　James's　Palace。
  The　African　magician　I　find　it　very　difficult　to　exclude　from　my
  Wigwam　too。　　This　creature　takes　cases　of　death　and　mourning　under
  his　supervision；　and　will　frequently　impoverish　a　whole　family　by
  his　preposterous　enchantments。　　He　is　a　great　eater　and　drinker；
  and　always　conceals　a　rejoicing　stomach　under　a　grieving　exterior。
  His　charms　consist　of　an　infinite　quantity　of　worthless　scraps；　for
  which　he　charges　very　high。　　He　impresses　on　the　poor　bereaved
  natives；　that　the　more　of　his　followers　they　pay　to　exhibit　such
  scraps　on　their　persons　for　an　hour　or　two　（though　they　never　saw
  the　deceased　in　their　lives；　and　are　put　in　high　spirits　by　his
  decease）；　the　more　honourably　and　piously　they　grieve　for　the　dead。
  The　poor　people　submitting　themselves　to　this　conjurer；　an
  expensive　procession　is　formed；　in　which　bits　of　stick；　feathers　of
  birds；　and　a　quantity　of　other　unmeaning　objects　besmeared　with
  black　paint；　are　carried　in　a　certain　ghastly　order　of　which　no　one
  understands　the　meaning；　if　it　ever　had　any；　to　the　brink　of　the
  grave；　and　are　then　brought　back　again。
  In　the　Tonga　Islands　everything　is　supposed　to　have　a　soul；　so　that
  when　a　hatchet　is　irreparably　broken；　they　say；　'His　immortal　part
  has　departed；　he　is　gone　to　the　happy　hunting…plains。'　　This　belief
  leads　to　the　logical　sequence　that　when　a　man　is　buried；　some　of
  his　eating　and　drinking　vessels；　and　some　of　his　warlike
  implements；　must　be　broken　and　buried　with　him。　　Superstitious　and
  wrong；　but　surely　a　more　respectable　superstition　than　the　hire　of
  antic　scraps　for　a　show　that　has　no　meaning　based　on　any　sincere
  belief。
  Let　me　halt　on　my　Uncommercial　road；　to　throw　a　passing　glance　on
  some　funeral　solemnities　that　I　have　seen　where　North　American
  Indians；　African　Magicians；　and　Tonga　Islanders；　are　supposed　not
  to　be。
  Once；　I　dwelt　in　an　Italian　city；　where　there　dwelt　with　me　for　a
  while；　an　Englishman　of　an　amiable　nature；　great　enthusiasm；　and　no
  discretion。　　This　friend　discovered　a　desolate　stranger；　mourning
  over　the　unexpected　death　of　one　very　dear　to　him；　in　a　solitary
  cottage　among　the　vineyards　of　an　outlying　village。　　The
  circumstances　of　the　bereavement　were　unusually　distressing；　and
  the　survivor；　new　to　the　peasants　and　the　country；　sorely　needed
  help；　being　alone　with　the　remains。　　With　some　difficulty；　but　with
  the　strong　influence　of　a　purpose　at　once　gentle；　disinterested；
  and　determined；　my　friend　…　Mr。　Kindheart　…　obtained　access　to　the
  mourner；　and　undertook　to　arrange　the　burial。
  There　was　a　small　Protestant　cemetery　near　the　city　walls；　and　as
  Mr。　Kindheart　came　back　to　me；　he　turned　into　it　and　chose　the
  spot。　　He　was　always　highly　flushed　when　rendering　a　service
  unaided；　and　I　knew　that　to　make　him　happy　I　must　keep　aloof　from
  his　ministration。　　But　when　at　dinner　he　warmed　with　the　good
  action　of　the　day；　and　conceived　the　brilliant　idea　of　comforting
  the　mourner　with　'an　English　funeral；'　I　ventured　to　intimate　that
  I　thought　that　institution；　which　was　not　absolutely　sublime　at
  home；　might　prove　a　failure　in　Italian　hands。　　However；　Mr。
  Kindheart　was　so　enraptured　with　his　conception；　that　he　presently
  wrote　down　into　the　town　requesting　the　attendance　with　to…morrow's
  earliest　light　of　a　certain　little　upholsterer。　　This　upholsterer
