Their tour of a year or two abroad, amidst the mazes and mysteries of civilized life, will rest in their minds like a romantic dream, not to be forgotten, nor to be dreamed over again; their lives too short to aspire to what they have seen to approve, and their own humble sphere in their native wilds so decidedly preferable to the parts of civilized life which they did not admire, that they will probably convert the little money they have made, and their medals and trinkets, into whisky and rum, and drown out, if possible, the puzzling enigma, which, with arguments, the poor fellows have found it more difficult to solve. With this chapter I take leave of my Indian friends; and as the main subject of this work ends with their mission to Europe, the reader finds himself near the end of his task. In taking leave of my red friends, I will be pardoned for repeating what I have before said, that on this side of the Atlantic they invariably did the best they could do; and that, loving them still as I have done, I shall continue to do for them and their race, all the justice that shall be in the power of my future strength to do. CHAPTER XXXI. The Author returns to his little children in Paris--His loss of time and money--The three Indian speculations--His efforts to promote the interests of the Indians, and the persons who brought them to Europe--His advice to other persons wishing to engage in similar enterprises--The Author retires to his atelier, and paints the fifteen pictures for the King--The pleasure of quiet and retirement with his four little children around him--He offers his Indian Collection to the American Government--And sends his memorial to Congress--Bill reported in favour of the purchase--The Author has an interview with the King in the Tuileries--Delivers the fifteen pictures--Subjects of the pictures painted--Conversations with the King--Reflections upon his extraordinary life--The Author's thoughts, while at his easel, upon scenes of his life gone by--And those that were about him, as he strolled, with his little children, through the streets and society of Paris--Distressing and alarming illness of the Author's four little children--Kindness of sympathizing friends--Death of "little George"--His remains sent to New York, and laid by the side of his mother--A father's tears and loneliness--The Author returns with his Collection to London. The commencement of this chapter finds me at my easel, in a comfortable _atelier_ in my own apartments in Paris, where I had retired, with my little children about me, to paint the fifteen pictures for the King, and others for which I had some standing orders.