25th.—A cold raw day, with rain and fog. Divine service was performed in the cuddy. The sea almost a calm.
31st.—With a fine wind we are going nine knots off the Lizard, and looking forward to the termination of our voyage; but I cannot quit the vessel without expressing how much we have been satisfied with all the arrangements on board, which reflect great credit on the owners of the ship; and how much the attention of the commanding officer to our wishes and accommodation has removed the annoyances that old Indians necessarily must experience during a sea voyage: the vessel is well manned, her provisions are excellent and abundant, every attention is shown to the passengers, and the “Essex” is a good ship.
1846, Jan. 1st.—At 6 P.M., off Portland Race, it was bitterly cold, and I began to speculate if it were possible to exist in England.
2nd.—Off Folkstone, at 2 P.M.—I quitted the “Essex” in a Deal boat, over which the waves danced, and the wind was bitterly cold; landed at Folkstone in about four hours, half starved, cold, and hungry, and took refuge at the Pavilion Hotel, where a good dinner and the luxuries of native oysters and fresh butter made us forget all the ills that flesh is heir to.
3rd.—Started per train at 7 A.M., and found ourselves once more in London.
THE FAREWELL.
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].”