A Voyage to the Moon by George TuckerWith Some Account of the Manners and Customs, Science and Philosophy, of the People of Morosofia, and Other Lunarians (page 3)

which such surplus can support. What they thus give, if the proprietor retains the land himself, you may regard as the extraordinary profits of agricultural labour, or rent, if paid to any one to whom he transfers this benefit. This is precisely our present situation.”

There was no denying this statement of facts: but I could not help exclaiming,–“Surely there is nothing certain in the universe; or rather, truth is one thing in the moon, and another thing on the earth.”

CHAPTER XIV.

_Farther account of Okalbia–The Field of Roses–Curious superstition concerning that flower–The pleasures of smell traced to association, by a Glonglim philosopher._

Though I felt some reluctance to abuse the patience of this polite and intelligent magistrate, I could not help making some inquiry about the jurisprudence of his country, and first, what was their system of punishment.

“We have no capital punishment,” says he; “for, from all we learn, it is not more efficacious in preventing crime, than other punishments which are milder; and we prefer making the example to offenders a lasting one. But we endeavour to prevent offences, not so much by punishment as by education; and the few crimes committed among us, bring certain censure on those who have the early instruction of the criminal. Murders are very rare with us; thefts and robbery perhaps still more so. Our ordinary disputes about property, are commonly settled by arbitration, where, as well as in court, each party is permitted to state his case, to examine what witnesses and to ask what questions he pleases.”

“You do not,” said I, “examine witnesses who are interested?”

“Why not? The judges even examine the parties themselves.”

I then told him that the smallest direct interest in the issue of the controversy, disqualified a witness with us, from the strong bias it created to misrepresent facts, and even to misconceive them.

He replied with a smile,–“It seems to me that your extreme fear of hearing falsehood, must often prevent you from ascertaining the truth. It is true, that wherever the interest of a witness is involved, it has an immediate tendency to make him misstate facts: but so would personal ill-will–so would his sympathies–so would any strong feeling. What, then, is your course in these cases?”

I told him that these objections applied to the credibility, and not to the competency, of witnesses, which distinctions of the lawyers I endeavoured to explain to him.

“Then I think you often exclude a witness who is under a small bias, and admit another who is under a great one. You allow a man to give testimony in a case in which the fortune or character of his father, brother or child is involved, but reject him in a case in which he is not interested to the amount of a greater sum than he would give to the first beggar he met. Is it not so?”

“That, indeed, may be the operation of the rule. But cases of such flagrant inconsistency are very rare; and this rule, like every other, must be tried by its general, and not its partial effects.”

“True; but your rule must at least be a troublesome one, and give rise to a great many nice distinctions, that make it difficult in the application. All laws are sufficiently exposed to this evil, and we do not wish unnecessarily to increase it. We have, therefore, adopted the plan of allowing either party to ask any question of any witness he pleases, and leave it to the judges to estimate the circumstances which may bias the witness. We, in short, pursue the same course in investigating facts in court that we pursue out of it, when no one forms a judgment until he has first heard what the parties and their friends say on the subject.”

On my return home, I repeated this conversation to a lawyer of my acquaintance, who told me that such a rule of evidence might do for the people in the moon, but it certainly would not suit us. I leave the matter to be settled by more competent heads than mine, and return to my narrative.

I farther learnt from this intelligent magistrate, that the territory of the Happy Valley, or Okalbia, is divided into forty-two counties, and each county into ten districts. In each district are three magistrates, who are appointed by the legislature. Causes of small value are decided by the magistrates of the district; those of greater importance, by the county courts, composed of all the magistrates of the ten districts; a few by the court of last court, consisting of seven judges. The legislature consists of two houses, of which the members are elected annually, three from each county for one branch, and one member for the other. No qualification of property is required either to vote, or to be eligible to either house of the legislature, as they believe that the natural influence of property is sufficient, without adding to that influence by law; and that the moral effects of education among them, together with a few provisions in their constitution, are quite sufficient to guard against any improper combination of those who have small property. Besides, there are no odious privileges exclusively possessed by particular classes of men, to excite the envy or resentment of the other classes, and induce them to act in concert.

“Have you, then, no parties?” said I.

“Oh yes; we are not without our political parties and disputes; and we sometimes wrangle about very small matters–such as, what amount of labour shall be bestowed on the public roads–the best modes of conducting our schools and colleges–the comparative merits of the candidates for office, or the policy of some proposed change in the laws. Man is made, you know, of very combustible materials, and may be kindled as effectually by a spark falling at the right time, in the right place, as when within reach of a great conflagration.”

The women appeared here to be under few restraints. I understood that they were taught, like our sex, all the speculative branches of knowledge, but that they were more especially instructed, by professed teachers, in cookery, needlework, and every sort of domestic economy; as were the young men in the occupations which require strength and exposure. They have a variety of public schools, and some houses for public festivals, but no public hospitals or almshouses whatever, the few cases of private distress or misfortune being left for relief to the merits of the sufferer and the compassion of individuals.

After passing a week among this singular and fortunate people, whom we every where found equally amiable, intelligent, and hospitable, we returned to Alamatua in the same way that we had come; that is, in a light car, drawn by four large mastiffs. When we had recovered from the fatigues of the journey, and I had carefully committed to paper all that I had learnt of the Okalbians, the Brahmin and I took a walk towards a part of the suburbs which I had not yet seen, and where some of the literati of his acquaintance resided. The sun appeared to be not more than two hours high (though, in fact, it was more than fifty); the sky was without a cloud, and a fresh breeze from the mountains contributed to make it like one of the most delightful summer evenings of a temperate climate.

We carelessly rambled along, enjoying the balmy freshness of the air, the picturesque scenery of the neighbouring mountains, the beauty or fragrance of some vegetable productions, and the oddity of others, until, having passed through a thick wood, we came to an extensive plain, which was covered with rose-bushes. The queen of flowers here appeared under every variety of colour, size, and species–red, white, black, and yellow–budding, full-blown, and half-blown;–some with thorns, and some without; some odourless, and others exhaling their unrivalled perfume with an overpowering sweetness. I was about to pluck one of these flowers, (of which I have always been particularly fond,) when a man, whom I had not previously observed, stepping up behind me, seized my arm, and asked me if I knew what I was doing. He told us that the roses of this field, which is called Gulgal, were deemed sacred, and were not allowed to be gathered without the special permission of the priests, under a heavy penalty; and that he was one of those whose duty it was to prevent the violation of the law, and to bring the offenders to punishment.

The Brahmin, having diverted himself a while with my surprise and disappointment, then informed me, that the rose had ever been regarded in Morosofia, as the symbol of female purity, delicacy, and sweetness; which notion had grown into a popular superstition, that whenever a marriage is consummated on the earth, one of these flowers springs up in the moon; and that in colour, shape, size, or other property, it is a fit type of the individual whose change of state is thus commemorated.

“What, father,” said I, “could have given rise to so strange an opinion?”

“I know not,” said he; “but I have heard it thus explained:–That the roses generally spring up, as well as blow, in the course of their long nights, during which the earth’s resplendent disc is the most conspicuous object in the heavens; which two facts stand, in the opinion of the multitude, in the relation of cause and effect. Attributing, then, the symbolical character of the rose to its tutelary planet, they regard the earth in the same light as the ancients did the chaste Diana, and believe that she plants this her favourite flower in the moon, whenever she loses a votary. The priesthood encourage this superstition, as they have grafted on it some mystical rites, which add to their power and profit, and which one of our Pundits thinks has a great resemblance to the Eleusinian mysteries. There is, however, my dear Atterley, little satisfaction in tracing the origin of vulgar superstitions. They grow up like a strange plant in a forest, without our being able to tell how the seed found its way there. It is generally believed in the east, that the moon, at particular periods of her revolution round the earth, has a great influence in causing rain; though every one must see, that, notwithstanding such influence must be the same in every part of the earth, it is invariably fair in one place, at the very time that it is rainy in another. Nay, we may safely aver that there is not a day, nor an hour, in the year, in which it is not dry and rainy, cloudy and clear, windy and calm, in hundreds of places at once.”

I told the Brahmin that the same opinion prevailed in my country. That the vulgar also believe the moon, according to its age, to have particular effects on the flesh of slaughtered animals; and that all sailors distinguish between a wet and a dry day, according to the position of the crescent.

We then inquired of the warden of this flowery plain, if he had ever remarked any difference in the number of roses which sprung up in a given period of time. He said he thought they were more numerous about five and twenty or thirty years ago, than he had ever seen them before or since. With that exception, he said, the number appeared to be nearly the same every year.

The Brahmin happening to be in one of those pleasant moods which are occasionally experienced by amiable tempers, even when under the pressure of sorrow and age, now amused himself in pointing out the flowers which probably represented the different nations of the earth; and when he saw any one remarkably small, pale and delicate, he insisted that it belonged to his own country; which point, however, I, not yielding to him in nationality, warmly contested. I would here remark, that as the rose is called _gul_ in the Persian language and the ancient Sanscrit, the name of this field furnished another argument in support of the Brahmin’s hypothesis of the origin of the moon.

While thus oblivious of the past, and reckless of the future, we were enjoying the present moment in this _badinage_, and I was extolling the odour of the rose, as beyond every other grateful to the olfactory nerves of man, a lively, flippant little personage came up, and accosted the Brahmin with the familiarity of an acquaintance. My companion immediately introduced me to him, and at the same time gave me to understand that this was the great Reffei, one of the most distinguished literati of the country. Although his eye was remarkably piercing, I perceived in it somewhat of the wildness which always characterizes a Glonglim. He was evidently impatient for discussion; and having informed himself of the subject of my rhapsody when he joined our party, he vehemently exclaimed,–“I am surprised at your falling in with that popular prejudice; while it is easy to show, that but for some feeling of love, or pity, or admiration, with which the rose happens to be associated–some past pleasure which it brings to your recollection, or some future pleasure which it suggests,–any other flower would be equally sweet. You see the rose a very beautiful flower; and you have been accustomed, whenever you saw and felt its beauty, to perceive, at the same time, a certain odour. The beauty and the odour thus become associated in your mind, and the smell brings along with it the pleasure you feel in looking at it. But the chief part of the gratification you receive from smelling a rose, arises from some past scene of delight of which it reminds you; as, of the days of your innocence and childhood, when you ran about the garden–or when you were decorated with nosegays–or danced round a may-pole, (this is rather a free translation)–or presented a bunch of flowers to some little favourite.” He said a great deal more on the subject, and spoke so prettily and ingeniously, as almost to make a convert of me; when, on bringing my nose once more to the flower, I found in it the same exquisite fragrance as ever.

“Why do we like,” he continued, “the smell of a beef-steak, or of a cup of tea, except for the pleasure we receive from their taste?”

I mentioned, as an exception to his theory, the codfish, which is esteemed a very savoury dish by my countrymen, but which no one ever regarded as very fragrant. But he repelled my objection by an ingenious hypothesis, grounded on certain physiological facts, to show that this supposed disagreeable smell was also the effect of some early associations. I then mentioned to him assafoetida, the odour of which I believed was universally odious. He immediately replied, that we are always accustomed to associate with this drug, the disagreeable ideas of sickness, female weakness, hysterics, affectation, &c. Unable to continue the argument, I felt myself vanquished. I again stooped to the flower, and as I inhaled its perfume, “Surely,” said I to myself, “this rose would be sweet if I were to lose my memory altogether:” but recollecting the great Reffei’s argument, I mentally added thanks to divine philosophy, which always corrects our natural prejudices.

CHAPTER XV.

