And why?
Because, in spite of every trial and every rebuff, he preserved at heart a serenity that was not thoughtlessness, a cheerfulness that was not hilarity, a humour that was not cynicism.

The biographer has thought fit to give expression to his darkest hours, and they were not few; they may appear in the life to have the preponderance, but he would not cut them out.

No life is inspiriting that is not occasionally weak and faulty.

What would David be without his sins; Peter, without his fall?
There was no depth of the despairing spirit, I say it deliberately, that Arthur had not sounded--and he had not been, as it were, lowered--deaf, blind, and unconscious--into the abysmal deeps; it was with an eye alert to mark every ledge of the dark walls, an ear quick to catch the smallest murmur from below, a sense keen to experience and record every new depth gained, every qualm of heart-sickness encountered.

Naturally prone to serious contemplation of life's enigmas, there was not one that life did not bring with shocking vividness to his touch.
Further, I believe that some will be found to say, "The teaching of this life is so selfish; it is all self-contemplation, miserable self-weariness, gloomy reveries bounded by the narrowest horizons.
If ever he turns to others' evil case, it is with the melancholy satisfaction of the hypochondriac, who finds his own symptoms repeated with less or greater variations in others' cases." To these I could only reply, "You have totally misunderstood the life.