es.

In a side temple near the entrance is enthroned a colossal Buddha
seated in his lotus--a gilded idol some forty-five or sixty feet high,
mounted on an enormous pedestal of bronze.

At length appears the last doorway with the two traditional giants,
guardians of the sacred court, which stand the one on the right hand,
the other on the left, shut up like wild beasts each one in a cage of
iron. They are in attitudes of fury, with fists upraised as if to
strike, and features atrociously fierce and distorted. Their bodies
are covered all over with bullets of crumbled paper which have been
aimed at them through the bars, and which have stuck to their
monstrous limbs like a white leprosy: this is the manner in which the
faithful strive to appease them, by conveying to them their prayers
written upon delicate leaflets by the pious bonzes.

Passing between these alarming scarecrows one reaches the innermost
court. The residence of our friends is on the right, the great hall of
the pagoda is before us.

In this paved court are bronze torch-holders as high as turrets. Here
too stand, and have stood for centuries, cyca palms with fresh green
plumes, their numerous stalks curving with a heavy symmetry, like the
branches of massive candelabra. The temple, which is open along its
entire length, is dark and mysterious, with touches of gilding in
distant corners melting away into the gloom. In the very remotest part
are seated idols, and from outside one can vaguely see their clasped
hands and air of rapt mysticism; in front are the altars, loaded with
marvelous vases in metal-work, whence spring graceful clusters of gold
and silver lotus. From the very entrance one is greeted by the sweet
odor of the incense-sticks unceasingly burnt by the priests before the
gods.

To penetrate into the dwelling of our friends the bonzes, which is
situated on the right hand side as you enter, is by no means an easy
matter.

A monster of the fish tribe, but having claws and horns, is hung over
their door by iron chains; at the least breath of wind he swings
creakingly. We pass beneath him and enter the first immense and lofty
hall, dimly lighted, in the corners of which gleam gilded idols, bells
and incomprehensible objects of religious use.

Quaint little creatures, choir boys or pupils, come forward with a
doubtful welcome to ask what is wanted.

"_Matsou-San!! Donata-San!!_" they repeat, much astonished, when they
understand to whom w