ns of some Japanese patterns, but yet fascinating
from its very contrariety to what the eye expects.

There they stand, the ranks of the faithful, as they have stood yearly
for centuries in the last week of Ramazan. As the trumpet notes of each
recited verse die away among the arches, every man raises his hands
above his head, then falls upon his knees, prostrates himself, and rises
again, renewing the act of homage three times with the precision of a
military evolution. At each prostration, performed exactly and
simultaneously by that countless multitude, the air is filled with the
tremendous roar of muffled rhythmical thunder, in which no voice is
heard, but only the motion of ten thousand human bodies, swaying,
bending, and kneeling in unison. Nor is the sound alone impressive. From
the vaulted roof, from the galleries, from the dome itself, are hung
hundreds of gigantic chandeliers, each having concentric rings of
lighted lamps, suspended a few feet above the heads of the worshipers.
Seen from the great height of the gallery, these thousands of lights do
not dazzle nor hide the multitude below, which seems too great to be
hidden, as the heavens are not hid by the stars; but the soft
illumination fills every corner and angle of the immense building, and,
lest any detail of the architecture and splendid music should escape the
light, rows of little lamps are kindled along the cornices of the
galleries and roof, filling up the interstices of darkness as a carver
burnishes the inner petals of the roses on a huge gilt frame of
exquisite design, in which not the smallest beauty of the workmanship
can be allowed to pass unnoticed.

This whole flood of glorious illumination descends then to the floor of
the nave, and envelops the ranks of white and green clothed men, who
rise and fall in long sloping lines, like a field of corn under the
slanting breeze. There is something mystic and awe-inspiring in the
sight, the sound, the whole condition, of this strange worship. A man
looks down upon the serried army of believers, closely packed, but not
crowded nor irregular, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, not one of
them standing a hair's breadth in front of his rank nor behind it,
moving all as one body, animated by one principle of harmonious motion,
elevated by one unquestioning faith in something divine,--a man looks
down upon this scene, and, whatever be his own belief, he cannot but
feel an unwonted thrill of admiration,