on the gentle declivity of an hill, there lived, in a ſpacious grotto in the rock, a reverend hermit, who had borrowed from the Biſhop of Meiſſen, of pious memory, the name of Benno, and was no leſs celebrated for his ſanctity, than the patron of his name. Nobody could tell who our Benno really was, or whence he came. He had long ſince arrived here as a ſtout able-bodied pilgrim, had ſettled in the Swansfield, formed with his own hands an handſome hermitage, and planted a little garden round it, in which he raiſed a fine plantation of exotic fruit-trees with rows of choice vines.
He alſo reared ſweet melons, then eſteemed a great delicacy: with theſe products of his induſtry he entertained his viſitants. Nor was he more beloved for his hoſpitality, than for his cheerful and obliging diſpoſition. The inhabitants of the mountains had recourſe to him, on account of his piety, as a ſpokeſman and ſolicitor in all their affairs before the high courtabove;