_Atterley goes to the great monthly fair–Its various exhibitions; difficulties–Preparations to leave the Moon–Curiosities procured by Atterley–Regress to the Earth._

The philosopher, not waiting to enjoy the triumph of victory, abruptly took his leave, and we, refreshed and delighted with our walk, returned home. Our landlord informed us that we had arrived in good time to attend the great fair, or market, which regularly takes place a little before the sun sinks below the horizon. Having taken a short repast, while the Brahmin called on one of his acquaintance, I sallied forth into the street, and soon found myself in the bustling throng, who were hastening to this great resort of the busy, the idle, the knavish, and the gay; some in pursuit of gain, and some of pleasure; whilst others again, without any settled purpose, were carried along by the vague desire of meeting with somewhat to relieve them from the pain of idleness.

The fair was held in a large square piece of ground in one of the suburbs, set apart for that purpose; and on each of its four sides a long low building, or rather roof, supported on massy white columns, extended about six hundred yards in length, and was thirty yards wide. Immediately within this arcade were arranged the finer kinds of merchandise, fabrics of cotton or silk, and articles of jewelry, cutlery, porcelain, and glass. On the outside were provisions of every kind, vegetable and animal, flesh, fish, and fowl, as well as the coarser manufactures. At no great distance from this hollow square, (which was used exclusively for buying and selling,) might be seen an infinite variety of persons, collected in groupes, all engaged in some occupation or amusement, according to their several tastes and humours. Here a party of young men were jumping, or wrestling, or shooting at a mark with cross-bows. There, girls and boys were dancing to the sound of a pipe, or still smaller children were playing at marbles, or amusing themselves with the toys they had just purchased. Not far from these, a quack from one scaffold was descanting on the virtues of his medicines, whilst a preacher from another was holding forth to the graver part of the crowd, the joys and terrors of another life; and yet farther on, a motley groupe were listening to a blind beggar, who was singing to the music of a sort of rude guitar. Here and there curtains, hanging from a slight frame of wood-work, veiled a small square from the eyes of all, except those who paid a nail for admittance. Some of these curtained boxes contained jugglers–some tumblers–some libidinous pictures–and others again, strange birds, beasts, and other animals. I observed that none of the exhibitions were as much frequented as these booths; and I was told that the corporation of the city derived from them a considerable revenue. Amidst such an infinite variety of objects, my attention was so distracted that it could not settle down upon any one, and I strolled about without object or design.

When I had become more familiar with this mixed multitude of sights and sounds, I endeavoured to take a closer survey of some of the objects composing the medley. The first thing which attracted my particular notice, was a profusion of oaths and imprecations, which proceeded from one of the curtained booths. I paid the admittance money to a well-dressed man, of smooth, easy manners, and entered. I found there several parties paired off, and engaged at different games; but, like the rest of the bystanders, I felt myself most strongly attracted towards the two who were betting highest. One of these was an elderly man, of a tall stature, in a plain dress; the other was a short man, in very costly apparel, and some years younger. For a long time the scales of victory seemed balanced between them; but at length the tall man, who had great self-possession, and who played with consummate skill, won the game: soon after which he rose up, and making a graceful, respectful bow to the rest of the company, he retired. Not being able to catch his eye, so intent was he on his game, I felt some curiosity to know whether he was a Glonglim; but could not ascertain the fact, as some of whom the Brahmin inquired, said that he was, while others maintained that he was not. His adversary, however, evidently belonged to that class, and, when flushed with hope, reminded me of the feather-hunter. At first he endeavoured, by forced smiles, to conceal his rage and disappointment. He then bit his lips with vexation, and challenged one of the bystanders to play for a smaller stake. Fortune seemed about to smile on him on this occasion; but one of the company, who appeared to be very much respected by the rest, detected the little man in some false play, and publicly exposing him, broke up the game. I understood afterwards, that before the fair was over, the gamester avenged himself for this injury in the other’s blood: that he then returned to the fair, secretly entered another gambling booth, where he betted so rashly, that he soon lost not only his patrimonial estate, which was large, but his acquired wealth, which was much larger. Having lost all his property, and even his clothes, he then staked and lost his liberty, and even his teeth, which were very good; and he will thus be compelled to live on soups for the rest of his life.

I saw several other matches played, in which great sums were betted, great skill was exhibited, and occasionally much unfairness practised. There was one man in the crowd, whose extraordinary good fortune I could not but admire. He went about from table to table, sometimes betting high and sometimes low, but was generally successful, until he had won as much as he could fairly carry; after which he went out, and amused himself at a puppet-show, and the stall of a cake-woman, with whom he had formerly quarrelled, but who now, when she learnt his success, was obsequiously civil to him. I did not see that he manifested superior skill, but still he was successful; and in his last great stake with a young, but not inexpert player, he won the game, though the chances were three to two against him. “Surely,” thought I, “fortune rules the destinies of man in the moon as well as on the earth.”

On looking now at my watch, I found that I had been longer a witness of these trials of skill and fortune, than I had been aware; and on leaving the booth, perceived that the sun had sunk behind the western mountains, and that the earth began to beam with her nocturnal splendour. Those who had come from a distance, were already hurrying back with their carts; and here and there light cars, of various forms and colours, and drawn by dogs, were conveying those away whose object had been amusement. Some were snatching a hasty meal; and a few, by their quiet air, seemed as if they meant to continue on the spot as long as the regulations permit, after sunset, which is about twenty of our hours. I found the Brahmin at home when I returned, and I felt as much pleased to see him, as if we had not seen each other for many months.

As the shades of night approached, my anxiety to return to my native planet increased, and I urged my friend to lose no time in preparing for our departure. We were soon afterwards informed that a man high in office, and renowned for his political sagacity, proposed to detain us, on the ground that when such voyages as ours were shown to be practicable, the inhabitants of the earth, who were so much more numerous than those of the moon, might invade the latter with a large army, for the purposes of rapine and conquest. We farther learnt that this opinion, which was at first cautiously circulated in the higher circles, had become more generally known, and was producing a strong sensation among the people.

The Brahmin immediately presented himself before the council of state, to remove the impression. He pointed out to them the insurmountable obstacles to such an invasion, physical and moral. He urged to them that the nations of the earth felt so much jealousy and ill-will towards one another, that they never cordially co-operated in any enterprise for their common interest or glory; and that if any one nation were to send an army into the moon, such a scheme of ambition would afford at once a temptation and pretext for its neighbours to invade it. That his country had not the ability, and mine had not the inclination, to attack the liberties of any other: so far from that, he informed them, on my authority, that we were in the habit of sending teachers abroad, to instruct other nations in the duties of religion, morals, and humanity. He entered into some calculations, to show that the project was also impracticable on account of its expense; and, lastly, insisted that if all other difficulties were removed, we should find it impossible to convince the people of the earth that we had really been to the moon. I have since found that the Brahmin was more right in his last argument, than I then believed possible.

I am not able to say what effect these representations of the Brahmin would have produced, if they had not been taken up and enforced by the political rival of him who had first opposed our departure; but by his powerful aid they finally triumphed, and we obtained a formal permission to leave the moon whenever, we thought proper.

As we meant to return in the same machine in which we came, we were not long in preparing for our voyage. We proposed to set out about the middle of the night; and we passed the chief part of the interval in making visits of ceremony, and in calling on those who had shown us civility. I endeavoured also, to collect such articles as I thought would be most curious and rare in my own country, and most likely to produce conviction with those who might be disposed to question the fact of my voyage. I was obliged, however, to limit myself to such things as were neither bulky nor weighty, the Brahmin thinking that after we had taken in our instruments and the necessary provisions, we could not safely take more than twenty or thirty pounds in addition.

Some of my lunar curiosities, which I thought would be most new and interesting to my countrymen, have proved to be very familiar to our men of science. This has been most remarkably the case with my mineral specimens. Of the leaves and flowers of above seventy plants, which I brought, more than forty are found on the earth, and several of these grow in my native State. With the insects I have been more successful; but some of these, as well as of the plants, I am assured, are found on the coasts of the Pacific, or in the islands of that ocean; which fact, by the way, gives a farther support to the Brahmin’s hypothesis.

Besides the productions of nature that I have mentioned, I procured some specimens of their cloth, a few light toys, a lady’s turban decorated with cantharides, a pair of slippers with heavy metallic soles, which are used there for walking in a strong wind, and by the dancing girls to prevent their jumping too high. As this metal, which gravitates to the moon, is repelled from the earth, these slippers assist the wearer here in springing from the ground as much as they impeded it in the moon, and therefore I have lent them to Madame —-, of the New-York Theatre, who is thus enabled to astonish and delight the spectators with her wonderful lightness and agility.

But there is nothing that I have brought which I prize so highly as a few of their manuscripts. The Lunarians write as we do, from left to right; but when their words consist of more than one syllable, all the subsequent syllables are put over the first, so that what we call _long words_, they call _high_ ones: which mode of writing makes them more striking to the eye. This peculiarity has, perhaps, had some effect in giving their writers a magniloquence of style, something like that which so laudably characterises our Fourth of July Orations and Funeral Panegyrics: that composition being thought the finest in which the words stand highest. Another advantage of this mode of writing is, that they can crowd more in a small page, so that a long discourse, if it is also very eloquent, may be compressed in a single page. I have left some of the manuscripts with the publisher of this work, for the gratification of the public curiosity.

Having taken either respectful or affectionate leave of all, and got every thing in readiness, on the 20th day of August, 1825, about midnight we again entered our copper balloon, if I may so speak, and rose from the moon with the same velocity as we had formerly ascended from the earth. Though I experienced somewhat of my former sensations, when I again found myself off the solid ground, yet I soon regained my self-possession; and, animated with the hope of seeing my children and country, with the past success of our voyage, and (I will not disguise it,) with the distinction which I expected it would procure me from my countrymen, I was in excellent spirits. The Brahmin exhibited the same mild equanimity as ever.

As the course of our ascent was now less inclined from the vertical line than before, in proportion as the motion of the moon on its axis, is slower than that of the earth, we for some hours could see the former, only by the light reflected from our planet; and although the objects on the moon’s surface were less distinct, they appeared yet more beautiful in my eyes than they had done in the glare of day. The difference, however, may be in part attributed to my being now in a better frame of mind for enjoying the scene. As our distance increased, the face of the moon became of a lighter and more uniform tint, until at length it looked like one vast lake of melted silver, with here and there small pieces of greyish dross floating on it. After contemplating this lovely and magnificent spectacle for about an hour, I turned to the Brahmin, and reminded him of his former promise to give me the history of his early life. He replied, “as you have seen all that you can see of the moon, and the objects of the earth are yet too indistinct to excite much interest, I am not likely to have a more suitable occasion;” and after a short pause, he began in the way that the reader may see in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XVI.

_The Brahmin gives Atterley a history of his life._

“I have already informed you that I was born at Benares, which, as you know, is a populous city on the banks of the Ganges, and the most celebrated seat of Hindoo science and literature. My father was a priest of Vishun, of a high rank; and as his functions required him to live within the precincts of the Pagoda, he was liberally maintained out of its ample revenues. I was his only son, and according to the usage of our country, was destined to the same holy calling. At an early age I was put under a private tutor, and then sent to one of the schools attached to the Pagoda. Upon what little matters, my dear Atterley, do our fortunes, and even our characters depend! Had I been sent to another school, the whole destiny of my life would have been changed.

