 am not aware that I ever committed any particular crime,—I am hated for my country and my religion.

Myself.—Perhaps I am speaking to a Protestant, like myself?

Stranger.—I am no Protestant.  If I were, they would be cautious here of showing their dislike, for I should then have a government and a consul to protect me.  I am a Jew—a Barbary Jew, a subject of Abderrahman.

Myself.—If that be the case, you can scarcely complain of being looked upon with dislike in this country, since in Barbary the Jews are slaves.

Stranger.—In most parts, I grant you, but not where I was born, which was far up the country, near the deserts.  There the Jews are free, and are feared, and are as valiant men as the Moslems themselves; as able to tame the steed, or to fire the gun.  The Jews of our tribe are not slaves, and I like not to be treated as a slave either by Christian or Moor.

Myself.—Your history must be a curious one, I would fain hear it.

Stranger.—My history I shall tell to no one.  I have travelled much, I have been in commerce and have thriven.  I am at present established in Portugal, but I love not the people of Catholic countries, and least of all these of Spain.  I have lately experienced the most shameful injustice in the Aduana of this town, and when I complained, they laughed at me and called me Jew.  Wherever he turns, the Jew is reviled, save in your country, and on that account my blood always warms when I see an Englishman.  You are a stranger here.  Can I do aught for you?  You may command me.

Myself.—I thank you heartily, but I am in need of no assistance.

Stranger.—Have you any bills, I will accept them if you have?

Myself.—I have no need of assistance; but you may do me a favour by accepting of a book.

Stranger.—I will receive it with thanks.  I know what it is.  What a singular people?  The same dress, the same look, the same book.  Pelham gave me one in Egypt.  Farewell!  Your Jesus was a good man, perhaps a prophet; but . . . farewell!

Well may the people of Pontevedra envy the natives of Vigo their bay, with which, in many respects, none other in the world can compare.  On every side it is defended by steep and sublime hills, save on the part of the west, where
