There is a carved human statue of wood, to which, however, they pay no religious homage. It belongs to the head war town of the upper Muskogee country, and seems to have been originally designed to perpetuate the memory of some distinguished hero who deserved well of his country, for when this _casseena_, or bitter black drink, is about to be drank in the Synedrion they frequently on common occasions will bring it there and honor it with the first conch shell full, by the hand of the chief religious attendant, and then they return it to its former place. It is observable that the same beloved waiter, or holy attendant, and his coadjutant, equally observe the same ceremony to every person of reputed merit of that quadrangular place. (Adair seems to have written this book for the sole purpose of proving that the Creeks were one of the lost tribes of Israel. He imagines that in one of their religious festivals they invoke the name of Jehovah under the appellation of Y-O-He-Wah.) When this beloved liquid, or supposed drink offering, is fully prepared and fit to be drank, one of the magi brings two old, consecrated, large conch shells out of a place appropriate for containing the holy things, and delivers them into the hands of two religious attendants, who, after a wild ceremony, fill them with the supposed sanctifying bitter liquid; then they approach near to the two central red and white seats (which the leaders call the war and beloved cabins), stooping with their heads and bodies pretty low. Advancing a few steps in this posture, they carry their shells with both hands, at an instant, to one of the most principal men on those red and white seats, saying in a bass key, Yah, quite short; then in like manner they retreat backwards, facing each other with their heads bowing forward, their arms across rather below their breasts and their eyes half shut. Thus in a very grave, solemn manner they sing on a strong bass key the awful monosyllable O for the space of a minute; then they strike up a majestic He on the treble, with a very intent voice, as long as their breath allows them, and on a bass key, with a bold voice and short accent, they at last utter the strong, mysterious accent Wah, and thus finish the great song, or most solemn invocation of the divine essence. The notes together compose the sacred, mysterious name, Y-O-He-Wah. The favored persons, whom the religious attendants are invoking the divine essence to bless, hold up their shells with both hands to their mouths during the awful sacred invocation, and retain a mouthful of the drink to spurt out upon the ground as a supposed drink offering to the great self-existing giver, which they offer at the end of their draft. If any of the traders who at those times are invited