“I was in my twelfth year when I entered this school, which contained from thirty to forty boys about my age. The cleverest of these was Balty Mahu, who, like myself, belonged to the higher order of Brahmins. He took the lead, not only in the exercises within the school, but in all the sports and pastimes out of it. Nature, however, had not been equally kind to him in temper and disposition. He was restless, ambitious, proud, vindictive, and implacable. He could occasionally, too, practise cunning and deception; although anger and violence were more congenial to his nature.

“It soon appeared that I was to be his rival in the school, and from that moment he cordially hated me. The praises that had previously been lavished on him by the teacher, were now shared by me, and most of the boys secretly rejoiced to see his proud spirit humbled. In our sports I was also his successful competitor. Nature had given me an excellent constitution; and though I had not a very robust frame, I could boast of great agility and flexibility of limbs. When the sun had descended behind the mountain which screened our play-ground from his evening rays, we commonly amused ourselves in foot-races, and other pastimes, of which running was an important part. In this exercise I had no equal. I could also jump higher and farther than any boy in school, except one, and that one was not Balty Mahu.

“His ill-will was not slow in manifesting itself. He took every occasion of contradicting me: sometimes indulged in sly sneers at my expense, and now and then even attempted to turn me into open ridicule. I always replied with spirit; but I found such contests as disagreeable to me as they were new. One evening, under the pretext that I had purposely jostled him in running, he struck me, and we fought. Although he was probably stronger than I, as he was heavier and older, my suppleness enabled me to get the better of him in a wrestle; and I got him under me, when the master, attracted by the shouts of the boys, made his appearance. He separated and reproved us, and sent us off in disgrace to our respective rooms. From that time Balty Mahu treated me with more outward respect than before; but I believe he hated me with more rancour than ever.

“I had now become the general favourite of the boys. The school was, indeed, divided into parties, but mine was much the strongest; and of those who adhered to my rival, very few seemed cordially to dislike me. Though this state of things was very annoying to me, it proved advantageous in one respect, as it made me more diligent in my studies, lest I should furnish my rival with an occasion of triumphing ever me; so that I owe a part of what I gained to the enmity of my rival.

“When I had reached my sixteenth year, I was removed to the college in Benares. This is commonly a very interesting event in the life of a youth, as it reminds him that he is drawing near the period of manhood, and leaves him more a master of his actions. But on the present occasion my pleasure had two drawbacks: I could not but feel the contrast between the warm and confiding attachment of my late school-fellows, and the coldness and reserve of my new companions. Yet the most disagreeable circumstance was, that I here met with my former rival, Balty Mahu. He had entered the college about a month before me, and, aware of my intention, had spared no pains, as I afterwards learnt, of prejudicing the students against me.

“After a few months, however, our relative standing was the same here as it had been at the school. I gradually overcame the prejudices of the students, and gained their good will, while he was always giving offence by his meddlesome disposition and overbearing manners: yet his talents and force of character always procured him a few followers, whom he managed as he pleased. Of their aid he made use to gratify his malevolence towards me, for this feeling had grown with his growth, and now seemed to be the master passion of his breast. I was able to trace the result of their machinations every where. Sometimes it was intimated to the teachers that I had been assisted in my exercises; at others, that I had infringed the college rules, or had put false reports in circulation, or had neglected some of the many ceremonies required by our religion. This was their favourite, as well as the most efficient mode of attack, as in these respects there was some colour for their accusation.

“In my early childhood I had been spared, by the tenderest of mothers, from many of the ablutions practised by the Hindoos, under the belief that they would be injurious to my constitution, which, though healthy, had never been robust. A foundation was thus laid with me for habitual remissness in these ceremonies; and after I grew up, I persuaded myself that they were of less importance than they were deemed by my countrymen. My chief delight had ever been in books; and although, when engaged in active pursuits, I took a lively interest in them for the time, I always returned to my first love with unabated ardour.

“Some of these accusations, being utterly groundless, I was able to disprove; but the few that were true I endeavoured to excuse, and thus, by their admission, credit was procured for their most unfounded calumny. These petty transgressions, (for I cannot even now regard them as sins,) industriously reported and artfully exaggerated, did me lasting injury with all the most pious of our caste. The charitable portion, indeed, were merely estranged from me; but the more bigoted part began to regard me with aversion and horror.

“In one of our vacations, my father allowed me to visit a brother of his, who lived in the country, about thirty miles from Benares. My uncle had two sons, of nearly my own age, and several daughters. With the former I rode, played chess, and engaged in such sports as are not forbidden to my profession; but my female cousins I seldom saw, as they rarely left their Zenana, into which I was not permitted to enter. I was of an age to be desirous of becoming better acquainted with my female cousins, especially after I learnt that they then had as guests, a lady and her daughter, who had come to pass some weeks here during the absence of her husband, then employed in some public mission to Calcutta. But it was only now and then that I had been able to catch a transient and distant view of these females, during the first week after my arrival; and the little I saw, served but to increase my curiosity. Chance, however, soon afforded me the means of gratifying it.

“An important festival in our calendar was now approaching, and preparations were made to celebrate it in various modes, and, amongst others, by a fight between a _royal_ tiger and an elephant. For several days all was bustle and confusion in my uncle’s family. Howdahs, newly gilded and painted, were provided for the elephants–new caparisons for the horses–new liveries for the attendants–cloth and silk, of the richest dyes and hues, united with a profusion of gold and silver ornaments, to dazzle the eye with their varied splendour. This was one of those exhibitions, which those who were intended for the priesthood, were prohibited from attending. I confess, when I witnessed these showy and costly preparations, and pictured to myself the magnificent scene for which they were intended–those formidable animals contending in mortal conflict–the thousands of gaily dressed spectators, gazing in breathless anxiety,–I repined at my lot, and regretted I had not been born in a condition which, though of less dignity, would not have cut me off from some of the most exquisite pleasures of life. At length the important day arrived, and I found my mortification so acute, that I determined to withdraw myself, as much as I could, from a scene that I could not witness without pain. Among my acquirements at college, was a knowledge of your language; and I had now begun to take the liveliest interest in its beautiful fictions, which I greatly preferred to ours, as being more true to nature, and as exhibiting women in characters at once lovely, pure, and elevated. I was then reading “The Vicar of Wakefield,” and had reached the middle of that interesting tale, on the morning of the festival, when my tranquillity was interrupted in the way I have mentioned. Accordingly, taking my book and English dictionary, I retired to a small summer-house at the foot of the garden, and determined to remain there till the cavalcade had set out. It was some time before I could fix my attention on what I read; but after a while, the interest the book had previously excited returned, and I became at length so engrossed by the incidents of the story, as to forget the festival, the procession, the tiger, and the elephant, as much as if they had never before entered my head.

“After some hours passed in this intellectual banquet, I waked from my day dream, and I thought again of the spectacle with a feeling bordering on indifference. I walked towards the house, where all appeared to be still and silent as a desert. I entered it, and of the forty or fifty menials belonging to it, not one was to be seen. Those who were not in attendance on the family, had sought some respite from their ordinary labours. The Zenana then caught my eye, and I felt irresistibly impelled to enter it. I used great caution, however, looking around me in every direction as I proceeded there. I found the same silence and desertion as in the other parts of the mansion. I passed through a sitting-room into a long gallery, with which the bed-chambers of the ladies communicated. The doors were all open, and the whole interior of their apartments exhibited so strange a medley of unseemly objects, and such utter disorder, as materially to affect my opinion of female delicacy, and to damp my desire of becoming acquainted with my cousins. I passed on, with a feeling of disappointment bordering on disgust, when I came to a room which went far to redeem the character of the sex in my estimation. Here all was neatness and propriety: every thing was either in place, or only enough out of it to indicate the recent occupation of the room, or to show the taste or talent of the occupant; such as a book left half open at one end of an ottoman, and a piece of embroidery at the other. The flowers too, which decorated the room, showed by their freshness that they had not long left their beds. I could not help stopping to survey a scene which accorded so well with my previous notions of female refinement. At the end of the gallery was a veranda, facing the east, and surrounded by lattices. In this were a number of flower-pots, arranged with the same air of neatness and taste as had been conspicuous in the chamber. I entered it, for the purpose of looking into the flower-garden, with which it communicated; and on approaching the lattice, I saw, seated in an alcove not far from the veranda, a face and form that struck me as being the most beautiful I had ever beheld. I remained for some time riveted to the spot, but soon found myself irresistibly impelled to get a nearer view of the lovely object. With as light a step and as little noise as possible, I descended into the garden from the veranda, and approaching the alcove on the side where its foliage was thickest, I found that the beauty, of which I had before thought so highly, did not appear less on a closer survey. The vision on which I gazed in silent rapture, a maiden, who, though she had apparently attained her full stature, did not seem to be more than thirteen or fourteen years of age. Her eyes had the brightness and fulness of the antelope’s, but, owing to their long silken lashes, were yet more expressive of softness than of spirit; and at this time they evinced more than usual languor. She was in a rich undress, and was apparently an invalid. Her long raven locks hung with careless grace, partly behind, and partly over, a neck that might have served as a model for the sculptor. She was looking wistfully on a bunch of flowers in her hand, which I felt pleasure in recognising to be the same I had seen on the piece of embroidery. I feared to advance, lest I should give offence; but I felt also unable to retreat. I fancied I saw one of those lovely and dignified females which the writers in your language describe so well. But a sudden movement of the fair damsel to get up, bringing me full in her view, she started back with alarm and surprise, and in a moment afterwards her cheek, which had been before pale, almost to European whiteness, was deeply suffused. I respectfully approached her, and inquired if she was one of my cousins. She answered in the negative; said she was on a visit to the family, to whom she was related: added that she had not expected to see any one in the garden; but this was said as if she meant rather to apologise for her undress, than to reproach me for my intrusion. These remarks were uttered with a propriety and sweetness that won upon me yet more than her beauty. I then, in return, assured her that I had not supposed any of the family had remained at home, when I strolled to this part of the mansion. I begged she would not regard me with the formality of a stranger; and insisted that, as she was the cousin of my relation, she was also mine. To this ingenious argument she answered with so much good sense, and at the same time, so much gentleness and artlessness, that I thought I could have listened to her for ever. While I spoke, she continued to move on. I entreated to know if she was satisfied with my apology; repeated that I had not meant to intrude on her privacy. She mildly replied that she was. I then asked permission to call her cousin. She said she should not object, if it would gave me pleasure. It was, my dear Atterley, her ineffable sweetness of disposition, and of manners so entirely free from pride, coquetry, or affectation, in which this lovely creature excelled all other women, yet more than in beauty and grace. I then inquired when I should again see my lovely cousin. She replied, “I walk in the great garden sometimes with my companions, when their brothers are away; but the girls will not think it proper to walk when you are there.” Perceiving that I looked chagrined, she added: “It is said, you know, that the light from mens’ eyes is yet worse for womens’ faces than the light of the sun;” and she blushed as if she had said something wrong. I stammered out I know not what extravagant compliment in reply, and entreated that I might have an opportunity of seeing and conversing with her sometimes: to which she promptly answered that she should not object, if her mother approved it. I inquired why she had not attended the exhibition; when I learnt from her, that, as she had been slightly indisposed the day before, and her mother being unwilling she should expose herself to the heat of the weather and the crowd, she had been left under the care of her nurse; but that finding herself better, she had permitted her attendants to walk over the grounds, while she amused herself in embroidery; and that she had come into the garden to get a fresh supply of the flowers she was working.

“She had by this time approached a small gate, which communicated with the apartments on the ground-floor of the Zenana; when, turning to me, she said, “You can return the way you came, but I must leave you here;” and, making a slight bow, she sprung like a young fawn through the gate, and was out of sight in a moment.

