Mr. Coke started from St. Louis with two companions: one an old college friend, whom he designates as Fred; the other “a British parson, whose strength and dimensions most justly entitled him to be called a pillar of the church.” What the parson did in the prairies of the Far West does not clearly appear. He certainly did not go as a missionary, so far as we can ascertain from his friend’s book, and indeed his habits and tendencies were evidently sporting and jovial rather than clerical, although we do catch him reading Sunday prayers to Mr. Coke, when the latter had the chills, and lay wrapped up in wet blankets on the banks of Green River, with a boxful of Brandreth’s pills in his stomach. We regret to believe that instances _have_ been known of parsons employing their time far worse than in an adventurous ramble across the American continent. Mr. Coke, nevertheless, thinks proper to veil his chaplain’s identity under the heroic cognomen of Julius Cæsar, against which distinguished Roman, could he be recalled to life, we would unhesitatingly back the reverend gentlemen to box a round, wrestle a fall, or handle a rifle, for any number of ponies the ancient backers might be disposed to post. A stalwort priest and a powerful was Parson Julius, and is still, we trust, if nothing has happened to him since Mr. Coke left him at the court of his majesty Tamehameha III., at Honolulu, on the eve of setting sail for the island of Owyhee. No better companion could be desired on a rough and perilous expedition; and although his careless friend manages to let his true name slip out before ending his volume, we will not allow that the slip affords grounds for regret, or that there is any thing in his journey of which, as a clergyman, he need be ashamed.