“The women sat in circles, and each displayed her vase of flowers and her lighted taper before her. In front of all were a number of my younger pupils, the royal children, in circles also. Close by the altar, on a low square stool, overlaid with a thin cushion of silk, sat the high-priest, Chow Khoon Sâh. In his hand he held a concave fan, lined with pale-green silk, the back richly embroidered, jeweled and gilt. He was draped in a yellow robe, not unlike the Roman toga, a loose and flowing habit, closed below the waist, but open from the throat to the girdle, which was simply a band of yellow cloth, bound tightly. From the shoulders hung two narrow strips, also yellow, descending over the robe to the feet, and resembling the scapular worn by certain orders of the Roman Catholic clergy. At his side was an open watch of gold, the gift of his sovereign. At his feet sat seventeen disciples, shading their faces with fans less richly adorned. “We put off our shoes--my child and I--having respect for the ancient prejudice against them, feeling not so much reverence for the place as for the hearts that worshiped there; caring to display not so much the love of wisdom as the wisdom of love; and well were we repaid by the grateful smile of recognition that greeted us as we entered. “We sat down cross-legged. No need to hush my boy; the silence there, so subduing, checked with its mysterious awe even his inquisitive young mind. The venerable high-priest sat with his face jealously covered, lest his eyes should tempt his thoughts to stray. I changed my position to catch a glimpse of his countenance. He drew his fan-veil more closely, giving me a quick, but gentle half-glance of remonstrance. Then raising his eyes, with lids nearly closed, he chanted in an infantile, wailing tone. “That was the opening prayer. At once the whole congregation raised themselves on their knees, and, all together, prostrated themselves thrice profoundly, thrice touching the polished brass floor with their foreheads, and then, with heads bowed and palms folded and eyes closed, they delivered the responses after the priest, much in the manner of the English Liturgy; first the priest, then the people, and finally all together. There was no singing, no standing up and sitting down, no changing of robes and places, no turning the face to the altar, nor north, nor south, nor east, nor west. All knelt _still_, with hands folded straight before them, and eyes strictly, tightly closed. Indeed, there were faces there that expressed devotion and piety, the humblest and the purest, as the lips murmured, ‘O, Thou Eternal One, Thou perfection of Time, Thou truest Truth, Thou immutable essence of all Change, Thou most excellent radiance of Mercy, Thou infinite Compassion, Thou Pity, Thou Charity!’