to,
whew-to-to, whew, to-whew. On the present occasion the variation
was hardly carried beyond that; but so much was repeated with a
persistency which at last seemed to burden the whole air round
Southampton Buildings. The little thing might have been excluded by
the closing of the window; but Sir Thomas, though he suffered, did
not reflect for a while whence the suffering came. Who does not know
how such sounds may serve to enhance the bitterness of remorse, to
add a sorrow to the present thoughts, and to rob the future of its
hopes?

There come upon us all as we grow up in years, hours in which it is
impossible to keep down the conviction that everything is vanity,
that the life past has been vain from folly, and that the life to
come must be vain from impotence. It is the presence of thoughts such
as these that needs the assurance of a heaven to save the thinker
from madness or from suicide. It is when the feeling of this
pervading vanity is strongest on him, that he who doubts of heaven
most regrets his incapacity for belief. If there be nothing better
than this on to the grave,--and nothing worse beyond the grave, why
should I bear such fardels?

Sir Thomas, as he sat there listening and thinking, unable not to
think and not to listen, found that the fardels were very heavy. What
good had come to him of his life,--to him or to others? And what
further good did he dare to promise to himself? Had it not all been
vanity? Was it not all vain to him now at the present? Was not life
becoming to him vainer and still vainer every day? He had promised
himself once that books should be the solace of his age, and he was
beginning to hate his books, because he knew that he did no more than
trifle with them. He had found himself driven to attempt to escape
from them back into public life; but had failed, and had been
inexpressibly dismayed in the failure. While failing, he had promised
himself that he would rush at his work on his return to privacy and
to quiet; but he was still as the shivering coward, who stands upon
the brink, and cannot plunge in among the bathers. And then there was
sadness beyond this, and even deeper than this. Why should he have
dared to arrange for himself a life different from the life of the
ordinary men and women who lived around him? Why had he not contented
himself with having his children around him; walking with them to
church on Sunday morning, taking them to the theatre on Monday
evening,