the Ganges, when an enormous alligator, that had been concealed among the flags, sprung from his hiding-place, and pounced pell-mell upon my companion. Heedless of the danger, I rushed to his assistance, and with some difficulty rescued him from the clutches of his voracious enemy. For this I was called an atheist. A convocation of learned Pundits was appointed, and I was branded as a Paria, or defiled man. My father, too, was included in the family stigma, and, in order to redeem his character, was compelled to dance devotional fandangos in the air with a brass hook sticking fast in his ribs, and finally to be piously crushed to atoms at the ensuing festival of Jaggernaut. I have already said, that I had a most unorthodox aversion to martyrdom ; and it was under the influence of these feelings that I quitted the country of the Hindoos, with true free-thinking expedition. On the evening of my departure, as I was meditating in the temple of Veshnoo, a deep sleep fell on me; the heavens appeared on fire, and in the midst of light and splendour, a Glendover approached. "Veshnoo," said he, "has determined to punish you. You have dared to save your father, and to ridicule the cow's tail. For this you are doomed to eternal transmigrations, unless in your travels through the world you can discover a friend who will disinterestedly exchange lots with you." He vanished; I awoke, and set out on my expedition,

After infinite fatigues, I arrived at Rome on the eve of a great festival. A monk asked if I believed in the infallibility of the Pope. I answered in the negative, upon which he threatened to consign me to the prison of the Inquisition. Having always had an aversion to confinement, I requested his advice and assistance. The word advice seemed to have a magical effect; with many expressions of contrition, he led me to his convent of the Benedictines, and entertained me with a profound dissertation on the four thousand martyrs who danced on a pin's head without jostling each other. lay brother of the same monastery insisted that it was on the point of a needle. The monk retorted, and struck a knife into the body of his argumentative opponent. He was accordingly fined for the murder; but on telling his judges that he was only vindicating the cause of religion, was permitted to kiss the Pope's toe, and continue his exertions in the holy cause, as usual. Disgusted with a religion which

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allows its members to stick each other with impunity, and knowing that after this pleasant specimen they would stick at nothing, however atrocious, I determined to quit Italy, and bend my steps towards Spain. The court was celebrating an auto-da-fe when I arrived. Fourteen wretches were drawn with due decorum to the stake; and the grand inquisitors, after having kissed them round, affectionately set fire to the faggots. At the close of the thanksgiving, (for the court always finish with a psalm,) I returned into the market-place of Madrid. A gallant-looking cavalier stopped me, and after eyeing me attentively, requested to know my opinion upon the recent exhibition. I gave it with caution, for I had as instinctive an aversion to the ardent embraces of a faggot, as to the gripe of a crocodile. Fortunately he was of the same opinion as myself; and persuaded me, with many testimonies of affection, to take up my abode at his house. My good friend," said he, one evening," you talk of quitting Spain; allow me to give you some wholesome advice before you depart. I love you as a brother, and will do any thing in my power to promote your interests. Speak, how can I serve you?" Melted with affection, I grasped his hand, and gently hinted my want of money; concluding the harangue with a modest demand of one thousand sequins. My friend immediately showed me the door, quickening my flight down the stairs with certain hints that could not be mistaken.

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Foiled in my attempts to procure a friend, or at least a companion, I determined to try my fortune among the Turks. The Sublime Porte was then engaged in a war with the Musselmen of Arabia. The origin of their controversy was curious. A Mahometan of Bagdad had written an able treatise on the Koran, in which he endeavoured to prove that Mahomet wore no breeches when he was translated to the ninth heaven. The doctors of Constantinople, on the contrary, averred that he had on a dress of blue silk, turned up with taffety, at the precise moment of his journey. A war with Arabia was the consequence; and the unfortunate circumstance of the breeches occasioned the death of thousands. On reaching Constantinople, I saw two men engaged in a violent battle. They observed me notice them in my walk, and dubbed me umpire on the occasion. The question in dispute was-how old was Mahomet's donkey,

when it died of a diarrhoea. I observed that the age was immaterial, provided the beast actually died. Upon this they imagined I was joking them, and joined in beating me, as if my body were the road to Heaven. The Iman of the Mosque, who happened to be passing at the time, inquired the circumstances of the strife, and being told that I had spoken irreverently of the prophet's jackass, condemned me to a bastinado on my feet. "Alas,"I exclaimed, as I quitted Turkey," how can I expect to find a friend among those who cannot even agree on their religion.

Wearied with disappointment, I resolved, as a last resource, to visit England, the favoured seat of freedom and the Muses. In my travels through the continent, I had heard much praise and more abuse lavished on the Queen Island. On my arrival, I was received with hospitality as a stranger, and invited to partake of the numerous festivities of the metropolis. At first, however my utter ignorance of the national customs engaged me in some ludicrous incidents. I was walking home one night, to my apartments, when a young female, whom I encountered in the streets, kissed me with the most affectionate familiarity, and asked me if I was good-natured. Kind-hearted people, I mentally exclaimed, even to strangers you evince the generosity of the liveliest friendship. My apostrophe was, however, speedily terminated, by the approach of the night guardian, and the consequent flight of my fair adventurer; who, as I afterwards understood, was nothing more or less than a Cyprian of the most accommodating virtue.

