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.