BAS WESH WAR. 
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head hung over the hole, and then my eyes rested on 
Basweshwar. He consisted of a small collection of 
animals out of a Noah’s ark, very ill made and out of 
repair. Some of them were of stone and some of tin or 
lead. There was a small stone bull, old and much worn, 
a smaller bull of better construction, a tin horseman on 
wheels with a drawn sword in his hand, a young hippo- 
potamus, or donkey without a tail, and one or two other 
little beasts. 
There was also a small silver plate engraved with the 
pug, or footprint, of Baswa, the saint or politician who 
founded the Lingayet sect, and another bearing a rude 
figure of a bull. We took these things out one by one 
and grew funny over them. Yet these are the holy things 
to do reverence to which hundreds of weary worshippers 
travel long distances and make this toilsome ascent, 
spending the whole night on the hill and burning sacred 
fires. Men laugh where angels weep. Charity cannot 
veil the truth, nor sophistry change it, that the worshippers 
of these things are looking downwards, not upwards ; and 
man goes as his face is turned. 
My friend, who has the makings of an antiquarian in 
him, longed to purloin the engraving of a bull, but I 