From the circumstance of my being a stranger, from the peculiarity of my manners, and the utter unintelligibility of my dialect, I was for some time a subject of considerable curiosity to the fashionable society of the metropolis. At the accomplished Lady Van Tweezle's, I was shown as a monster, for the season, and was more than once invited by a bookseller, to publish an account of my travels, headed by a frontispiece of myself. The utter heartlessness, however, of the upper circles, soon disgusted me. "I shall never meet with a friend in this portion of society," I observed to an elderly philosopher at Sir Tandem O'Random's route. The beau monde is, indeed, the very worst climate in the world for the growth of private friendships. Here you meet with professions blended with insincerity; religion connected

with hypocrisy; and superstition linked with the most determined stupidity. As my readers may observe, in my search for a friend, I have always looked to the grand origin of its constituent qualities-religion, matured by intellect, and refined by charity; for I have generally found, that where the devotion of the heart is wanting, the sensibility of friendship is dead. On the continent, in Turkey, in Spain, and in Italy, I discovered that superstition was the bye-word, the cant of religion, and have consequently given up my search after a friend as hopeless. But to resume: in a party to which I was invited by special desire of several persons of distinction, I was introduced, for the first time, to an elderly gentleman, of the most prepossessing appearance. He was pious without being methodistical, and possessed the spirit of religion, without its cant. I was much pleased with his manners, and soon struck up a league of amity with him. He told me one evening the circumstances of his life. He had been a young man of fashion, betrothed at an early age to the daughter of a mutual friend. On the eve, however, of their marriage, Amelia, for that was the name of the young lady, was prohibited all intercourse with her lover. A fanatic, it seems, had been introduced into the family circle, and had converted the heart of the father by his ravings; he persuaded him, among other absurdities, to train up his child as a vestal; for that marriage was a state of sinfulness, a snare laid by the evil one for the enthralment of stray souls. The father was convinced, and Amelia was compelled to relinquish her lover for ever. "We shall meet at least in the next world," she said, in her last affecting letter to him, “and let that thought cheer our spirits." It failed, however, in her own case, for the poor girl died shortly after of a broken heart. On her death-bed, she requested permission to see her lover, but even that was refused; and she expired in the act of folding his portrait to her heart. The father hung over the coffin with impenetrable callousness, and sang a brace of psalms to the memory of the departed. This he called glorifying the Deity; and over a glass of brandy on the evening of the funeral, thanked God that he was not as other men, kind-hearted, affectionate, or even as his own daughter. "To what insanity," remarked my friend, as he concluded his pathetic narrative," will not superstition drive us."

I had been but a short time acquainted with this interesting character, and had already imagined him as the intended friend who was to rescue my soul from the damnation of Veshnoo, when he died, and once more left me desolate. I was with him in his last moments, and acceded to his request of burying him in the same grave with Amelia. I saw the evening sun set upon the turf that covered them, and offered up a prayer for the repose of the departed. It will be my turn next to sleep in the narrow-house, but where is the friend who will weep for the departed Hindoo? Yet a few days, perhaps even a few hours, and his name will be known no longer. He will be sacrificed to the wrath of Veshnoo, for his infidel kindness to his father...

The next person that presented himself in the shape of a friend, was a philosopher of the most cynical, but apparently sincere, disposition. I had seen too much of mankind to be surprised at his intemperate language, but wondered at his hatred towards women. He seemed to shudder at seeing them, and frequently withdrew into an adjoining apartment, to be freed, as he called it, from their impertinent tittletattle. He was, indeed, a genuine philosopher: no learning was too profound for him; no metaphysics too acute. He was always talking of the " harmonious aptitude of the creation, and the universal consentaneousness of things." One evening, however, when I paid him a visit for further edification, I discovered him in rather an awkward position; he was seated with a young lady on his knee, and blushed terribly on being detected. I was sorry to interrupt such little innocent recreations; so I left the philosopher to settle the "harmonious aptitude of the creation, and the universal consentaneousness of things," with his pretty cher-amie.

I had now almost resigned the hope of discovering a friend in England, when chance threw me among the sect of the Methodists. They talked so much and so largely of the virtue of charity, and the general principles of benevolence, that I was much smitten with their apparent goodness. With one man I was particularly attracted: he was a preacher of great notoriety, and seemed a miracle of virtue. One of his congregation had died, and on the ensuing Sunday he delivered to the survivors a discourse replete with pathos. He drew up a catalogue of those who had lost friends; dwelt much on the advantages of resignation: and quoted