I could wish for many another year; yet, if I knew that not one more
awaited me, I should not
grumble. When I was ill at ease in the
world, it would have been hard to die; I had lived to no purpose,
that I could discover; the end would have seemed
abrupt and
meaningless. Now, my life is rounded; it began with the natural
irreflective happiness of
childhood, it will close in the reasoned
tranquillity of the
mature mind. How many a time, after long labour
on some piece of
writing, brought at length to its
conclusion, have
I laid down the pen with a sigh of thankfulness; the work was full
of faults, but I had
wroughtsincerely, had done what time and
circumstance and my own nature permitted. Even so may it be with me
in my last hour. May I look back on life as a long task duly
completed--a piece of
biography;
faulty enough, but good as I could
make it--and, with no thought but one of
contentment,
welcome the
repose to follow when I have breathed the word "Finis."
End