A Voyage to the Moon | Page 7

joined the party which I saw clambering up the path that led
to the Hermit's cell, I found myself strongly attached to this venerable man, and the more
so, from the mystery which hung around his history. It was agreed that he was not a
Burmese. None deemed to know certainly where he was born, or why he came thither.
His own account was, that he had devoted himself to the service of God, and in his
pilgrimage over the east, had selected this as a spot particularly favourable to the life of
quiet and seclusion he wished to lead.
There was one part of his story to which I could scarcely give credit. It was said that in
the twelve or fifteen years he had resided in this place, he had been occasionally invisible
for months together, and no one could tell why he disappeared, or whither he had gone.
At these times his cell was closed; and although none ventured to force their way into it,
those who were the most prying could hear no sound indicating that he was within.
Various were the conjectures formed on the subject. Some supposed that he withdrew
from the sight of men for the purpose of more fervent prayer and more holy meditation;
others, that he visited his home, or some other distant country. The more superstitious
believed that he had, by a kind of metempsychosis, taken a new shape, which, by some
magical or supernatural power, he could assume and put off at pleasure. This opinion was
perhaps the most prevalent, as it gained a colour with these simple people, from the
chemical and astronomical instruments he possessed. In these he evidently took great
pleasure, and by their means he acquired some of the knowledge by which he so often
excited their admiration.
He soon distinguished me from the rest of his visitors, by addressing questions to me
relative to my history and adventures; and I, in turn, was gratified to have met with one
who took an interest in my concerns, and who alone, of all I had here met with, could
either enter into my feelings or comprehend my opinions. Our conversations were carried
on in English, which he spoke with facility and correctness. We soon found ourselves so
much to each other's taste, that there was seldom an evening that I did not make him a
visit, and pass an hour or two in his company.
I learnt from him that he was born and bred at Benares, in Hindostan; that he had been
intended for the priesthood, and had been well instructed in the literature of the east. That
a course of untoward circumstances, upon which he seemed unwilling to dwell, had
changed his destination, and made him a wanderer on the face of the earth. That in the
neighbouring kingdom of Siam he had formed an intimacy with a learned French Jesuit,
who had not only taught him his language, but imparted to him a knowledge of much of
the science of Europe, its institutions and manners. That after the death of this friend, he
had renewed his wanderings; and having been detained in this village by a fit of sickness
for some weeks, he was warned that it was time to quit his rambling life. This place being
recommended to him, both by its quiet seclusion, and the unsophisticated manners of its
inhabitants, he determined to pass the remnant of his days here, and, by devoting them to
the purposes of piety, charity, and science, to discharge his duty to his Creator, his
species, and himself; "for the love of knowledge," he added, "has long been my chief
source of selfish enjoyment."

Our tastes and sentiments accorded in so many points, that our acquaintance ripened by
degrees into the closest friendship. We were both strangers--both unfortunate; and were
the only individuals here who had any knowledge of letters, or of distant parts of the
world. These are, indeed, the main springs of that sympathy, without which there is no
love among men. It is being overwise, to treat with contempt what mankind hold in
respect: and philosophy teaches us not to extinguish our feelings, but to correct and refine
them. My visits to the hermitage were frequently renewed at first, because they afforded
me the relief of variety, whilst his intimate knowledge of men and things--his remarkable
sagacity and good sense--his air of mingled piety and benignity,--cheated me into
forgetfulness of my situation. As these gradually yielded to the lenitive power of time, I
sought his conversation for the positive pleasure it afforded, and at last it became the
chief source of my happiness. Day after day, and month after month, glided on in this
gentle, unvarying current, for more than three years; during which