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Now the elders, five in number, come forward and stand in a row in their gorgeous drooping head-cloths. Before them a man exultantly krisses himself. The holy woman is led down and stands before the elders, saluting each in turn. The Guardian with the great Semitic nose walks briskly forward, swinging his arms, and circles in front of the priestess and the elders, krissing himself.

Four huge spears are brought out, black with silver bands. The priestess and three men grasp them and dance slowly in two pairs, crossing each other with slanting spears. This is the Biasa, inseparable from temple ceremonies, but always very fragmentary. The woman wears a man's head-cloth and a woman's skirt. Instead of the woman's earplugs she wears like a man a pear-shaped gold ornament and golden pendants.

A very aged man in an amazing head-dress of cloth-of-gold, with a pointed flap of rose and gold, sprinkles the dancers and then isled back to his seat. Now all come out by twos and fours and go and pray in rows. The Guardian, holding a leaf in his right hand, does a quick graceful dance. A man does a Mendet round him, filling the leaf with toeak. They meet and evade, circle close and separate. The Guardian, with closed eyes, continues his dance alone, then suddenly strides down to a shrine, seizes a sword, and begins to -dance with wide swinging movement in front of the gamelan, his arms making great circles in the air. He is disarmed and quieted. The temple slowly and imperceptibly empties. The moon is high; night has fallen suddenly. All the gods are carried away on women's shoulders. Long after, one meets along the road fragmentary processions with gongs and singing and waving banners; for many have far to go.

It is the night of the full moon. A vast crowd is seated before the offerings below the sun-altar, the smoke rising round-them from fires of coconut shell. The offerings are all quite low, but very pretty and crowned with fan-shaped palm-leaves, which with the hibiscus flowers make patterns of red and gold. An immense tongue of white cloth hangs from one of the side temples all the way down the steep high flight of steps. The pinnacles and traceries of the huge baroque temple rise dark and fantastic against the moon. Two gamelans are playing against each other at the far end of the great court: the gong gede and the tjoembang girang, with old instruments played by old men. 'Mere is an extraordinary confusion of sound. For an age nothing happened. The ground and the different bales were covered with sleeping children, lying in close rows like sardines. The waiting people sat on and on, joined occasionally by priests, who made a diversion with their prayers and sprinklings.

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