me, now.
Such shocks as I have endured, leave that behind them which changes the
character and the purpose of a life. The mountain-path of Action is no
longer a path for _me;_ my future hope pauses with my present happiness
in the shadowed valley of Repose.

Not a repose which owns no duty, and is good for no use; not a repose
which Thought cannot ennoble, and Affection cannot sanctify. To serve
the cause of the poor and the ignorant, in the little sphere which now
surrounds me; to smooth the way for pleasure and plenty, where pain and
want have made it rugged too long; to live more and more worthy, with
every day, of the sisterly love which, never tiring, never changing,
watches over me in this last retreat, this dearest home--these are the
purposes, the only purposes left, which I may still cherish. Let me but
live to fulfil them, and life will have given to me all that I can ask!

I may now close my letter. I have communicated to you all the materials
I can supply for the conclusion of my autobiography, and have furnished
you with the only directions I wish to give in reference to its
publication. Present it to the reader in any form, and at any time,
that you think fit. On its reception by the public I have no wish to
speculate. It is enough for me to know that, with all its faults, it has
been written in sincerity and in truth. I shall not feel false shame at
its failure, or false pride at its success.

If there be any further information which you think it necessary to
possess, and which I have forgotten to communicate, write to me on the
subject--or, far better, come here yourself, and ask of me with your own
lips all that you desire to know. Come, and judge of the life I am now
leading, by seeing it as it really is. Though it be only for a few days,
pause long enough in your career of activity and usefulness, of fame and
honour, to find leisure time for a visit to the cottage where we live.
This is as much Clara's invitation as mine. She will never forget (even
if I could!) all that I have owed to your friendship--will never weary
(even if I should tire!) of showing you that we are capable of deserving
it. Come, then, and see _her_ as well as _me_--see her, once more, my
sister of old times! I remember what you said of Clara, when we last
met, and last talked of her; and I believe you will be almost as happy
to see her again in her old character as I am.

Till then, farewell! Do not judge hastily of my motiv