scenery which lay before
me, and the evening breeze, which has such a delicious freshness in a
tropical climate.

Nor was this all. 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 visitors, 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 resi