would cross his foxy face; he would push out his great thick lips until they threw a shadow all round him; open his dazzling white teeth and let his great blood-red tongue loll out until the chasm in his face looked like a rent in a black velvet gown with a Cardinal’s red hat stuffed in the centre.  He may have been full of saving grace—­full up, and running over—­but it was not the brand of Christianity that I should care to invest my money in.  When he caught my gaze riveted upon him, he tried to look like a brand plucked from the burning; he rolled his great velvet-black eyes skyward, screwed up the sluit which ran across his face, and which he called a mouth, until it looked like a crumpled doormat, folded his hands meekly over his breast, and comported himself generally like a fraudulent advertisement for a London mission society.

From him I glanced to his “Pa,” who had given him away, and seemed mighty glad to get rid of him.  “Pa” was dressed in pure black from head to heel—­just the same old suit that he had worn when he struck this planet, only more of it.  He was guiltless of anything and everything in the shape of dress except for a large ring of horn which he wore on top of his head.  He did not carry any parasols, or fans, or geegaws of any kind in his great muscular fists.  One hand grasped an iron-shod assegai, and the other lovingly fondled a battle-axe, and both weapons looked at home where they rested.  He was not just the sort of father-in-law I should have hankered for if I had been out on a matrimonial venture; but I would rather have had one limb of that old heathen than the whole body of his “civilised” son, for with all his faults he looked a man.  A chum of mine who knew the ways of these people had advised me to purchase a horn of snuff before being presented to the bride and groom, and I had acted accordingly.

When the ceremony of introduction was over, and I had managed to turn my blushing face away from “Ma” and the bevy of damsels, as airily clothed as herself, I offered the snuff box to the happy pair.  The groom took a tiny pinch and smiled sadly, as though committing some deadly sin.  The bride, however, poured a little heap in the palm of her hand about as big as a hen’s egg, regardless of her nice white kid gloves.  This she proceeded to snuff up her capacious nostrils with savage delight, until the tears streamed down her cheeks like rain down a coal heap.  Then she threw back her head, spread her hands out palm downwards, like a mammoth duck treading water, and sneezed.  I never heard a human sneeze like that before; it was like the effort of a horse after a two-mile gallop through a dust storm.  And each time she sneezed something connected with her wedding gear ripped or gave way, until I began to be afraid for her.  But the wreck was not quite so awful as I had anticipated, and when she had done sneezing she laughed.  All the crowd except the groom laughed, and the sound of their laughter was like the sound of the sea on a cliff-crowned coast.