“You may wonder, my dear Atterley, that I should remember all these minute circumstances, after the lapse of more than forty years; but every incident of that day is as fresh in my memory as the occurrence of yesterday. To this single green spot in my existence, my mind is never tired of returning.

“I continued for some time in a sort of dreaming ecstasy; but as soon as I collected my thoughts, I began to devise some scheme by which I could again have the happiness of seeing and conversing with the lovely Veenah. My brain had before that time teemed with ambitious projects of distinguishing myself; sometimes as a priest–sometimes as a writer; and occasionally I thought I would bend all my efforts to rouse my countrymen to throw off the ignominious yoke of Great Britain. But this short interview had changed the whole current of my thoughts. I had now a new set of feelings, opinions, and wishes. My mind dwelt solely upon the pleasures of domestic life–the surpassing bliss of loving and of being beloved.

“When the cavalcade returned in the evening, its gaudy magnificence, which I would not permit myself even to see in the morning, I now regarded with cold indifference; nay, more, I congratulated myself on having missed the exhibition, though a few hours before I had deemed this privation one of the misfortunes of my life.

“The next day I went to the garden betimes; and as it communicated with the shrubbery and grounds attached to the Zenana, and the males of the family occasionally entered it when the ladies were not present, I prevailed on the gardener to grant me admission, under the pretext of gathering some uncommonly fine mangoes, which were then ripe. I went to the several spots where I had first seen Veenah–where I had conversed with her–where I had parted from her; and they each had some secret and indescribable charm for me. I fear, Atterley, I fatigue you. The feelings of which I speak, are fully known only to the natives of warm climates, and to those but once in their lives.”

I assured him that he was mistaken; that the emotions he described, were the same in all countries, and at all times, and begged him to proceed.

“I repeated my visit,” he continued, “several times the same day, under any pretext I could invent–to gather an orange, or other fruit–to pluck a rose–to frighten away mischievous birds–to catch the unobstructed breeze, or sit in a cooler shade; in which artifices I played a part that had before been foreign to my nature. I was disappointed, however, in my wishes. I thought, indeed, I once saw some one in the veranda, looking through the lattice into the garden, but the figure soon disappeared.

“On the following day I had the satisfaction to hear my young companions propose to go on a fishing party, an amusement in which, by the rules of my caste, I was not allowed to partake. They had scarcely left the house before I flew to the garden with a book in my hand, and passing as before to the shrubbery, I buried myself in a close thicket at one end of it. I remained there from the morning till late in the afternoon, without refreshment of any kind; and such was the intensity of my emotion, that I did not feel the want of it. At length, a little before sunset, I saw Veenah and her three cousins enter the garden. I soon contrived to show myself, with my book in my hand. I approached, bowed to them all, but to Veenah last; and although my cousins showed surprise at seeing me in their garden, at this time, they did not seem displeased. I felt very desirous, I could not tell why, to conceal my feelings from every person except her who was the object of them. I forced a conversation with my two eldest cousins, who were modest pleasing girls, and then with an embarrassed air addressed a few words to Veenah and her companion, the youngest of my cousins. Occasionally I would stray off from them as if I was about to leave them, and then suddenly return. In one of these movements, I perceived that Veenah and her associate had separated from the others, and strolled to a distant part of the garden. I soon joined them as if it were by accident, entered into conversation with them alternately, and of course only one half of that which I either heard or said proceeded from the heart or found its way thither. I know not if Veenah expected to see me, but she was dressed with unusual care. We had not been conversing many minutes before the eldest sister beckoning to them, they bid me good night and returned to the house.

“To the same sort of management I had recourse every day, and seldom failed to see and converse with Veenah, sometimes in company with all her cousins, but oftener with Fatima, the youngest. By dividing my attentions among them all, I succeeded for a while in concealing from them the object of my preference; but the sex are too sharp-sighted to be long deceived in these matters. As soon as I perceived that my secret was discovered, I endeavoured to make a friend of Fatima, in which I was successful. After this our meetings were more frequent, and what was of greater importance, they were uninterrupted. Fatima, who was one of the most generous and amiable girls in the world, would often take Veenah out to walk, when her sisters were otherwise engaged; at which times she was perpetually contriving, under some little pretext, to leave us alone. We were not long in understanding each other; and when I urged our early marriage, she ingenuously replied, that I had her consent whenever I had her father’s, and that she hoped I could obtain that; but added, (and she trembled while she spoke) she did not know his views respecting her. In the first raptures of requited affection, what lover thinks of difficulties? In obtaining Veenah’s heart I believed that all mine were at an end, and my time was passed in one dream of unmixed delight. Oh! what happiness I enjoyed in these interviews–in seeing Veenah–in gazing on her lovely features–in listening to her sentiments, that were sometimes gay and thoughtless, sometimes serious and melancholy, but always tender and affectionate,–and now and then, when not perceived, in venturing to take her hand. These fleeting joys are ever recurring to my imagination, to show me what my lot might have been, and to contrast it with its sad reverse!

“The time now approached for Veenah and her mother to return to Benares. On the evening before they set out, Fatima contrived for us a longer interview than usual. It was as melancholy as it was tender. But in the midst of my grief, at the prospect of our separation, I recollected that we were soon to meet again in the city; while Veenah’s tears, for she did not attempt to disguise or suppress her feelings, seemed already to forebode that our happiness was here to terminate.

“When about to part, we exchanged amaranths I took her hand to bid her adieu, and, without seeming to intend it, our lips met, and the first kiss of love was moistened with a tear. Pardon me, Atterley, nature will have her way.”–And here the venerable man wept aloud.

I availed myself of this interruption to the narrative, to propose to my venerable friend to take some refreshment. Having partaken of a frugal repast, and invigorated ourselves, each with about four hours sleep, the Brahmin thus resumed his story.

CHAPTER XVII.

_The Brahmin’s story continued–The voyage concluded–Atterley and the Brahmin separate–Atterley arrives in New–York._

“I was not slow to follow Veenah to the city, and as had been agreed upon, had to ask the consent of her father to our union, as soon as I had obtained the approbation of my own. Here I met with a difficulty which I had not expected. My partial father had formed very high hopes of my future advancement, and thought that an early marriage, though not incompatible with my profession, or a successful discharge of its duties, would put an end to my ambition, or at all events, lessen my exertions. He first urged me to postpone my wishes, till I had completed my college course, and had by travelling seen something of the world. But finding me immoveable on this point, he then suggested that I might meet with serious obstacles from Veenah’s father, whom he represented as remarkable both for his avarice and his bigotry; that consequently he was likely to dispose of his daughter to the son-in-law who could pay most liberally for her; and that the imputations which had been cast on my religious creed, would reach his ears, if they had not already done so, and be sure to prejudice him against me.

“These last considerations prevailed on me to defer my application to Shunah Shoo, until the suspicions regarding my faith had either died away, or been falsified by my scrupulous observance of all religious duties. My excellent mother, who at first had entered into my feelings and seconded my views, readily acquiesced in the good sense of my father’s advice.

“My next object was to communicate this to Veenah. I accordingly sat down, and wrote a full account of all that had occurred, and folding up the packet, hurried to the opposite quarter of the town where Shunah Shoo lived. It was then in the dusk of the evening, and I was fearful it was too late for me to be recognised; but after I had taken two or three turns in the street, I saw the white amaranth I had given Veenah, suspended by a thread from the lattice of an upper window. I immediately held up the packet, and soon afterwards a cord was let down from the same lattice to the ground. To this I hastily fastened the paper, and passed on to avoid observation. The next evening you may be sure I was at the same spot. The little amaranth again announced that I was recognised; and as soon as we were satisfied that no one was observing us, the cord let down one letter and took up another. Veenah’s pen had given an expression to her feelings, that her tongue had never ventured to do before. She moreover commended my course–besought me to be prudent–and above all, to do nothing to offend her father.

“The first letter which a lover receives from his mistress, is a new era in his life. Again and again I kissed the precious paper, and almost wore it out in my bosom. We afterwards improved in this mode of intercourse, and, by various preconcerted signals, were able to carry on our correspondence altogether in the night. Not a day passed that we did not exchange letters, which, though they contained few facts, and always expressed the same sentiments, still repeated what we were never tired of hearing. To the moment at which I was to receive a letter from Veenah, my thoughts were continually and anxiously turned: and it now seems to me as if our passion was inflamed yet more by this sort of intercourse, than by our personal interviews. I am convinced it wrought more powerfully upon our imaginations. In the mean time I continued my daily attendance at college, though my studies were utterly neglected, one single object absorbing all my thoughts and feelings.

“I know not whether the evident change in my habits induced my old enemy, Balty Mahu, to observe my motions. But so it was, that one moonlight night I thought I was watched by some person; and on the following night an individual of the same figure, and whom I now suspected to be Balty Mahu, came suddenly from a cross street, and passed near me. A few evenings afterwards, instead of a letter, I received a scrap of paper from Veenah, on which was written the following words:–

“We are discovered. Balty Mahu, who is my relative and your enemy, has been here. He has persuaded my father that you are an unbeliever. I am denied pen and ink. If you cannot convince my father of his error, O! pity, and try to forget, your unhappy VEENAH.”

“This writing was indistinctly traced with a burnt stick, on a blank leaf torn out of a book. In the first moment of indignation, I felt disposed to seek Balty Mahu, the great enemy of my life, and wreak my vengeance on him for all his persecutions; but the conviction that such a course would extinguish the last spark of hope, restrained me. I then determined to see Shunah Shoo, and endeavour to remove his prejudices. I accordingly called on him at his own house: but after he had heard my vindication, (to which he evidently gave no credit,) he coolly told me that he meant to dispose of his daughter in another way. The words fell like ice upon my heart. I expostulated; and, offensive as was his haughty air, even had recourse to entreaty. But he, in a yet harsher manner, told me that he must be permitted to manage his own affairs in his own way; and added, that he did not wish to be longer prevented from attending to them. I was compelled to retire, with my heart almost as full of hatred for the father, as of love for the child.

“On the same night, I again betook myself to the street in which Shunah Shoo lived, but not by the ordinary route. I cautiously approached his house. All was stillness and quiet: no light appeared to be burning in Veenah’s room, nor indeed in any other part of the house. I hence concluded that they had now deprived her of light, as well as of pen and ink. I continued in the street until near morning, straining my eyes and ears in the hope of catching something that would give me intelligence concerning her. Often, in the course of that painful suspense, did I fancy I heard a noise at the lattice in Veenah’s apartment, or in some other part of the mansion; and once I persuaded myself I saw a light: but these illusions served only to aggravate my disappointment. The next morning, before I had left my room, my father informed me that Shunah Shoo, with his family, had left Benares early the preceding evening; but whither they had gone, he had not learnt.

“I rose, and immediately set about discovering their course; but all I could learn was, that they had embarked in one of the passage-boats which ply on the Ganges, and that Shunah had taken his palanquins and many of his servants with him: and, as Balty Mahu had suddenly absented himself from college at the same time, I did not doubt that he had aided in executing the plan which he had also probably formed. My father, who saw what I suffered, spared no pains to discover the place of their retreat; but our endeavours were all ineffectual.

