After passing a week among this singular and fortunate people, whom we every where found equally amiable, intelligent, and hospitable, we returned to Alamatua in the same way that we had come; that is, in a light car, drawn by four large mastiffs.  When we had recovered from the fatigues of the journey, and I had carefully committed to paper all that I had learnt of the Okalbians, the Brahmin and I took a walk towards a part of the suburbs which I had not yet seen, and where some of the literati of his acquaintance resided.  The sun appeared to be not more than two hours high (though, in fact, it was more than fifty); the sky was without a cloud, and a fresh breeze from the mountains contributed to make it like one of the most delightful summer evenings of a temperate climate.

We carelessly rambled along, enjoying the balmy freshness of the air, the picturesque scenery of the neighbouring mountains, the beauty or fragrance of some vegetable productions, and the oddity of others, until, having passed through a thick wood, we came to an extensive plain, which was covered with rose-bushes.  The queen of flowers here appeared under every variety of colour, size, and species—­red, white, black, and yellow—­budding, full-blown, and half-blown;—­some with thorns, and some without; some odourless, and others exhaling their unrivalled perfume with an overpowering sweetness.  I was about to pluck one of these flowers, (of which I have always been particularly fond,) when a man, whom I had not previously observed, stepping up behind me, seized my arm, and asked me if I knew what I was doing.  He told us that the roses of this field, which is called Gulgal, were deemed sacred, and were not allowed to be gathered without the special permission of the priests, under a heavy penalty; and that he was one of those whose duty it was to prevent the violation of the law, and to bring the offenders to punishment.

The Brahmin, having diverted himself a while with my surprise and disappointment, then informed me, that the rose had ever been regarded in Morosofia, as the symbol of female purity, delicacy, and sweetness; which notion had grown into a popular superstition, that whenever a marriage is consummated on the earth, one of these flowers springs up in the moon; and that in colour, shape, size, or other property, it is a fit type of the individual whose change of state is thus commemorated.

“What, father,” said I, “could have given rise to so strange an opinion?”

“I know not,” said he; “but I have heard it thus explained:—­That the roses generally spring up, as well as blow, in the course of their long nights, during which the earth’s resplendent disc is the most conspicuous object in the heavens; which two facts stand, in the opinion of the multitude, in the relation of cause and effect.  Attributing, then, the symbolical character of the rose to its tutelary planet, they regard the earth in the same light as the ancients did the chaste Diana,