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 on the gentle declivity of an hill, there lived, in a pacious grotto in the rock, a reverend hermit, who had borrowed from the Bihop of Meien, of pious memory, the name of Benno, and was no les celebrated for his anctity, than the patron of his name. Nobody could tell who our Benno really was, or whence he came. He had long ince arrived here as a tout able-bodied pilgrim, had ettled in the Swansfield, formed with his own hands an handome hermitage, and planted a little garden round it, in which he raied a fine plantation of exotic fruit-trees with rows of choice vines.

He alo reared weet melons, then eteemed a great delicacy: with thee products of his indutry he entertained his viitants. Nor was he more beloved for his hopitality, than for his cheerful and obliging dipoition. The inhabitants of the mountains had recoure to him, on account of his piety, as a pokeman and olicitor in all their affairs before the high court