A mahomedan’s story. 
113 
ends, and some of them are the most sensual wretches 
alive. They occasionally undergo the severest pe- 
nances, which they consider a complete expiation for 
the blackest crimes,* and, finding absolution at all 
times within their reach, they hesitate not to indulge 
in the grossest debaucheries, and when their souls 
are, as it were, ulcerated with guilt, to avail them- 
selves of the spiritual remedy. A certain course of 
physical suffering wipes out all the record of past de- 
linquency, and they become, according to their bar- 
barous creed, purified from its deepest pollutions. 
“At the back of the town there was, at that 
time, a very old ruin, in which was a small, dark 
chamber hollowed out of the earth at the end of a 
long, narrow passage, and lighted only by an aper- 
ture in the corner of the roof. The f dim religi- 
ous light/ thus admitted, like that of a solitary 
lamp within a sepulchre, only partially illumined the 
vault, being just strong enough to show the repulsive 
dreariness of this loathsome habitation, and its lack 
of every thing calculated to administer to domestic 
comfort. This gloomy recess was the abode of an 
Ab’dhoot*, who was reported to be a person of such 
extraordinary sanctity, that he could cure the most 
inveterate bodily diseases, and remove the most stub- 
born moral disorders, by only breathing upon the 
patient, who was sure instantly to be restored to a 
sound temperament, whether physical or spiritual, by 
the mere expirations of his sacred breath. This dis- 
gusting piece of abortive humanity was of dwarfish 
stature, and, although not old, shrivelled to a mere 
* A sect of fakeers who go entirely naked. 
l 3 