“At the end of three months, in which time my anxiety increased rather than diminished, the mystery was dispelled. It was now trumpeted through the city, that Shunah Shoo had returned to Benares in great pomp, accompanied by a wealthy Omrah of a neighbouring district, to whom he had given, or rather sold, his daughter. The news came upon me like a clap of thunder. My previous state of suspense was happiness compared with what I now felt, when I knew she was in the arms of another. In the first transports of my grief and rage, I could have freely put to death the father, daughter, husband, and myself. I was particularly desirous of seeing Veenah, and venting on her the bitterest reproaches. Unjust that I was! Her sufferings were not inferior to mine; but she had not, like me, the privilege of making them known. I soon found that Hircarrahs, in the pay of Balty Mahu, watched all my motions; and if I had attempted any scheme of vengeance, its execution would have been impracticable.

“After my first transports had subsided into deep and settled grief, my love and tenderness for Veenah returned in full force. I endeavoured to get a sight of her, and thought I should be comparatively happy if I could converse with her, as formerly, though she was the wife of another. After a short time, my uncle’s family came to Benares, on a visit to my father and to Shunah Shoo. By the aid of my indulgent mother, who was seriously alarmed for what she saw I suffered, I was able to see Fatima, and to make her the bearer of a letter to Veenah, complaining of her breach of faith, and soliciting an interview. She verbally replied to it through Fatima; and stated, in her justification, that she was hurried from Benares to a town on the river, whence she was rapidly transported to the castle of Omrah, who had not long before lost his wife, and who was more than four times her age. That notwithstanding the notions of filial obedience in which she had been brought up, and the severity with which her father had ever exercised his authority, she had resisted his commands on this occasion, and would have preferred death to marrying the Omrah–nay, would have inflicted it on herself; but that finding her unyielding after all their exertions, they had effected their purpose by a deception which they had practised on her, wherein it seemed that I had unconsciously concurred; for, by means of an intercepted letter of mine to Fatima, in which, hopeless of learning the place of Veenah’s retreat, I had expressed an intention of visiting England; and, by the farther aid of some dexterous forgeries, calculated to impose on more experienced minds than hers, they succeeded in persuading her that I had actually set out for Europe, with an intention of never returning. That entertaining no doubt of this intelligence –hopeless of ever seeing me again, and indifferent to every thing besides, she had been led an unresisting victim to the altar.

“Such was the vindication which she considered it just to make me. But all the entreaties of Fatima–all my letters, impassioned as they were, appealing at once to her generosity, humanity, and love,–could not prevail on her to grant me an interview.

“‘Tell him,’ said she, ‘that heaven has forbid it, and to its decrees we are bound to submit. I am now the wife of another, and it is our duty to forget all that is past. But if this be possible, my heart tells me it can be only by our never meeting!’

“In saying this, she wept bitterly; but at the same time exacted a promise from Fatima, that she would never mention the subject to her again. Finding her thus inexorable, I fell into a settled melancholy, and my health was visibly declining. The Europeans consider the natives of Hindostan to be feeble and effeminate; but the soul, that which distinguishes man from brutes, acts with an intensity and constancy of purpose of which they can furnish no examples.

“How long I could have withstood the corrosive effects of my hopeless passion, irritated as it was by my being in the vicinity of its object–by hearing perpetually of her beauty, and sometimes catching a glimpse of it,–I know not; but the Omrah, after a few months spent with his father-in-law, returned with his bride to his castle in the country. Yielding now to the wishes of my anxious parents, I consented to travel. I was at first benefited by the exercise and change of scene; but after a while, my melancholy returned, and my health grew worse. Though indifferent to life itself, and all that it now promised, I exerted myself for the sake of my parents, especially of my mother, who suffered so acutely on my account: but I carried a barbed arrow in my heart, and the greater the efforts to extract it, the more they rankled the wound.

“After spending more than a year in travelling, first through the mountainous district of our country, and then along the coast, and finding no change for the better, I determined to try the effect of a sea voyage. I accordingly embarked at Calcutta, in a coasting vessel that was bound to Madras. At this time I had wasted away to a mere skeleton, and no one who saw me, believed I could live a month. Such, indeed, were my own impressions. In the letter which I wrote to my parents, I endeavoured to prepare them for the worst. When, after a long voyage, we reached Madras, my health was evidently improved; but a piece of intelligence I here received, had perhaps a still greater effect I learnt that Balty Mahu, who had kept himself concealed from me before I left Benares, had lately visited Madras, on a travelling tour. This news operated on me like a charm. The idea of avenging myself on the author of all my calamities, infused new life into my exhausted frame, and from the moment that I determined to pursue him, I felt like another man.

“You must not, however, suppose that I even then entertained the purpose of taking away my enemy’s life. No, I could not bring my mind exactly to that; but I had a vague, undefined hope, that if we met, some new provocation on his part would afford me just occasion for avenging myself on all; so ingenious, my dear friend, is the sophistry of the passions.

“I lost no time in setting out on the track of Balty Mahu, and, ere many days, overtook him at a small town which he had left just as I entered it, but not before he had received, through his servant, notice of my arrival. My wary enemy, who had little expected to see me here, and who had travelled as much to keep out of my way as to see the country, conjectured my purpose, from the consciousness of what he had done to provoke it. Thus, while we both appeared to others to be merely making a tour of Hindostan, it was soon known to both of us, that my chief purpose was to pursue him, and his to elude my pursuit. In the ardour, as well as exercise of the chase, my health mended rapidly, but I was no nearer the object of my pursuit; for, although I travelled somewhat faster than Bally Mahu, as he wished to avoid the appearance of flying from me, he sometimes contrived to put me on a wrong track. In this way I was once led to travel towards the coast, while he proceeded in an opposite direction to Benares, where he considered he would be most safe from my vengeance, and where the restraints both of religion and law would be more likely to operate on me than in a foreign district.

“My usual practice, on arriving at any town, was to endeavour to learn if Balty Mahu had passed through it; if so, when and in what direction; and to get the information, if possible, without seeming to seek it. On one of these occasions, I heard from a party of merchants that the Omrah Addaway, whose health had been declining for some time, had gone to Benares, for the benefit of medical advice; that his disease, however, had become more serious; and that it was generally thought it would soon occasion his death. What a train of new thoughts, hopes, and desires, did this intelligence excite in me! At first, influenced by the custom of my country, which prohibits widows from marrying again, I thought only of the pleasure of Veenah’s society, which I should, of course, be permitted to enjoy, when duty no longer forbade it; but my imagination kindling in its course, I soon pictured her to myself as my wife. The usages which stood in the way of our union, appeared to me barbarous and absurd, and I thought that, banishment from my country, with Veenah, would be infinitely better than any other condition of life without her. These new-born visions so entirely absorbed me, that Balty Mahu was entirely forgotten, or remembered only as we think of an insect which had stung us an hour before. I travelled on at a yet more rapid rate than I had done; and, without stopping on the road to make inquiries, I heard enough to satisfy me that the Omrah could not long survive. When within something more than ten leagues of Benares, I called, about twilight, at a small inn, and meant, after refreshing myself with a few hours’ rest, to proceed on my journey. Two travellers were there, who had just left Benares, and had taken up their quarters for the night. They soon fell into conversation about the place they had left, when the mention of Shunah Shoo’s name excited my attention.

“‘What a shame,’ said one, ‘that he should have sacrificed that beautiful young creature to the rich old Omrah, when she had so good an offer as Gurameer, the Brahmin Gafawad’s only son.’

“‘And is it not strange,’ said the other, ‘that a woman so young and beautiful, should be content to follow to the grave one who is old enough to be her grandfather, and whom she once loathed? But I suppose that that old miser, Shunah Shoo, is at the bottom of it; and, as he deprived her of the man she loved, he has compelled her to sacrifice herself to the one she hates, that he may have her jewels and wealth.’

“‘For that matter,’ said the first, ‘though Shunah Shoo is bad enough for any thing where money is in the way, yet it is said that Veenah goes to the funeral pile of her own accord. She has never seemed to set any value on life since her marriage; and after she heard of Gurameer’s death, she has never been seen to smile. Poor young man!’–And here they launched out into a strain of panegyric, which is often bestowed on the dead; but I heeded only the first part of their discourse. Had it not been nearly dark, they must have discovered the force of the feelings which then agitated me. I trembled from head to foot, and, though burning with impatience to obtain from them farther particulars, it was some moments before I could trust myself to speak. At length I asked them when the Suttee would take place; and was answered by one of them, that it would certainly be performed on the following day; and that he had seen the funeral pile himself. Without any farther delay, I set out immediately for the city, and reached it in as short a time as a jaded horse could carry me.

“I came in sight of Benares the next morning, from a hill which overlooks it from the east. The sun was just rising, and pouring a flood of light ever the city, the river, and the surrounding country. Never was contrast greater than between my present feelings, and those which the same spectacle had formerly excited. I now sickened at the prospect, which once would have set my heart bounding with joy. I pressed on in desperate haste, scarcely, however, knowing what I did, being at once overpowered with fatigue, loss of sleep, and harassing emotions. I still had to travel a circuitous course of some two or three miles; and when I reached the city, its crowded population was already in motion: a great multitude of women, of the lower order, with alarm and expectation strongly depicted in their faces, were to be seen mingling in the crowd, and pressing on in the same direction. I would have proceeded immediately to my father’s house, but for the fear of being too late. Alighting, therefore, from my horse, I gave him in charge to my servant, whom I sent to inform my parents of my arrival, and to request my father to meet me at the Suttee. I then joined the mixed multitude, which now thronged the streets. Occupied, as my thoughts were, with the scene I was about to witness, and with fears for its issue, they were often interrupted with remarks made in the crowd, in which Veenah’s name or mine were mentioned–some lamenting her cruel fate, others pitying mine; but all condemning and execrating Shunah Shoo. Fortunately I was not recognised by any whom I saw. When we reached the spot selected for the sacrifice, the crowd that had there assembled, was not so great as to prevent our getting near the funeral pile; but the numbers continued to augment, until nothing could be seen from the slight eminence on which I stood, but one dense mass of heads, all looking one way, and expressing the intense interest they felt. At length a murmur, like that of distant thunder, ran through the crowd: a passage was, with some difficulty, effected through the multitude by the officers in attendance, and the wretched Veenah made her appearance, supported by her own father on one side, and an uncle on the other–pale enough to be taken for an European–emaciated indeed, but still retaining the same exquisite beauty of features and symmetry of form. She moved with the air of one who was utterly indifferent to the concerns of this world, and to the awful fate which awaited her. She turned her head on hearing the sound of my voice, and, seeing me, shrieked out, “He lives! he lives!” but immediately afterwards fainted in the arms of her supporters: at the same moment I was forcibly held back by some of the attendants, and a number of the bystanders rushed in between us, and intercepted my view. I heard my name now repeated in every direction by the multitude–some calling out to the priests to desist, and others to proceed. I struggled to extricate myself, and passion lent me momentary strength; but it was insufficient. After a short interval, I distinctly heard Veenah imploring them to spare her. I called to the Brahmins who held her, to leave her to herself. I endeavoured to rouse the multitude; but they took the precaution to drown our voices, by the musical instruments which are used on these occasions. Four of these monsters I saw profaning the name of religion, by forcibly placing their victim on the pile, under the show of assisting her to mount it; and there held her down, beside the dead body of her husband, until, by cords provided for the purpose, she was prevented from rising. I besought–I threatened–I raved;–but all thoughts and minds were engrossed by the premature fate of one so young and beautiful, and I was unheeded.

“Among the relatives who pressed around the funeral pile, I saw Balty Mahu; and indignation for a moment got the better of grief. The pile was now lighted, and in a moment all was hidden in smoke. I sickened at the sight, and was obliged to turn away. Even then I heard, or thought I heard, the dying shrieks of the victim, amid the groans and cries, and the thousand shouts that rent the air! The pile and its contents being now enveloped in flame, my keepers set me free, when, by an impulse of frenzy, I rushed’ to the pile, to make a last vain effort to rescue Veenah, or to share her fate; but was stopped by some of the bystanders, who called my act a profanation.

