praying, before his idols, sprinkled
them with holy water, and handed them to us on a silver plate.

A second Hindoo now came in, a tall old man, whose name, as he told us,
was Amintaas. He invited us into his cell, which was larger and
differently arranged. In the centre was a large kettle, set in mason-work,
with water in it, and a gas flame burning under it; the altar was in
another apartment beyond, and separated from the first by a low wall or
fence, with a passage through. Another apartment, similarly divided off,
was spread with carpets for sleeping. After we had seen the stones,
shells, and idols, which were richer and more numerous than in the former
cell, the Hindoos asked us if they should pray for us. We agreed, and the
ceremony began. A large muscle shell was washed in the kettle, the plates
were set in order at the foot of the altar, a censer began to smoke, the
silver plate with candied sugar was set over a lamp Between two bells,
whose handles were the most monstrous figures of idols. These bells
Amintaas took and began to ring vehemently. The other Hindoos stood behind
him and beat two big cymbals, accompanying this noise with the most
inhuman and frightful howling that a man's lungs ever produced. Still,
there was method and a regular cadence in it. Finally, they made a pause,
bowed before the images, murmuring softly, after which they arranged the
plates anew, and sprinkled the sugar with holy water. My husband whispered
in my ear a line from the conjuration in "Faust," and the whole of that
scene rushed vividly into my memory.

Meanwhile the lungs of the old Amintaas had recovered their power, for he
now seized a conch shell, held it in both hands, and with incredible
strength blew long wild notes, with scarce any thing like a tune. I grew
dizzy in listening to this clamor, and at once understood what is meant by
the heathen making a "vain noise," This cannibalistic music was kept up
for a long time, and seemed to form the climax of the sacred rites. The
finale was a combination of wild shouting, banging of the cymbals, ringing
and murmuring. At last the concert was over, and we breathed freely.
Amintaas handed us the candied sugar, and my husband laid down two ducats
in its place. They were received with warm expressions of gratitude, and
laid upon the altar. We went out into the open air, but the scene had
changed. The lonely castle was crowded with Persians who had come from
their lime-burning to