CHAP. LI.
 
CONCLUDING
 
ADDRESS TO THE READER.

THANKS be to God, that this figurative history of Love, which will excite the envy of the picture-galleries of China, and put to the blush the sketches of spring, through the assistant auspices of the creator of the world, has attained a felicitous completion!

The adorner of the imperfect imag­ination of one like myself, who am but a beggar in the path of eloquence, and a learner in the assembly of just composi­tion, possessed not abilities to deck out this blooming bride of the chamber of rhetoric, cherished on the soft couch of Hindoostan abounding in beauty, with the graces of the Parsee and robes of the Dirree, and to introduce her for appro­bation into the apartments of elegance.

The powers of a rude pen, in a hand like mine, unskilled in the rules of pro­portion, were quite unequal to pourtray and give proper colouring to the beauties, whose exquisite grace drew the line of incorrectness over the compositions of Mani. However, at the importunate request of some friends, and by the encouragement of the magic-fancied idol of Hindoostan, of whom mention was made in the introduction to my work, I had the boldness to attempt such a difficult and important undertaking.

VERSE.
I offer an hundred thanksgivings, that this pictured mansion has at last received its magical decoration!
This is a complete idol-temple of Hin­doostan, containing the models of a thousand images.
Through me has blossomed the spring of literature; I have formed a gallery of knowledge.
Every metaphor is clear as water in a spring; each period resembles the entwined ringlet.
Every description is as a full blown rose-tree, each leaf of which is abundantly grace­ful.
It is a plain, on which are a thousand gardens, whose streams flow from the spring of fancy.
He who has dived into the mysteries of figurative composition, will properly appre­ciate the easy flow of its metaphors.
This flower, which is an offering to the garden, will be a memorial of me to the spring.
From this assembly, of which the cup­bearer is time, though I may depart, my melody will remain.

Now, that having arrayed this most graceful charmer of rhetoric in such various ornaments and elegant attire, and, to prevent the dangerous glances of her eyes, having cast a sable veil of ink over her sun-ravishing aspect, I am preparing to usher her to public view; the truth is, that I am unable to lift my head from the knee of shame, for I am altogether ashamed of my performance. Her attirer (the pithless pen of myself, a beggar in the world of learning and skill) at the time of adorning such a beautiful figure, for want of the treasures of just expression, in the place of chains of gems and strings of pearls, was obliged to use false stones and tinsel foils. Should she, therefore, be introduced to the sight of penetrating judges, who have fed amply at the board of learning, and drank deeply at the spring of rhetoric; who are rich in the powers of expression, and have dived to the bottom of the sea of knowledge, what will be my fate, and the consequence of my labours?

However, from the liberal of vir­tuous dispositions, and the indulgent of candid minds, in opposition to the con­duct of certain blockheads, with eyes hollow as their reeds, and aspects black as their pages, of gloomy souls, and savage hearts, (who, from their evil natures, like wolves and tigers, esteem it glorious to tear the sable and the defenceless fawn) nothing can occur but kindness, indulgence, tenderness to mis­takes, and regard to intention. The lion of the heavens has no claws, and the fingers of the sun have no talons. Taking shelter, therefore, under the protecting shade of the liberal-minded, I will not again move my lip, like the bell, in vain tinklings, but impose silence on my tongue. As silence gives dignity and respect to the wise, and is even a mean of consequence and valuation to the ignorant, I yield my heart to the following maxims, and proceed to practice.

VERSE.
Be no longer faulty, like thy wandering pen. Wash out with bloody tears thy journal.
Give to the tongue the reproof of silence; for silence is preferable to aught thou canst say.