“‘Yes,’ said Balty Mahu, ‘he has always been a scoffer of our religion.’ As soon as these words reached my ears, with the quickness of thought I snatched a cimeter from the hands of one of the guards, and plunged it in his breast. Of all that happened afterwards, my recollection is very confused. I was rudely seized, and hurried to prison. My father was coming to meet me, when he was informed of the fatal deed. I remember that my coolness, or rather stupor, was in strong contrast with the violence of his emotion. He accompanied me to prison, and continued with me that night.

“It is not easy to take the life of one of my caste in India; and, by dint of the exertions of my friends, in spite of the influence of Shunah Shoo, and the family of the Omrah, I was pardoned, on condition of doing penance, which was, that I should never live in a country in which the religion of Brahmin prevailed, and should not again look at, or converse with, any woman for two minutes together. Ere this took place, my excellent mother, unable to withstand the shocks she had received from my supposed death, my misfortunes, and my crime, died a martyr to maternal affection. Wishing to conform to the sentence, and to be as near my father as I could, I removed to the kingdom of Ava, where, you know, they are followers of Buddha. Here I continued as long as my father lived, which was about six years. In this period, time had so alleviated my grief, that I began to take pleasure in the cultivation of science, which constituted my chief employment.

“After my father’s death, I indulged a curiosity I had felt in my youth, of seeing foreign countries; and I visited China, Japan, and England. During my residence in Asia, I had discovered lunarium ore in the mountain near Mogaun; and this circumstance, many years afterwards, when I determined to rest from my labours, induced me to settle in that mountain, as I have before stated. I have occasionally used the metal to counterbalance the gravity of a small car, by which I have profited, by a favourable wind, to indulge the melancholy satisfaction of looking down on the tombs of my parents, and of the ill-fated Veenah: approaching the earth near enough, in the night, to see the sacred spots, but not enough to violate the religious injunctions of my caste; to avoid which, however, it was sometimes necessary for me to go across Hindostan to Arabia or Persia, and there wait for a change of wind before I could return: and it was these excursions which suggested to the superstitious Burmans that my form had undergone a temporary transformation. When such have been the woes of my life, you can no longer think it strange, Atterley, that I delayed their painful recital; or that, after having endured so much, all common dangers and misfortunes should appear to me insignificant.”

* * * * *

The venerable Brahmin here concluded his narrative, and we both remained thoughtful and silent for some time; he, apparently absorbed in the recollections of his eventful life; and I, partly in the reflections awakened by his story, and partly in the intense interest of revisiting my native earth, and beholding once more all who were dear to me. Already the extended map beneath us was assuming a distinct and varied appearance; and the Brahmin, having applied his eye to the telescope, and made a brief calculation of our progress, considered that twenty-four hours more, if no accident interrupted us, would end our voyage; part of which interval I passed in making notes in my journal, and in contemplating the different sections of our many-peopled globe, as they presented themselves successively to the eye. It was my wish to land on the American continent, and, if possible, in the United States. But the Brahmin put an end to that hope, by reminding me that we should be attracted towards the Equator, and that we had to choose between Asia, Africa, and South America; and that our only course would be, to check the progress of our car over the country of greatest extent, through which the equinoctial circle might pass. Saying which, he relapsed into his melancholy silence, and I betook myself once more to the telescope. With a bosom throbbing with emotion, I saw that we were descending towards the American continent. When we were about ten or twelve miles from the earth, the Brahmin arrested the progress of the car, and we hovered over the broad Atlantic. Looking down on the ocean, the first object which presented itself to my eye, was a small one-masted shallop, which was buffeting the waves in a south-westerly direction. I presumed it was a New England trader, on a voyage to some part of the Republic of Colombia: and, by way of diverting my friend from his melancholy reverie, I told him some of the many stories which are current respecting the enterprise and ingenuity of this portion of my countrymen, and above all, their adroitness at a bargain.

“Methinks,” says the Brahmin, “you are describing a native of Canton or Pekin. But,” added he, after a short pause, “though to a superficial observer man appears to put on very different characters, to a philosopher he is every where the same–for he is every where moulded by the circumstances in which he is placed. Thus; let him be in a situation that is propitious to commerce, and the habits of traffic produce in him shrewdness and address. Trade is carried on chiefly in towns, because it is there carried on most advantageously. This situation gives the trader a more intimate knowledge of his species–a more ready insight into character, and of the modes of operating on it. His chief purpose is to buy as cheap, and to sell as dear, as he can; and he is often able to heighten the recommendations or soften the defects of some of the articles in which he deals, without danger of immediate detection; or, in other words, his representations have some influence with his customers. He avails himself of this circumstance, and thus acquires the habit of lying; but, as he is studious to conceal it, he becomes wary, ingenious, and cunning. It is thus that the Phenicians, the Carthagenians, the Dutch, the Chinese, the New-Englanders, and the modern Greeks, have always been regarded as inclined to petty frauds by their less commercial neighbours.” I mentioned the English nation.

“If the English,” said he, interrupting me, “who are the most commercial people of modern times, have not acquired the same character, it is because they are as distinguished for other things as for traffic: they are not merely a commercial people–they are also agricultural, warlike, and literary; and thus the natural tendencies of commerce are mutually counteracted.”

We afterwards descended slowly; the prospect beneath us becoming more beautiful than my humble pen can hope to describe, or will even attempt to portray. In a short time after, we were in sight of Venezuela. We met with the trade-winds, and were carried by them forty or fifty miles inland, where, with some difficulty, and even danger, we landed. The Brahmin and myself remained together two days, and parted–he to explore the Andes, to obtain additional light on the subject of his hypothesis, and I, on the wings of impatience, to visit once more my long-deserted family and friends. But before our separation, I assisted my friend in concealing our aerial vessel, and received a promise from him to visit, and perhaps spend with me the evening of his life. Of my journey home, little remains to be said. From the citizens of Colombia, I experienced kindness and attention, and means of conveyance to Caraccas; where, embarking on board the brig Juno, captain Withers, I once more set foot in New York, on the 18th of August, 1826, after an absence of four years, resolved, for the rest of my life, to travel only in books, and persuaded, from experience, that the satisfaction which the wanderer gains from actually beholding the wonders and curiosities of distant climes, is dearly bought by the sacrifice of all the comforts and delights of home.

THE END.

* * * * *

APPENDIX

Anonymous Review of _A Voyage to the Moon_

Reprinted from the American Quarterly Review No. 5 (March 1828), 61-88.

ART. III.–_A Voyage to the Moon: with some account of the Manners and Customs, Science and Philosophy, of the People of Morosofia and other Lunarians_: By JOSEPH ATTERLEY. New-York: Elam Bliss, 1827. 12mo. pp. 264.

It is somewhat remarkable, that perhaps the _only_ “Voyages to the Moon,” which have been published in the English tongue, should have been the productions of English bishops:–the first forming a tract, re-published in the Harleian Miscellany, and said to have been written by Dr. Francis Goodwin, Bishop of Landaff, (who died in 1633,) and entitled “_The Man in the Moon, or the discourse of a voyage thither_, by Domingo Gonsales,”–and the second written in 1638, by Dr. John Wilkins, Bishop of Chester, under the title of “_The Discovery of a New World, or a Discourse tending to prove, that ’tis probable there may be another habitable world in the Moon, with a discourse concerning the possibility of a passage thither.”_ These two works differ in several essential particulars:–in Dr. Goodwin’s, we have men of enormous stature and prodigious longevity, with a flying chariot, and some other slight points of resemblance to the Travels of Gulliver:–whilst Bishop Wilkins’s is intended honestly and scientifically to prove, “that it is possible for some of our posterity to find out a conveyance to this other world; and, if there be inhabitants there, (which the Bishop, satisfactorily to himself, settles,) to have commerce with them!” From the first of these, Swift has derived many hints in his voyage to Laputa, and improved them into those humorous and instructive allusions, which have caused the reputation of the author of the _”Travels of Gulliver”_ to be extended to every portion of the civilized globe. Since the appearance of this celebrated satire, no one sufficiently comprehensive to lash the follies of the age–the _quicquid agunt homines_–has made its appearance: we have had numerous ephemeral productions, inflicting severe castigations upon particular vices or absurdities; but the visionary conceits of the many, constantly promulgated in the progressive advancement of human knowledge, although legitimate objects of censure, have not, since the time of Swift, been embodied into one publication.

The evident aim of the author of the Satirical Romance before us, is to fulfil for the present age, what _Swift_ so successfully accomplished for that which has passed by:–to attack, by the weapons of ridicule, those votaries of knowledge, who may have sought to avail themselves of the universal love of novelty amongst mankind, to acquire celebrity; or who may have been misled by their own ill-regulated imaginations, to obtrude upon the world their crude and imperfect theories and systems, to the manifest retardation of knowledge:–an effect, too, liable to be induced in a direct ratio with the degree of talent and ingenuity by which their views may have been supported. Several of these may always be more successfully attacked by ridicule than by reason; inasmuch as they are, in this way, more likely to become the subjects of popular animadversion; and many, who could withstand the serious arguments of their fraternity, cannot placidly endure their ridicule. Satire has, indeed, often done more service to the cause of religion and morality than a sermon, since the remedy is agreeable, whilst it at the same time communicates indignation or fear:–

“Of all the ways that wisest men could find, To mend the age and mortify mankind,
Satire, well writ, has most successful prov’d. And cures, because the remedy is lov’d.”

To produce, however, the full effect, satire must possess a certain degree of impartiality, and be levelled in all instances at the vices or follies, and not at the man. The first sketch of Gulliver’s Travels occurs in the proposed Travels of Martinus Scriblerus, devised in that pleasing society where most of Swift’s miscellanies were planned. Had the work, however, been executed under the same auspices, it would probably, as Sir Walter Scott has suggested,[1] “have been occupied by that personal satire, upon obscure and unworthy contemporaries, to which Pope was but too much addicted. But when the Dean mused in solitude over the execution of his plan, it assumed at once a more grand and a darker complexion. The spirit of indignant hatred and contempt with which he regarded the mass of humanity; his quiet and powerful perception of their failings, errors, and crimes; his zeal for liberty and freedom of thought, tended at once to generalize, while it embittered, his satire, and to change traits of personal severity for that deep shade of censure which Gulliver’s Travels throw upon mankind universally.” Most of the sentiments which impressed Swift, seem also to have been felt by the unknown author of the work before us: it is not, however, free from personal allusions; but they are all conveyed in so good natured a manner, as to satisfy the reader that the author has been solicitous to animadvert only on the vices of the individual; and in no part of the work is there the slightest evidence of prejudice or venom.

The pseudo _Joseph Atterley_, the hero of the narrative, was born in Huntingdon, Long-Island, on the 11th of May, 1786. He was the son of a seafaring individual, who, by means of the portion he received by his wife, together with his own earnings, was enabled to quit that laborious occupation, and to enter into trade; and, after the death of his father-in-law, by whose will he received a handsome accession to his property, he sought, in the city of New-York, a theatre better adapted to his enlarged capital. “He here engaged in foreign trade, and partaking of the prosperity which then attended American commerce, gradually extended his business, and finally embarked in the then new branch of traffic to the East Indies and China; he was now generally respected both for his wealth and fair dealing; was several years a director in one of the insurance offices; was president of the society for relieving the widows and orphans of distressed seamen; and, it is said, might have been chosen alderman, if he had not refused, on the ground that he did not think himself qualified.”

