The Last Chance by Rolf Boldrewood — Read

‘Suppose Reggie and Eric turned out like that young fellow! ' he told himself. ‘What good would my life do me? Next to marrying one of the daughters of Heth (the real, original millstone round a man's neck), what hope, satisfaction, or comfort should I have in life? Is all my work, thought, self-denial, and drudgery to go for nothing? Shall I see as my male heirs and successors a couple of well-dressed, good-looking "moneyed loungers," loafing through life with no more interest in the great drama of existence than the supernumerary at a fashion play? Less useful, indeed, than the disregarded "super," for he works for his humble wage; and these _nati consumere fruges_ don't even do that.'

These reflections gave so gloomy a tinge to his view of life that he felt inclined to pronounce the whole scheme of human life a joke-a bad one at that. ‘Why, a man might work his powers of mind and body to the extremity of endurance, to reach a well-defined goal, where happiness sat enthroned, and then-when he got there-his powers of enjoyment might desert him, or malign occurrences dash the cup from his lips, and the apples of the garden of the Hesperides turn to ashes in his mouth! Why then should mortal man seek to raise himself above the beasts that perish? "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die. " _Vanitas vanitatum_ was the verdict with which he concluded this series of enlivening reflections, when a voice which always had power to charm away the demons of despondency fell on his ears.