  was　famous　for　speaking　the　unintelligible　local　dialect　（his　own）
  in　a　far　more　unintelligible　manner　than　any　other　man　alive。
  When　from　my　bath　next　morning　I　overheard　Mr。　Kindheart　and　the
  upholsterer　in　conference　on　the　top　of　an　echoing　staircase；　and
  when　I　overheard　Mr。　Kindheart　rendering　English　Undertaking
  phrases　into　very　choice　Italian；　and　the　upholsterer　replying　in
  the　unknown　Tongues；　and　when　I　furthermore　remembered　that　the
  local　funerals　had　no　resemblance　to　English　funerals；　I　became　in
  my　secret　bosom　apprehensive。　　But　Mr。　Kindheart　informed　me　at
  breakfast　that　measures　had　been　taken　to　ensure　a　signal　success。
  As　the　funeral　was　to　take　place　at　sunset；　and　as　I　knew　to　which
  of　the　city　gates　it　must　tend；　I　went　out　at　that　gate　as　the　sun
  descended；　and　walked　along　the　dusty；　dusty　road。　　I　had　not
  walked　far；　when　I　encountered　this　procession：
  1。　　Mr。　Kindheart；　much　abashed；　on　an　immense　grey　horse。
  2。　　A　bright　yellow　coach　and　pair；　driven　by　a　coachman　in　bright
  red　velvet　knee…breeches　and　waistcoat。　　（This　was　the　established
  local　idea　of　State。）　　Both　coach　doors　kept　open　by　the　coffin；
  which　was　on　its　side　within；　and　sticking　out　at　each。
  3。　　Behind　the　coach；　the　mourner；　for　whom　the　coach　was　intended；
  walking　in　the　dust。
  4。　Concealed　behind　a　roadside　well　for　the　irrigation　of　a　garden；
  the　unintelligible　Upholsterer；　admiring。
  It　matters　little　now。　　Coaches　of　all　colours　are　alike　to　poor
  Kindheart；　and　he　rests　far　North　of　the　little　cemetery　with　the
  cypress…trees；　by　the　city　walls　where　the　Mediterranean　is　so
  beautiful。
  My　first　funeral；　a　fair　representative　funeral　after　its　kind；　was
  that　of　the　husband　of　a　married　servant；　once　my　nurse。　　She
  married　for　money。　　Sally　Flanders；　after　a　year　or　two　of
  matrimony；　became　the　relict　of　Flanders；　a　small　master　builder；
  and　either　she　or　Flanders　had　done　me　the　honour　to　express　a
  desire　that　I　should　'follow。'　　I　may　have　been　seven　or　eight
  years　old；　…　young　enough；　certainly；　to　feel　rather　alarmed　by　the
  expression；　as　not　knowing　where　the　invitation　was　held　to
  terminate；　and　how　far　I　was　expected　to　follow　the　deceased
  Flanders。　　Consent　being　given　by　the　heads　of　houses；　I　was　jobbed
  up　into　what　was　pronounced　at　home　decent　mourning　（comprehending
  somebody　else's　shirt；　unless　my　memory　deceives　me）；　and　was
  admonished　that　if；　when　the　funeral　was　in　action；　I　put　my　hands
  in　my　pockets；　or　took　my　eyes　out　of　my　pocket…handkerchief；　I　was
  personally　lost；　and　my　family　disgraced。　　On　the　eventful　day；
  having　tried　to　get　myself　into　a　disastrous　frame　of　mind；　and
  having　formed　a　very　poor　opinion　of　myself　because　I　couldn't　cry；
  I　repaired　to　Sally's。　　Sally　was　an　excellent　creature；　and　had
  been　a　good　wife　to　old　Flanders；　but　the　moment　I　saw　her　I　knew
  that　she　was　not　in　her　own　real　natural　state。　　She　formed　a　sort
  of　Coat　of　Arms；　grouped　with　a　smelling…bottle；　a　handkerchief；　an
  orange；　a　bottle　of　vinegar；　Flanders's　sister；　her　own　sister；
  Flanders's　brother's　wife；　and　two　neighbouring　gossips　…　all　in
  mourning；　and　all　ready　to　hold　her　whenever　she　fainted。　　At　sight
  of　poor　little　me　she　became　much　agitated　（agitating　me　much
  more）；　and　having　exclaimed；　'O　here's　dear　Master　Uncommercial！'
  bec