Our hero was, at an early age, put to a grammar school of good repute, in his native village, and, at seventeen, was sent to Princeton, to prepare himself for some profession; during his third year at that place, in one of his excursions to Philadelphia, he became enamoured “with one of those faces and forms, which, in a youth of twenty, to see, admire, and love, is one and the same thing;” and was united to the object of his affections, on the anniversary of his twenty-first year. This event gave him a distaste for serious study; and, long before this, he had felt a sentiment, bordering on contempt, for mercantile pursuits; he therefore prevailed upon his father to purchase him a neat country seat in the vicinity of Huntingdon. Here, seventeen happy years glided away swiftly and imperceptibly, when death, by depriving him of the partner of his felicity, prostrated all his hopes and enjoyments. For the purpose of seeking for that relief to the feelings, which variety can best afford, he now determined to make a voyage; and, as one of his father’s vessels was about to sail for Canton, embarked on board of her, and left Sandyhook on the 5th day of June, 1822. From this period, until the 24th of October, their voyage was comparatively agreeable; but when off the mouths of the Ganges, one of those hurricanes, well known to the experienced navigators of the eastern seas, struck the ship, and rendered her so leaky, that the captain considered it advisable to make for the nearest port; the leak, however, increasing rapidly, and finding themselves off a coast, which the captain, by his charts, pronounced to be a part of the Burman empire, and in the neighbourhood of Mergui, on the Martaban coast, they hastily threw their clothes, papers, and eight casks of silver, into the long-boat; and, before they were fifty yards from the ship, had the melancholy satisfaction to see her go down.

“It was a little after mid-day when we reached the town, which is perched on a high bluff, overlooking the coasts, and contains about a thousand houses, built of bamboo, and covered with palm leaves. Our dress, appearance, language, and the manner of our arrival, excited great surprise among the natives, and the liveliest curiosity; but with these sentiments some evidently mingled no very friendly feelings. The Burmese were then on the eve of a rupture with the East India Company, a fact which we had not before known; and mistaking us for English, they supposed, or affected to suppose, that we belonged to a fleet which was about to invade them, and that our ship had been sunk before their eyes, by the tutelar divinity of the country. We were immediately carried before their governor, or chief magistrate, who ordered our baggage to be searched, and finding that it consisted principally of silver, he had no doubt of our hostile intentions. He therefore sent all of us, twenty-two in number, to prison, separating, however, each one from the rest. My companions were released the following spring, as I have since learnt, by the invading army of Great Britain; but it was my ill fortune (if, indeed, after what has since happened, I can so regard it) to be taken for an officer of high rank, and to be sent, the third day afterwards, far into the interior, that I might be more safely kept, and either used as a hostage or offered for ransom, as circumstances should render advantageous.”

Our hero was transported very rapidly in a palanquin, for thirteen successive days, when he reached Mozaun, a small village delightfully situated in the mountainous district between the Irawaddi and Saloon rivers, where he was placed under the care of an inferior magistrate, who there exercised the chief authority. By submissive and respectful behaviour, he succeeded in ingratiating himself so completely with his keeper, that he was regarded more as one of his family, than as a prisoner; and was allowed every indulgence, consistently with his safe custody. It had been one of his favourite recreations, to ascend a part of the western ridge of mountains, which rose in a cone, about a mile and a half from the village, for the purpose of enjoying the enchanting scenery that lay before him, and the evening breeze, which possesses so delicious a degree of freshness in tropical climates. Here he became acquainted with a personage, of whom, as he exerted an important influence over the future conduct of our hero, it is of consequence that the reader should acquire early information:–

“In a deep sequestered nook, formed by two spurs of this mountain, there lived a venerable Hindoo, whom the people of the village called the Holy Hermit. The favourable accounts I received of his character, as well as his odd course of life, made me very desirous of becoming acquainted with him; and, as he was often visited by the villagers, I found no difficulty in getting a conductor to his cell. His character for sanctity, together with a venerable beard, might have discouraged advances towards an acquaintance, if his lively piercing eye, a countenance expressive of great mildness and kindness of disposition, and his courteous manners, had not yet more strongly invited it. He was indeed not averse to society, though he had seemed thus to fly from it; and was so great a favourite with his neighbours, that his cell would have been thronged with visiters, but for the difficulty of the approach to it. As it was, it was seldom resorted to, except for the purpose of obtaining his opinion and counsel on all the serious concerns of his neighbours. He prescribed for the sick, and often provided the medicine they required–expounded the law–adjusted disputes–made all their little arithmetical calculations–gave them moral instruction–and, when he could not afford them relief in their difficulties, he taught them patience, and gave them consolation. He, in short, united, for the simple people by whom he was surrounded, the functions of lawyer, physician, schoolmaster, and divine, and richly merited the reverential respect in which they held him, as well as their little presents of eggs, fruit, and garden stuff.

“From the first evening that I 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 then means he acquired some of the knowledge by which he so often excited their admiration.

“He soon distinguished me from the rest of his visiters, 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 earned 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 learned 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'”

The acquaintance between Atterley and the Brahmin, ripened by degrees, into that close friendship, which a congeniality of tastes and sentiments, under proper opportunities, never fails to engender. Atterley’s visits to the hermitage, became more and more frequent, for upwards of three years, during which period, the Brahmin had occasionally thrown out obscure hints, that the time would come, when our hero should be restored to liberty, and that he had an important secret which he would one day communicate. About this period, one afternoon in the month of March, when Atterley repaired, as usual, to the hermitage, he found the Brahmin dangerously ill of a pleuritic affection, and apprehensive that the attack might prove fatal–

“Sit down,” said he, “on that block, and listen to what I shall say to you Though I shall quit this state of being for another and a better, I confess that I was alarmed at the thought of expiring, before I had an opportunity of seeing and conversing with you I am the depository of a secret, that I believe is known to no other living mortal I once determined that it should die with me, and had I not met with you, it certainly should But from our first acquaintance, my heart has been strongly attracted towards you, and as soon as I found you possessed of qualities to inspire esteem as well as regard, I felt disposed to give you this proof of my confidence Still I hesitated I first wished to deliberate on the probable effects of my disclosure upon the condition of society I saw that it might produce evil, as well as good, but on weighing the two together, I have satisfied myself that the good will preponderate, and have determined to act accordingly Take this key, (stretching out his feverish hand,) and after waiting two hours, in which time the medicine I have taken will have either produced a good effect or put an end to my sufferings, you may then open that blue chest in the corner It has a false bottom On removing the paper which covers it, you will find the manuscript containing the important secret, together with some gold pieces, which I have saved for the day of need–because–(and he smiled in spite of his sufferings)–because hoarding is one of the pleasures of old men. Take them both, and use them discreetly.”

Atterley quitted the cell, and waited with feverish expectation for the termination of the allotted two hours, when, to his inexpressible delight, he found, on re-entering the cell, that not only did the Brahmin breathe, but that he slept soundly; and, in the course of an hour, he awoke, almost restored to health. This event, however, was the occasion of a more early disclosure of the Brahmin’s important secret, but not until he had recovered his ordinary health and vigour:–

“I have already told you, my dear Atterley, that I was born and educated at Benares, and that science is there more thoroughly understood and taught than the people of the west are aware of. We have, for many thousands of years, been good astronomers, chymists, mathematicians, and philosophers. We had discovered the secret of gunpowder, the magnetic attraction, the properties of electricity, long before they were heard of in Europe. We know more than we have revealed, and much of our knowledge is deposited in the archives of the castle to which I belong, but, for want of language generally understood and easily learnt, (for these records are always written in the Sanscrit, that is no longer a spoken language,) and the diffusion which is given by the art of printing, these secrets of science are communicated only to a few, and sometimes even sleep with their authors, until a subsequent discovery, under more favourable circumstances, brings them again to light.

“It was at this seat of science that I learned, from one of our sages, the physical truth which I am now about to communicate, and which he discovered, partly by his researches into the writings of ancient Pundits, and partly by his own extraordinary sagacity. There is a principle of repulsion as well as gravitation in the earth. It causes fire to rise upwards. It is exhibited in electricity. It occasions water-spouts, volcanoes, and earthquakes. After much labour and research, this principle has been found embodied in a metallic substance, which is met with in the mountain in which we are, united with a very heavy earth, and this circumstance had great influence in inducing me to settle myself here.

“This metal, when separated and purified, has as great a tendency to fly off from the earth, as a piece of gold or lead has to approach it. After making a number of curious experiments with it, we bethought ourselves of putting it to some use, and soon contrived, with the aid of it, to make cars and ascend into the air. We were very secret in these operations, for our unhappy country having then recently fallen under the subjection of the British nation, we apprehended that if we divulged our arcanum, they would not only fly away with all our treasures, whether found in palace or pagoda, but also carry off the inhabitants, to make them slaves in their colonies, as their government had not then abolished the African slave trade.

“After various trials and many successive improvements, in which our desires increased with our success, we determined to penetrate the aerial void as far as we could, providing for that purpose an apparatus, with which you will become better acquainted hereafter. In the course of our experiments, we discovered that this same metal, which was repelled from the earth, was in the same degree attracted towards the moon, for in one of our excursions, still aiming to ascend higher than we had ever done before, we were actually carried to that satellite, and if we had not there fallen into a lake, and our machine had not been water-tight, we must have been dashed to pieces or drowned. You will find in this book,” he added, presenting me with a small volume, bound in green parchment, and fastened with silver clasps, “a minute detail of the apparatus to be provided, and the directions to be pursued in making this wonderful voyage. I have written it since I satisfied my mind that my fears of British rapacity were unfounded, and that I should do more good than harm by publishing the secret. But still I am not sure,” he added, with one of his faint but significant smiles, “that I am not actuated by a wish to immortalize my name; for where is the mortal who would be indifferent to this object, if he thought he could attain it? Read the book at your leisure, and study it.”

Here, by the way, we may remark, that the kind of vehicle best adapted for conveyance through the aerial void, has been a weighty stumbling block to authors, from the time of the eagle-mounted Ganymede, to that of Daniel O’Rourke; or of the wing furnished Daedalus and Icarus, to that of the flying Turk in Constantinople, referred to by Busbequius; or of the flying artist of the happy valley, in Rasselas. When Trygaeus was desirous of reaching the Gods, he erected, we are told, a series of small ladders–[Greek: epeita lepta klimakia]–but receiving a severe contusion on the head, from their downfall, he ingeniously had recourse to a scheme of flying through the air, on a colossal variety of those industrious but not over-delicate insects, the _Scarabaeus Carnifex_–the only insect, notwithstanding, according to Aesop, privileged to ascend to the habitations of the gods–

[Greek: monos peteinoon eis theous aphigmenos.[2]]

Most of the stories of Pegasi and Hippogriffs, and of flying chariots, from that of Phaeton downwards to Astolfo’s,[3] were evidently intended by their authors as mythical; not so, however, with Bishop Wilkins;–he boldly avers, for several reasons which he keeps to himself, and for others not very comprehensible to us, which he details “seriously and on good grounds,” “that it is possible to make a flying chariot, in which a man may sit, and give such a motion unto it, as shall convey him through the air; and this perhaps might be made large enough to carry divers men at the same time, together with food for their _viaticum_, and commodities for traffic.” “It is not,” lucidly continues the Bishop, “the bigness of any thing in this kind, that can hinder its motion, if the motive faculty be answerable thereunto. We see a great ship swims as well as a small cork; and an eagle flies in the air, as well as a little gnat. This engine may be contrived from the same principles by which Archytas made a wooden dove, and Regiomontanus a wooden eagle. I conceive it were no difficult matter, (if a man had leisure,) to show more particularly the means of composing it”!–which want of leisure in the credulous Bishop, our readers will regret with us, especially those inventive geniuses, who, like the projector in the reign of George I., published a scheme for manufacturing pine plank from pine saw-dust, or the still more ingenious undertaker of later times, who proposed to make _pine plank_ out of _oak_ saw-dust, by the mere addition of a little turpentine!

