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Two Barong were splendidly outspread on a high bale waiting to come into action. The umbrelas and spears grow thicker and thicker and now a huge crowd is sitting on the ground in front of the table before the large closed shrine where the Rangda masks are Kept. The open door is covered by a curtain, drawn aside from time to time as a white-robed priest passes in and out. Now the masks come out and are laid on the table, five in all, each under its umbrella. Three Barongs lie on the ground, prostrate before the table of masks, heading the huge crowd. A man who is to wear the Rangda mask sits among them, already dressed in white trimmed with fur, Rangda's pendulous breasts attached to his costume, the long-nailed gloves of Rangda on his hands.

The Presi danced by four men, had the semblance of a real encounter. The dancers, the holding large round shields of stamped and gilded leather, formed a square, whirling and turning with small quick chassis, touching the ground with infinite precaution, The movement was throughout very restless, as they rushed together and rushed apart, their tiny side trippings, that hardly seemed to brush the ground, alternating with wide and swaggering steps. At last they sat in a square, holding out their six-spiked shields. Again their bunches of bright or dusky stoles swung to and fro as their feet moved, now quick, now slow, to low, rapid music. The left hand, held up high, fluttered perpetually as they faced each other, lifting one leg high and swaying restlessly from side to side. A rapid series of steps, and the shields are held up with a cry, both pairs standing back to back while they draw their krisses.

The poenggawa, in an ivory brocaded kain, with a gold-worked border and pale gold sash wound among the deeper gold, a long white kanjoet falling in front, sits gravely watching on a high bale' among his wives. One sees a few of the decorative old Bali kains, with beautifully disposed stripes of red, blue, green, yellow, and white. An old man in golden tissue, priests in short white sapoets, mingle in the stream of colour ceaselessly flowing down the steps under the high coral gateway.

Now the first Rangda-bearer is in trance. Among shrieks and cries, waving krisses and long-nailed fingers, the Rangda mask is put on. The Ran das are led out shaking. Men and boys leap with high shrill cries, defying, each other. fut attacking only themselves.

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