m the devout visitors, who worshipped them as
illustrations of the vagaries of divinity, and hoped, by offering
them alms, to propitiate their destinies.

Rishikes, the city of the Sadhus, is eighteen miles higher up the
river from Hardwar, and the road lies through a dense forest. The
road is only a rough track, but pious Hindus have erected temples
and rest-houses at short intervals, where travellers can spend the
night and get refreshment. After proceeding some distance through the
forest I met a Brahman journeying the same way with a heavily-laden
pony. The pony was obstreperous, and the luggage kept falling off,
so the Brahman gladly accepted the offer of my assistance, and after
repacking the luggage in a securer manner we got along very well. The
Brahman beguiled the time by telling me histories of the past glories
of the Rishis of the Himalayas, and how the spread of infidelity and
cow-killing was undermining the fabric of Hinduism. False Sadhus and
Sanyasis from the lower non-Brahman castes were crowding into their
ranks for the sake of an easier living, till it was almost impossible
to distinguish the true from the false, and a bad name was brought
upon all.

Any Hindu of the three upper castes may become a Sadhu, and should,
according to Manu's code, become a Sanyasi in his later years. But
he does not thereby attain to the sanctity of a Brahman, and the
Brahmans have many stories to relate to show how many have undergone
extreme austerities and bodily afflictions in order to obtain spiritual
power, and have thereby gained great gifts from the gods, but without
attaining the coveted sanctity of the born Brahman.

The sun had already set, and the forest path was becoming difficult
to follow in the gathering gloom when we reached a clearing with a
temple and a few cottages built round it, so we decided to spend the
night there. Through the kind offices of the Brahman, I was given a
small room adjoining the temple, on the stone floor of which I spread
my blanket, and prepared to make myself comfortable for the night. I
had consumed my supper of bread and pulse, and given the remnants to
the temple cow, and settled myself to sleep, when I was roused by a
fearful din. The temple in which I had found refuge was dedicated to
Vishnu and Lakshmi, and their full-size images, dressed up in gaudy
tinsel, were within. The time for their evening meal had arrived,
but the gods were asleep, and the violent tomtoming and c