t in the saliva that
separates alkaloid and sugar and liberates the narcotic principle.
Only the healthiest and loveliest of the girls are chosen to munch
the root, that delectable and honored privilege being refused to
those whose teeth are not perfect and upon whose cheeks the roses do
not bloom.

Nevertheless, as I smoked at ease in my _pareu_ upon the _paepae_ of
my simple hosts I felt some misgivings rise in me. Yet why cavil at
the vehicle by which one arrives at Nirvana? Had I not tasted the
_chicha_ beer of the Andes, and found it good? And vague analogies
and surmises floated before me in the curls of smoke that rose in
the clear evening light.

What hidden clue to the remotest beginnings of the human race lies
in the fact that two peoples, so far apart as the Marquesans and the
South American Indians, use the same method of making their native
beverage? In the Andes corn takes the place of the _kava_ root, and
young girls, descendants of the ancient Incas, chew the grains,
sitting in a circle and with a certain ceremoniousness, as among
these Marquesans. The Marquesas Islands are on the same parallel of
latitude as Peru. Were these two peoples once one race, living on
that long-sunken continent in which Darwin believed?

Dusk fell slowly while I pondered on the mysteries in which our life
is rooted, and on the unknown beginnings and forgotten significances
of all human customs. The iron-wood trough was filled with the
masticated root, and in groups and in couples the girls slipped away
to bathe in the river. There they were met by arriving guests, and
the sound of laughter and splashing came up to us as darkness closed
upon the _paepae_ and the torches were lit.

Lights were coming out like stars up the dark valley as each
household made its vesper fire to roast breadfruit or broil fish,
and lanterns were hung upon the bamboo palisades that marked the
limits of property or confined favorite pigs. A cool breeze rose and
rustled the fronds of cocoanut and bamboo, bringing from forest
depths a clean, earthy odor.

The last bather came from the brook, refreshed by the cooling waters
and adorned with flowers. All were in a merry mood for food and fun.
Half a dozen flaring torches illuminated their happy, tattooed faces
and dusky bodies, and caught color from the vivid blossoms in their
hair. The ring of light made blacker the rustling cocoanut grove,
the lofty trees of which closed in upon us on every side.