Left now to my own meditations, and unsupported by the example and conversation of my friend, I felt my first apprehensions return, and began seriously to regret my rashness in thus venturing on so bold an experiment, which, however often repeated with success, must ever be hazardous, and which could plead little more in its favour than a vain and childish curiosity.  I took up a book, but whilst my eye ran over the page, I understood but little what I read, and could not relish even that.  I now looked down through the telescope, and found the earth surprisingly diminished in her apparent dimensions, from the increased rapidity of our ascent.  The eastern coasts of Asia were still fully in view, as well as the entire figure of that vast continent—­of New Holland—­of Ceylon, and of Borneo; but the smaller islands were invisible.  I strained my eye to no purpose, to follow the indentations of the coast, according to the map before me; the great bays and promontories could alone be perceived.  The Burman Empire, in one of the insignificant villages of which I had been confined for a few years, was now reduced to a speck.  The agreeable hours I had passed with the Brahmin, with the little daughter of Sing Fou, and my rambling over the neighbouring heights, all recurred to my mind, and I almost regretted the pleasures I had relinquished.  I tried, with more success, to beguile the time by making notes in my journal; and after having devoted about an hour to this object, I returned to the telescope, and now took occasion to examine the figure of the earth near the Poles, with a view of discovering whether its form favoured Captain Symmes’s theory of an aperture existing there; and I am convinced that that ingenious gentleman is mistaken.  Time passed so heavily during these solitary occupations, that I looked at my watch every five minutes, and could scarcely be persuaded it was not out of order.  I then took up my little Bible, (which had always been my travelling companion,) read a few chapters in St. Matthew, and found my feelings tranquillized, and my courage increased.  The desired hour at length arrived; when, on waking the old man, he alertly raised himself up, and at the first view of the diminished appearance of the earth, observed that our journey was a third over, as to time, but not as to distance.  After a few moments, the Brahmin again cast his eye towards his own natal soil; on beholding which, he fetched a deep sigh, and, if I was not mistaken, I saw a rising tear.

“Alas!” said he, “my country and my countrymen, how different you are in many respects from what I should wish you to be!  And yet I do not love you the less.  Perhaps I love you the more for your faults, as well as for your misfortunes.

“Our lot,” continued he, “is a hard one.  That quarter of the world has sent letters, and arts, and religion abroad to adorn and benefit the other four; and these, the chief of human blessings and glories, have deserted us!”