There Is An Outer Temple,
Unmatted, And An Inner One Behind A Grating, Into Which Those Who
Choose To Pay For The Privilege Of Praying In Comparative Privacy,
Or Of Having Prayers Said For Them By The Priests, Can Pass.
In the outer temple the noise, confusion, and perpetual motion, are
bewildering.
Crowds on clattering clogs pass in and out; pigeons,
of which hundreds live in the porch, fly over your head, and the
whirring of their wings mingles with the tinkling of bells, the
beating of drums and gongs, the high-pitched drone of the priests,
the low murmur of prayers, the rippling laughter of girls, the
harsh voices of men, and the general buzz of a multitude. There is
very much that is highly grotesque at first sight. Men squat on
the floor selling amulets, rosaries, printed prayers, incense
sticks, and other wares. Ex votos of all kinds hang on the wall
and on the great round pillars. Many of these are rude Japanese
pictures. The subject of one is the blowing-up of a steamer in the
Sumidagawa with the loss of 100 lives, when the donor was saved by
the grace of Kwan-non. Numbers of memorials are from people who
offered up prayers here, and have been restored to health or
wealth. Others are from junk men whose lives have been in peril.
There are scores of men's queues and a few dusty braids of women's
hair offered on account of vows or prayers, usually for sick
relatives, and among them all, on the left hand, are a large mirror
in a gaudily gilt frame and a framed picture of the P. M. S. China!
Above this incongruous collection are splendid wood carvings and
frescoes of angels, among which the pigeons find a home free from
molestation.
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