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Rh worshipers crowded to jangle the bells, sprinkle grease, and garland the images. The courtyard of the Well of Knowledge, in which Shiva resides, was so offensive that we had no wish to approach the curb and see the pit of decaying food, flowers, incense, milk, and butter. We took a peep at the Temple of the Stick, where sugar dogs are the acceptable offering, and a greedy Brahman whips repentent sinners and then grants them absolution and indulgence—whips them with peacock feathers—even gives the unbeliever a swish of the feathers for two annas and laughs with him at the deluded divinity he serves!

It was then ten o'clock, and after four hours in the headquarters of heathendom we were glad to return to the quiet, empty spaces of the cantonment, realizing more than before what an appalling task confronts the missionaries, and what generations of such blindly bigoted Ganges worshipers must pass away before any change can be hoped for. A century of British law, order, cleanliness, and sanitary improvement avails nothing against the superstitions and practices of twenty-five centuries. Yet in this same center of bigotry and superstition Gautama Buddha won the people from their idolatry, their superstitions and caste creed, and for eight hundred years his doctrines prevailed. With this precedent, the ultimate conversion of the Hindus need not be despaired of. We drove out that afternoon by a dusty, tamarind-shaded road to, the Deer Park of Benares, where the Buddha preached, defied the Brahmans, and built up his great following.