several of their friends.  None of them came empty; but Oo-oo-rou brought a pretty large present, this being his first and only visit.  I distributed amongst them almost every thing I had left.  The very hospitable manner in which I had ever been received by these people, had endeared them to me, and given them a just title to everything in my power to grant.  I questioned them again about the ships at Huaheine; and they all, to a man, denied that any were there.  During the time these people remained on board, they were continually importuning me to return.  The chief, his wife and daughter, but especially the two latter, scarcely ever ceased weeping.  I will not pretend to say whether it was real or feigned grief they shewed on this occasion.  Perhaps there was a mixture of both; but were I to abide by my own opinion only, I should believe it was real.  At last, when we were about to weigh, they took a most affectionate leave.  Oree’s last request was for me to return; when he saw he could not obtain that promise, he asked the name of my Marai (burying-place).  As strange a question as this was, I hesitated not a moment to tell him Stepney; the parish in which I live when in London.  I was made to repeat it several times over till they could pronounce it; then, Stepney Marai no Toote was echoed through an hundred mouths at once.  I afterwards found the same question had been put to Mr Forster by a man on shore; but he gave a different, and indeed more proper answer, by saying, no man, who used the sea, could say where he should be buried.  It is the custom, at these isles, for all the great families to have burial-places of their own, where their remains are interred.  These go with the estate to the next heir.  The Marai at Oparee in Otaheite, when Tootaha swayed the sceptre, was called Marai no Tootaha; but now it is called Marai no Otoo.  What greater proof could we have of these people esteeming us as friends, than their wishing to remember us, even beyond the period of our lives?  They had been repeatedly told that we should see them no more; they then wanted to know where we were to mingle with our parent dust.  As I could not promise, or even suppose, that more English ships would be sent to those isles, our faithful companion Oedidee chose to remain in his native country.  But he left us with a regret fully demonstrative of the esteem he bore to us; nor could any thing but the fear of never returning, have torn him from us.  When the chief teased me so much about returning, I sometimes gave such answers as left them hopes.  Oedidee would instantly catch at this, take me on one side, and ask me over again.  In short, I have not words to describe the anguish which appeared in this young man’s breast when he went away.  He looked up at the ship, burst into tears, and then sunk down into the canoe.  The maxim, that a prophet has no honour in his own country, was never more fully verified than in this youth.  At Otaheite he might have