I told him that I had heard the honours, which he claimed for India, attributed to Egypt.  He contended, with true love of country, great plausibility, and an intimate knowledge of Oriental history, that letters and the arts had been first transplanted from Asia into Egypt.

“No other part of Africa,” said he, “saving Egypt, can boast of any ancient monuments of the arts or of civilization.  Even the pyramids, the great boast of Egypt, are proofs of nothing more than ordinary patient labour, directed by despotic power.  Besides, look at that vast region, extending five thousand miles from the Mediterranean to the Cape of Good Hope, and four thousand from the Red Sea to the Atlantic.  Its immense surface contains only ignorant barbarians, who are as uncivilized now as they were three thousand years ago.  Is it likely that if civilization and letters originated in Egypt, as is sometimes pretended, it would have spread so extensively in one direction, and not at all in another?  I make no exception in favour of the Carthagenians, whose origin was comparatively recent, and who, we know, were a colony from Asia.”

I was obliged to admit the force of this reasoning; and, when he proceeded to descant on the former glories and achievements of Asiatic nations, and their sad reverses of fortune—­while he freely spoke of the present degradation and imbecility of his countrymen, he promptly resisted every censure of mine.  It was easy, indeed, to see that he secretly cherished a hope that the day would come, when the whole of Hindostan would be emancipated from its European masters, and assume that rank among nations to which the genius of its inhabitants entitled it.  He admitted that the dominion of the English was less oppressive than that of their native princes; but said, that there was this great difference between foreign and domestic despotism,—­that the former completely extinguished all national pride, which is as much the cause as the effect of national greatness.

I asked him whether he thought if his countrymen were to shake off the yoke of the English, they could maintain their independence?

“Undoubtedly,” said he.  “Who would be able to conquer us?”

I suggested to him that they might tempt the ambition of Russia; and cautiously inquired, whether the abstinence from animal food might not render his country much less capable of resistance; and whether it might not serve to explain why India had so often been the prey of foreign conquest?  Of this, however, he would hear nothing; but replied, with more impatience than was usual with him—­