A description of a Lunar fair follows, which, like a terrestrial, is the resort of the busy, the idle, the knavish, and the gay: some in pursuit of pleasure; others again, without any settled purpose, carried along by the vague desire of meeting with something to relieve them from the pain of idleness. Political contests are here represented under the character of gambling transactions, and if we mistake not, there is a distinct allusion to more than one important contest in the annals of this country.
Having now satisfied his curiosity, Atterley became anxious to return to his native planet, and accordingly urged the Brahmin to lose no time in preparing for their departure. They were soon, however, informed that a man high in office, by way of affecting political sagacity, had proposed to detain them, on the ground that when such voyages as their's 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 purpose of rapine and contest; but notwithstanding the influence of this sapient politician, they finally obtained leave to quit the moon whenever they thought proper.
Having taken a "respectful or affectionate" leave of all their lunarian friends, and got every thing in readiness,—at midnight of the twentieth of August, they again entered their copper balloon, and after they had ascended until the face of the moon looked like one vast lake of melted silver, with here and there small pieces of grayish dross floating on it, Atterley reminded the Brahmin of a former promise to detail the history of his early life, to which he assented:—of this, perhaps the most interesting part of the book, to the general reader, we regret that our limits will only admit of our giving a very condensed and imperfect narrative.
Gurameer, the Brahmin, was born at Benares. He was the only son of a priest of Vishnu, of rank, and was himself intended for the priesthood. At school, he meets with a boy of the name of Balty Mahu, between whom and himself a degree of rivalry, and subsequently the most decided enmity, existed—a circumstance that decided the character of Gurameer's subsequent life. They afterwards met at college, where a more extended theatre was afforded for the exercise of Balty Mahu's malignity. During a vacation, Gurameer, being on a visit to an uncle in the country, one day, when the family had gone to witness a grand spectacle in honour of an important festival in their calendar, which he could not himself attend consistently with the rules of his caste, was tempted to visit the deserted Zenana, or ladies' apartment, where he accidentally meets with a beautiful young female. The acquaintance, thus begun, soon ripened into intimacy, by means of walks in the garden, contrived by Fatima, one of his female cousins. At length they are constrained to separate. Veenah (for so the young lady is named) returns to Benares, whither Gurameer soon follows her. On making his father acquainted with his attachment, the latter endeavours to persuade him to overcome it, and informs him that Veenah's father is avaricious, and a bigot, and hence, that he would probably be prejudiced against him, owing to some imputations which had been cast on Gurameer's religious creed, and industriously circulated by his old enemy, Balty Mahu, who proves to be the cousin of Veenah These considerations prevail upon Gurameer to defer any application to Veenah's father, until the suspicions regarding his faith had either died away or been falsified by his scrupulous observance of all religious duties. This resolution he determines to communicate to his mistress. Accordingly, in the evening, he betakes himself to the quarter of the city where Veenah's father lives; and, walking to and fro before the house, soon discovers that he is recognised. By a cord, let down from the window, he conveys a letter to her, which, the following evening, she answers; and thus a regular correspondence was kept up, which, by the exercise it afforded to their imaginations, and the difficulties attendant upon it, inflamed their passion to the highest pitch. He had, however, soon the misfortune to be discovered by Balty Mahu, and, in consequence, Veenah is debarred from pen and ink, but contrives to acquaint her lover that their intercourse has been discovered, by a short note, written with a burnt stick. Gurameer now goes in despair to Veenah's father, from whom he experiences a haughty repulse, and who, in the following night, secretly leaves the city, with his daughter, embarking on the Ganges, and taking measures to prevent the discovery of the place of his retreat. At the expiration of two or three months, an end is put to Gurameer's doubts and apprehensions, by his return, with his daughter and son-in-law—a rich Omrah, four times her age. After the first ebullitions of rage have subsided, his love returns; but he is never able to succeed in obtaining an interview with Veenah. By his cousin Fatima, he learns the circumstances of Veenah's marriage, and the deceptions which had been practised on her, aided by the unbounded authority which parents exercise in eastern countries. The unhappy Veenah, as firm in her principles as she was gentle in disposition, refuses to see him. "Tell him," said she, "that Heaven has forbidden 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!"
Gurameer now fell into a state of settled melancholy, and consented to travel, more for the purpose of pleasing his parents, than from any concern for his own health; but travelling had little effect—"he carried a barbed arrow in his heart; and the greater the efforts to extract it, the more they rankled the wound." When so much emaciated that he was not expected to live a month, he took a voyage, coastwise, to Madras; and, on his arrival there, learned that Balty Mahu had recently left that place. This intelligence operated like a charm; the desire of revenge roused all his energies and became his master passion. He immediately set off in pursuit; but, although often near, could never overtake him. His health rapidly improves; and at length he hears that the old Omrah's health is rapidly declining. This information awakens new thoughts and hopes, and Balty Mahu is forgotten. He hastens hack to Benares; and when near the city, hears two merchants, in conversation, remark that the Omrah is dead, and that his widow was the next day to perform the Suttee. He immediately mounts his horse, and reaches the city the next morning at sunrise. In the street he mixes with the throng;—hears Veenah pitied, her father blamed, and himself lamented. He now sees Veenah approach the funeral pile, who, at the well known sound of his voice, shrieked out, "he lives! he lives!" and would have attempted to save herself from the flames; but the shouts of the surrounding multitude, and the sound of the instruments, drowned her voice. He now attempts to approach the pile for the purpose of rescuing her, but is forcibly held back until the wretched Veenah is enveloped in flames. On his again attempting to reach the pile, he was charged with profanation; and, on Balty Mahu's making his appearance and encouraging the charge, in frantic desperation he seizes a scymetar from one of the guards, and plunges it in his breast. The influence of his friends, and the sacred character of persons of his caste, saved the Brahmin from capital punishment; but he was banished from Hindostan. He now removed to the kingdom of Ava, where he continued so long as his parents lived, after which he visited several countries, both of Asia and Europe; and in one of his journeys, having discovered Lunarium Ore in the mountain near Mogaun, he determined to pass the remainder of his days in that secluded retreat.—"So ends this strange, eventful history."
When the Brahmin terminated his narrative, the extended map beneath them was already assuming a distinct and varied appearance:—
"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 buffetting 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, big 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."