Again, Swift’s flying Island of Laputa is a phenomenon so opposed to all scientific probability, and so directly at variance with natural laws, that it loses in interest in a direct ratio with the violence it does to our feelings. Nor is the mode of conveyance imagined by Voltaire less incongruous than that of Swift. When Micromegas, ah inhabitant of Sirius, whose adventures were evidently suggested by those of Gulliver, accompanied by an inhabitant of Saturn, leaves the latter planet, they are, in the first place, made to leap upon the Ring of Saturn, which they find tolerably flat, “comme l’a fort bien devine un illustre habitant de notre petit globe:” thence they go from moon to moon, and a comet passing close to one of these, they throw themselves upon it, with their attendants and instruments. In their course, they fall in with the satellites of Jupiter, and pass on to Jupiter itself, where they remain for a year; but what becomes of the comet in the mean time, we are not informed! Leaving Jupiter, they “coast” along the planet Mars, and finally reach the earth, where they resolve to disembark. Accordingly “ils passerent sur la queue de la comete; et trouvant une aurore boreale toute prete, ils se mirent dedans, et arriverent a terre sur le bord septentrional de la Mer Baltique”![4]

The vehicle, however, has not formed the sole obstacle to those projectors:–the _viaticum_, especially the food, has been a difficulty not readily got over. Before Bishop Wilkins alludes to his flying chariot, he remarks, that even if men could fly, the swiftest of them would probably be half a year in reaching the end of his journey; and hence a problem would arise, “how it were possible to tarry so long without sleep or diet?” Of the former obstacle, however, he quickly disposes,–“seeing we do not then spend ourselves in any labour, we shall not, it may be, _need_ the refreshment of sleep: but if we do, we cannot desire a softer bed than the air, where we may repose ourselves firmly and safely as in our chambers”! Of the latter he finds somewhat more difficulty in disposing,–“and here it is considerable, that, since our bodies will then be devoid of gravity and other impediments of motion, we shall not at all spend ourselves in any labour, and so, consequently, not much need the reparation of diet, but may perhaps live altogether without it, as those creatures have done, who, by reason of their sleeping for many days together, have not spent any spirits, and so not wanted any food; which is commonly related of serpents, crocodiles, bears, cuckoos, swallows, and such like. To this purpose, Mendoca reckons up divers strange relations, as that of Epimenides, who is storied to have slept seventy-five years; and another of a rustic in Germany, who, being accidentally covered with a hay-rick, slept there for all the autumn and the winter following, without any nourishment Or, if we must needs feed upon something else, why may not smells nourish us? Plutarch, and Pliny, and divers other ancients, tell us of a nation in India, that lived only upon pleasing odours; and it is the common opinion of physicians, that these do strangely both strengthen and repair the spirits. Hence was it that Democritus was able, for divers days together, to feed himself with the mere smell of hot bread.[5] Or, if it be necessary that our stomachs must receive the food, why then it is not impossible that the purity of the etherial air, being not mixed with any improper vapours, may be so agreeable to our bodies, as to yield us sufficient nourishment,” with many other arguments of the like nature. The Bishop ultimately, however, severs the knot, by the suggestion of his flying chariot, which he makes large enough (for, _ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute!_) to carry not only food for the _viaticum_ of the passengers, but also commodities for their traffic!

Infinitely more ingenuity did the great comic poet of antiquity display, when he selected the _Scarabaeus;_ as the food which had already served the purposes of digestion with the Rider, was still capable of affording nutrition to the animal:–

[Greek:
nun d’att’an autos kataphagoo ta sitia. toutoisi tois autoisi touton chortasoo[6]]

Now all these schemes, ingenious as they may be, are objectionable for the same reasons as the flying Island of Laputa–their glaring violation of verisimilitude, and many of them of possibility. In these respects, that of the author of the work before us is liable to less objection: he only resorts to an extension of avowed physical principles; and if we could suppose a substance, which, instead of gravitating towards the earth, is repelled from it and attracted towards the moon, (certainly a difficult “_premier pas_,”) the remainder of the machinery, for reaching that luminary, would not be inconsistent with probability or the known laws of physics.

But, to return to the narrative:–The Brahmin having given Atterley a description of some of the remarkable objects which he met with, in his voyage to the moon; expressed his anxiety to repeat it, for the purpose of ascertaining some facts about which he had been speculating, as well as of removing the incredulity with which, he could not but perceive, his story had impressed his hearer, notwithstanding his belief in the Hermit’s integrity; when Atterley eagerly caught at the proposal. Their preparations, however, required time as well as considerable skill, not only for the construction of the vehicle, but also to avoid suspicion and interruption from the Governor of Mergui,–and the priesthood, who possessed the usual Oriental superstition and intolerance.

For the construction of their apparatus they had recourse to an ingenious artificer in copper and other metals, whose child the Brahmin had been instrumental in curing of a chronic disease, and in whose fidelity as well as good will they could securely rely.

“The coppersmith agreed to undertake the work we wanted done, for a moderate compensation, but we did not think it prudent to inform him of our object, which he supposed was to make some philosophical experiment. It was forthwith arranged that he should occasionally visit the Hermit, to receive instructions, as if for the purpose of asking medical advice. During this interval my mind was absorbed with our project; and when in company, I was so thoughtful and abstracted, that it has since seemed strange to me that Sing Fou’s suspicions that I was planning my escape were not more excited. At length, by dint of great exertion, in about three months every thing was in readiness, and we determined on the following night to set out on our perilous expedition.

“The machine in which we proposed to embark, was a copper vessel, that would have been an exact cube of six feet, if the corners and edges had not been rounded off. It had an opening large enough to receive our bodies, which was closed by double sliding pannels, with quilted cloth between them. When these were properly adjusted, the machine was perfectly air-tight, and strong enough, by means of iron bars running alternately inside and out, to resist the pressure of the atmosphere, when the machine should be exhausted of its air, as we took the precaution to prove by the aid of an air pump. On the top of the copper chest and on the outside, we had as much of the lunar metal (which I shall henceforth call _lunarium_) as we found by calculation and experiment, would overcome the weight of the machine, as well as its contents, and take us to the moon on the third day. As the air which the machine contained, would not be sufficient for our respiration more than about six hours, and the chief part of the space we were to pass through was a mere void, we provided ourselves with a sufficient supply, by condensing it in a small globular vessel, made partly of iron and partly of lunarium, to take off its weight. On my return, I gave Mr. Jacob Perkins, who is now in England, a hint of this plan of condensation, and it has there obtained him great celebrity. This fact I should not have thought it worth while to mention, had he not taken the sole merit of the invention to himself, at least I cannot hear that in his numerous public notices he has ever mentioned my name.

“But to return. A small circular window, made of a single piece of thick clear glass, was neatly fitted on each of the six sides. Several pieces of lead were securely fastened to screws which passed through the bottom of the machine as well as a thick plank. The screws were so contrived, that by turning them in one direction, the pieces of lead attached to them were immediately disengaged from the hooks with which they were connected. The pieces of lunarium were fastened in like manner to screws, which passed through the top of the machine; so that by turning them in one direction, those metallic pieces would fly into the air with the velocity of a rocket. The Brahmin took with him a thermometer, two telescopes, one of which projected through the top of the machine, and the other through the bottom; a phosphoric lamp, pen, ink, and paper, and some light refreshments sufficient to supply us for some days.

“The moon was then in her third quarter, and near the zenith: it was, of course, a little after midnight, and when the coppersmith and his family were in their soundest sleep, that we entered the machine. In about an hour more we had the doors secured, and every thing arranged in its place, when, cutting the cords which fastened us to the ground, by means of small steel blades which worked in the ends of other screws, we rose from the earth with a whizzing sound, and a sensation at first of very rapid ascent, but after a short time, we were scarcely sensible of any motion in the machine, except when we changed our places.”

After the apprehensions of Atterley, occasioned by the novelty and danger of his situation, had partly subsided, he was enabled, with mingled awe and admiration, to contemplate the magnificent spectacle beneath him. As the earth turned round its axis, during their ascent, every part of its surface came successively under view. At nine o’clock, the whole of India was to the west of them; its rivers resembling small filaments of silver, and the Red Sea a narrow plate of the same metal. The peninsula of India was of a dark, and Arabia of a light, grayer green, and the sun’s rays striking on the Atlantic, emitted an effulgence dazzling to the eyes. On looking, some time afterwards, through the telescope, they observed the African Continent, at its northern edge; fringed, as it were, with green; “then a dull white belt marked the great Sahara or Desert, and then it exhibited a deep green to its most southern extremity.” The Morea and Grecian Archipelago now fell under their telescope, and gradually the whole Mediterranean, and Arabian Gulf–the great media separating Africa from Europe and Asia; “the political divisions of these quarters of the world were of course undistinguishable, and few of the natural were discernible by the naked eye. The Alps were marked by a white streak, though less bright than the water.” By the aid of the glass they could just discern the Danube, the Nile, and “a river which empties itself into the Gulf of Guinea,” and which Atterley took to be the Niger; but the other streams were not perceptible. The most conspicuous object of the solid part of the globe was the great Desert; the whole of Africa, however, appeared of a brighter hue than either Asia or Europe.

“I was struck too, with the vast disproportion which the extent of the several countries of the earth bore to the part they had acted in history, and the influence they had exerted on human affairs. The British islands had diminished to a speck, and France was little larger, yet, a few years ago it seemed, at least to us in the United States, as if there were no other nations on the earth. The Brahmin, who was well read in European history, on my making a remark on this subject, reminded me that Athens and Sparta had once obtained almost equal celebrity, although they were so small as not now to be visible. As I slowly passed the telescope over the face of Europe, I pictured to myself the fat, plodding Hollander–the patient, contemplative German–the ingenious, sensual Italian–the temperate Swiss–the haughty, superstitious Spaniard–the sprightly, self-complacent Frenchman–the sullen and reflecting Englishman–who monopolise nearly all the science and literature of the earth, to which they bear so small a proportion. As the Atlantic fell under our view, two faint circles on each side of the equator, were to be perceived by the naked eye. They were less bright than the rest of the ocean. The Brahmin suggested that they might be currents; which brought to my memory Dr. Franklin’s conjecture on the subject, now completely verified by this circular line of vapour, as it had been previously rendered probable by the floating substances, which had been occasionally picked up, at great distances from the places where they had been thrown into the ocean. The circle was whiter and more distinct, where the Gulf Stream runs parallel to the American coast, and gradually grew fainter as it passed along the Banks of Newfoundland, to the coast of Europe, where, taking a southerly direction, the line of the circle was barely discernible. A similar circle of vapour, though less defined and complete, was perceived in the South Atlantic Ocean.”

By degrees the travellers saw one half of the broad expanse of the Pacific, which glistened like quicksilver or polished steel, and subsequently the middle of the Pacific lay immediately beneath them; the irregular distribution of land and water on the globe, the expanse of Ocean here, being twice as large as in any other part, gives occasion to some amusing discussions on the various theories of