the minarets, is a gigantic figure in black stone of Bhīm Singh, a deified giant, of whom it is recorded that he built the fortress of Chunar in one day, and rendered it impregnable. The giant is represented lying at full length on his back, his head, adorned with a sort of crown, is supported on raised masonry; at his right side is erected a small altar of mud, of conical form, bearing on its top a tulsī plant; the natives water these plants, and take the greatest care of them. The tulsī had formerly the same estimation amongst the Hindūs, that the misletoe had amongst the ancient Britons, and was always worn in battle as a charm; on which account a warrior would bind a mala of tulsī beads on his person. The scene was particularly picturesque; below the ghāt, on which reposed the gigantic hero, were some native boats; and near them was a man dipping a piece of cloth embroidered in crimson and gold into the water; while, with a brilliant light and shade, the whole was reflected in the Ganges.
A little distance beyond I observed a number of small ghāts rising from the river, on each of which a similar conical tulsī altar was erected, and generally, at the side of each, the flag of a fakīr was displayed from the end of a long thin bamboo. A man who appeared to be a mendicant fakīr, came down to the river-side, carrying in one hand a long pole, and in the other one joint of a thick bamboo, which formed a vessel for holding water, and from this he poured some of the holy stream of the Ganges on the little shrub goddess the tulsī.
In the midst of hundreds and hundreds of temples and ghāts, piled one above another on the high cliff, or rising out of the Ganges, the mind is perfectly bewildered; it turns from beauty to beauty, anxious to preserve the memory of each, and the amateur throws down the pencil in despair. Each ghāt is a study; the intricate architecture, the elaborate workmanship, the elegance and lightness of form,—an artist could not select a finer subject for a picture than one of these ghāts. How soon Benares, or rather the glory of Benares—its picturesque beauty—will be no more! Since I passed down the river in 1836 many temples and ghāts have sunk, undermined by the rapid stream.
The Baiza Bā'ī's beautiful ghāt has fallen into the river,—*
