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    Conclusion

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    Chapter 63
    Previous Chapter
    Nearly one year has flown since this notable pilgrimage was ended; and as
    I sit here at home in San Francisco thinking, I am moved to confess that
    day by day the mass of my memories of the excursion have grown more and
    more pleasant as the disagreeable incidents of travel which encumbered
    them flitted one by one out of my mind--and now, if the Quaker City were
    weighing her anchor to sail away on the very same cruise again, nothing
    could gratify me more than to be a passenger. With the same captain and
    even the same pilgrims, the same sinners. I was on excellent terms with
    eight or nine of the excursionists (they are my staunch friends yet,) and
    was even on speaking terms with the rest of the sixty-five. I have been
    at sea quite enough to know that that was a very good average. Because a
    long sea-voyage not only brings out all the mean traits one has, and
    exaggerates them, but raises up others which he never suspected he
    possessed, and even creates new ones. A twelve months' voyage at sea
    would make of an ordinary man a very miracle of meanness. On the other
    hand, if a man has good qualities, the spirit seldom moves him to exhibit
    them on shipboard, at least with any sort of emphasis. Now I am
    satisfied that our pilgrims are pleasant old people on shore; I am also
    satisfied that at sea on a second voyage they would be pleasanter,
    somewhat, than they were on our grand excursion, and so I say without
    hesitation that I would be glad enough to sail with them again. I could
    at least enjoy life with my handful of old friends. They could enjoy
    life with their cliques as well--passengers invariably divide up into
    cliques, on all ships.

    And I will say, here, that I would rather travel with an excursion party
    of Methuselahs than have to be changing ships and comrades constantly, as
    people do who travel in the ordinary way. Those latter are always
    grieving over some other ship they have known and lost, and over other
    comrades whom diverging routes have separated from them. They learn to
    love a ship just in time to change it for another, and they become
    attached to a pleasant traveling companion only to lose him. They have
    that most dismal experience of being in a strange vessel, among strange
    people who care nothing about them, and of undergoing the customary
    bullying by strange officers and the insolence of strange servants,
    repeated over and over again within the compass of every month. They
    have also that other misery of packing and unpacking trunks--of running
    the distressing gauntlet of custom-houses--of the anxieties attendant
    upon getting a mass of baggage from point to point on land in safety.
    I had rasher sail with a whole brigade of patriarchs than suffer so.
    We never packed our trunks but twice--when we sailed from New York, and
    when we returned to it. Whenever we made a land journey, we estimated
    how many days we should be gone and what amount of clothing we should
    need, figured it down to a mathematical nicety, packed a valise or two
    accordingly, and left the trunks on board. We chose our comrades from
    among our old, tried friends, and started. We were never dependent upon
    strangers for companionship. We often had occasion to pity Americans
    whom we found traveling drearily among strangers with no friends to
    exchange pains and pleasures with. Whenever we were coming back from a
    land journey, our eyes sought one thing in the distance first--the ship
    --and when we saw it riding at anchor with the flag apeak, we felt as a
    returning wanderer feels when he sees his home. When we stepped on
    board, our cares vanished, our troubles were at an end--for the ship was
    home to us. We always had the same familiar old state-room to go to, and
    feel safe and at peace and comfortable again.

    I have no fault to find with the manner in which our excursion was
    conducted. Its programme was faithfully carried out--a thing which
    surprised me, for great enterprises usually promise vastly more than they
    perform. It would be well if such an excursion could be gotten up every
    year and the system regularly inaugurated. Travel is fatal to prejudice,
    bigotry and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on
    these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things can
    not be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's
    lifetime.

    The Excursion is ended, and has passed to its place among the things that
    were. But its varied scenes and its manifold incidents will linger
    pleasantly in our memories for many a year to come. Always on the wing,
    as we were, and merely pausing a moment to catch fitful glimpses of the
    wonders of half a world, we could not hope to receive or retain vivid
    impressions of all it was our fortune to see. Yet our holyday flight has
    not been in vain--for above the confusion of vague recollections, certain
    of its best prized pictures lift themselves and will still continue
    perfect in tint and outline after their surroundings shall have faded
    away.

    We shall remember something of pleasant France; and something also of
    Paris, though it flashed upon us a splendid meteor, and was gone again,
    we hardly knew how or where. We shall remember, always, how we saw
    majestic Gibraltar glorified with the rich coloring of a Spanish sunset
    and swimming in a sea of rainbows. In fancy we shall see Milan again,
    and her stately Cathedral with its marble wilderness of graceful spires.
    And Padua--Verona--Como, jeweled with stars; and patrician Venice, afloat
    on her stagnant flood--silent, desolate, haughty--scornful of her humbled
    state--wrapping herself in memories of her lost fleets, of battle and
    triumph, and all the pageantry of a glory that is departed.

    We can not forget Florence--Naples--nor the foretaste of heaven that is
    in the delicious atmosphere of Greece--and surely not Athens and the
    broken temples of the Acropolis. Surely not venerable Rome--nor the
    green plain that compasses her round about, contrasting its brightness
    with her gray decay--nor the ruined arches that stand apart in the plain
    and clothe their looped and windowed raggedness with vines. We shall
    remember St. Peter's: not as one sees it when he walks the streets of
    Rome and fancies all her domes are just alike, but as he sees it leagues
    away, when every meaner edifice has faded out of sight and that one dome
    looms superbly up in the flush of sunset, full of dignity and grace,
    strongly outlined as a mountain.

    We shall remember Constantinople and the Bosporus--the colossal
    magnificence of Baalbec--the Pyramids of Egypt--the prodigious form, the
    benignant countenance of the Sphynx--Oriental Smyrna--sacred Jerusalem
    --Damascus, the "Pearl of the East," the pride of Syria, the fabled Garden
    of Eden, the home of princes and genii of the Arabian Nights, the oldest
    metropolis on earth, the one city in all the world that has kept its name
    and held its place and looked serenely on while the Kingdoms and Empires
    of four thousand years have risen to life, enjoyed their little season of
    pride and pomp, and then vanished and been forgotten!
    Chapter 63
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