in it somewhat of the wildness which always characterizes a Glonglim.  He was evidently impatient for discussion; and having informed himself of the subject of my rhapsody when he joined our party, he vehemently exclaimed,—­“I am surprised at your falling in with that popular prejudice; while it is easy to show, that but for some feeling of love, or pity, or admiration, with which the rose happens to be associated—­some past pleasure which it brings to your recollection, or some future pleasure which it suggests,—­any other flower would be equally sweet.  You see the rose a very beautiful flower; and you have been accustomed, whenever you saw and felt its beauty, to perceive, at the same time, a certain odour.  The beauty and the odour thus become associated in your mind, and the smell brings along with it the pleasure you feel in looking at it.  But the chief part of the gratification you receive from smelling a rose, arises from some past scene of delight of which it reminds you; as, of the days of your innocence and childhood, when you ran about the garden—­or when you were decorated with nosegays—­or danced round a may-pole, (this is rather a free translation)—­or presented a bunch of flowers to some little favourite.”  He said a great deal more on the subject, and spoke so prettily and ingeniously, as almost to make a convert of me; when, on bringing my nose once more to the flower, I found in it the same exquisite fragrance as ever.

“Why do we like,” he continued, “the smell of a beef-steak, or of a cup of tea, except for the pleasure we receive from their taste?”

I mentioned, as an exception to his theory, the codfish, which is esteemed a very savoury dish by my countrymen, but which no one ever regarded as very fragrant.  But he repelled my objection by an ingenious hypothesis, grounded on certain physiological facts, to show that this supposed disagreeable smell was also the effect of some early associations.  I then mentioned to him assafoetida, the odour of which I believed was universally odious.  He immediately replied, that we are always accustomed to associate with this drug, the disagreeable ideas of sickness, female weakness, hysterics, affectation, &c.  Unable to continue the argument, I felt myself vanquished.  I again stooped to the flower, and as I inhaled its perfume, “Surely,” said I to myself, “this rose would be sweet if I were to lose my memory altogether:”  but recollecting the great Reffei’s argument, I mentally added thanks to divine philosophy, which always corrects our natural prejudices.

CHAPTER XV.

Atterley goes to the great monthly fair—­Its various exhibitions; difficulties—­Preparations to leave the Moon—­Curiosities procured by Atterley—­Regress to the Earth.