mushrooms over green stretches of grass, and giving shelter to a motley crew; jogis, or wandering mendicants, meditating on the mystic word Om, and thereafter lighting sacred fires with Swedish tändstickors; Government clerks, bereft of raiment, forgetting reports and averages in a return to primitive humanity. Taylor never tired of pointing out these strange contrasts, and over his evening pipe read me many a long lecture on the putting of new wine into old bottles. For myself, it interested me immensely. I liked to think of the young men and maidens, the weary workers, and the hoary old sinners, all journeying in faith, hope, and charity (or the want of it) to the Cave of Amar-nâth in order to get the Great Ledger of Life settled up to date, and so to return scot-free to the world, the flesh, and the devil, in order to begin the old round all over again. I liked to think that crime sufficient to drag half Hindostan to the nethermost pit had been made over to those white gypsum cliffs, and that still, summer after summer, the wind flowers sprang from the crannies, and the forget-me-nots with their message of warning came to carpet the way for those eager feet seeking the impossible. I liked to see all the strange perversities and pieties displayed by the jogis and gosains. It was from one of the latter, a horrid old ruffian (so ridiculously like Il Re Galant 'uomo, that we nicknamed him Victor Emanuel on the spot), that Taylor had first heard of the Flower of Forgiveness, as the man styled it. He and the doctor grew quite hot over the possible remission of sins; but the subsequent gift of one rupee sterling sent him away asseverating that none could filch from him the first-fruits of pilgrimage--namely, the opportunity of meeting a Protector of the Poor so virtuous, so generous, so full of the hoarded wisdom of ages. I recognised the old humbug in the crowd as we made our way to a sort of latticed gallery belonging to the Maharajah's guest-house, which gave on the tank where the fish are fed. He salaamed profoundly, and, with a grin, expressed his delight that, after all, the great doctor sahib should be seeking forgiveness.

"'I seek the flower only, Pious One,' replied Taylor, with a shrug of the shoulders.

"'Perhaps 'tis the same thing,' replied Victor Emanuel with another salaam.

"The square tank was edged by humanity in the white and saffron robes of pilgrimage. Brimming up to the stone step, worn smooth by generations of sinners, the waters of the spring lapped lazily, stirred by the myriads of small fish which, in their eagerness for the coming feast, flashed hither and thither like meteors, to gather in radiating stars round the least speck on the surface; sometimes in their haste rising in scaly mounds above the water. The blare of a conch and a clanging of discordant bells made all eyes turn to the platform in front of the temple, where the attendant Brahmans stood with high-heaped baskets of grain awaiting the sacrificial words about to be spoken by an old man, who, with one foot on the bank, spread his arms skywards--an old man of insignificant height, but with an indescribable dignity, on which I remarked to my companion.

"'It is indescribable,' he assented, 'because it is compounded of factors not only wide as the poles asunder from you and me, but also from each other. Pride of twice-born trebly-distilled ancestry bringing a conviction of inherited worthiness; pride in hardly-acquired devotion giving birth to a sense of personal frailty. That is the Brahman whom we lump into a third-class railway carriage with the ruck of humanity, and then wonder--hush! he is going to begin.'

"'Thou art Light! Thou art Immortal Life!' The voice, with a tremor of emotion in it, pierced the stillness for a second before it was shattered by a hoarse, strident cry--'Silence!'

"Taylor leaned forward, suddenly interested. 'You're in luck,' he whispered, 'I believe there is going to be a row of some sort.'

"Once more the cry rose harsher than before: 'Silence, Sukya! Thou art impure.'

"A stir in the crowd, and a visible straightening of the old man's back were the only results.

"'Thou art the Holiest Sacrifice! We adore Thee, adorable Sun!'

"'Silence!'

"This time the interruption took shape in a jogi, who, forcing his way through the dense ranks, emerged on the platform to stand pointing with denunciatory finger at the old Brahman. Naked, save for the cable of grass round his loins and the smearing of white ashes, with hair lime-bleached and plaited with hemp into a sort of chignon, no more ghastly figure could be conceived. The crowd, however, hailed him with evident respect, while a murmur of 'Gopi! 'tis Gopi the bikshu (religious beggar)' passed from mouth to mouth. This reception seemed to rouse the old man's wrath, for after one scornful glance at the new-comer he was about to continue his invocation to the sun, when the jogi, striding forward, flourished his mendicant's staff so close to the other's face that he perforce fell back.

"Before the crowd had grasped the deadly earnest of the scene, a lad of about sixteen, clad in the black antelope skin which marks a religious disciple, had leaped, quivering with rage, between the old man and his assailant.

"'By George,' muttered Taylor, 'what a splendid young fellow!'

"He was indeed. Extraordinarily fair, even for the fairest race in India, he might have served as model for a young Perseus as he stood there, the antelope skin falling from his right shoulder, leaving the sacred cord of the Brahman visible on his left, while his smooth, round limbs showed in all their naked, vigorous young beauty.

"'Stand off, Amra! who bade thee interfere?' cried the old man sternly. The bond between them was manifest by the alacrity with which the boy obeyed the command; for to the spiritual master implicit obedience is due. At the same moment the chief priest of the shrine, alarmed at an incident which might interfere with the expected almsgiving, hurried forward. Luckily the crowd kept the silence which characterises gregarious humanity in the East, so we could follow what was said.

"'Wilt remove yonder drunken fanatic, or shall the worship of the Shining Ones be profaned?' asked the old Brahman savagely; and at a sign from their chief the attendants stepped forward.

"But the jogi facing the crowd, appealed direct to that fear of defilement which haunts the Hindu's heart. 'Impure! Impure! Touch him not! Hear him not! Look not on him!' The vast concourse swayed and stirred, as with a confident air the jogi turned to the chief priest. 'These twelve years agone, O! mohunt-ji'^[1] thou knowest Gopi--Gopi the bikshu! since for twelve years I have been led hither by the Spirit, seeking speech, and finding silence! But now speech is given by the same Spirit. That man, Sukya, anchorite of Setanagar, is unclean, false to his race, to his vows, to the Shining Ones! I, Gopi the bikshu, will prove it.'

"Once again a murmur rose like the wind presaging a storm, and as the crowd surged closer to the temple, a young girl in the saffron drapery of a pilgrim took advantage of the movement to make her way to the platform, with the evident intention of pressing to the old man's side; but she was arrested by the young Perseus, who, with firm hands clasping hers, whispered something in her ear. She smiled up at him; and so they stood, hand in hand, eager but confident, as the Brahman's voice, clear with certainty, dominated the confusion.