Wanderings of a pilgrim in search of the picturesque, Volume 2 (of 2)

And now the pilgrim resigns her staff and plucks the scallop-shell from her hat,—her wanderings are ended—she has quitted the East, perhaps for ever:—surrounded in the quiet home of her native land by the curiosities, the monsters, and the idols that accompanied her from India, she looks around and dreams of the days that are gone.

The resources she finds in her recollections, the pleasure she derives from her sketches, and the sad sea waves[56], her constant companions, form for her a life independent of her own life.

“THE NARRATION OF PLEASURE IS BETTER THAN THE PLEASURE ITSELF[57].”

And to those kind friends, at whose request she has published the history of her wanderings, she returns her warmest thanks for the pleasure the occupation has afforded her. She entreats them to read the pilgrimage with the eye of indulgence, while she remembers at the same time that,

“HAVING PUT HER HEAD INTO THE MORTAR, IT IS USELESS TO DREAD THE SOUND OF THE PESTLE[58].”

To her dear and few surviving relatives,—and to her friends of many years,—the Pilgrim bids adieu:

“THE BLESSING OF HEAVEN BE UPON THEIR HEADS[59].”

“Āp ki topīyan par salāmat rahī.”

“THE PEN ARRIVED THUS FAR AND BROKE ITS POINT[60].”

i.e. It is finished.

SALĀM! SALĀM!