w, that with the morning's dawn thou
wilt resolutely set about thy work; or, rather, thy Master's work."

"It is very hard," still muttered Mr. Cleveland to himself, "that
these thoughts will continually intrude themselves upon me. They
give me no peace of my life. Stifle them as I may, they come with
tenfold force. People have no business to be poor. I was poor once,
and nobody gave charity to me. I had to help myself up in the world
as well as I could. I hate poor people; I hate unfortunate people;
in fact, confound it! I hate the world and everybody in it."

Then answered once again the still, small voice: "For shame, Mr.
Cleveland, for shame! You will ruin your soul if you thus darken the
light within. You know better than all this, and you are sinning
against yourself. You want to be happy; well, you may be so. There
is a wide field of duty open before you; enter, in God's name, and
go to work like a man. What you say about having helped yourself, is
perfectly true, and you deserve all credit for it. But remember that
the majority of the poor are entirely destitute of your advantages.
You had the foundation rightly laid. A thousand circumstances in
your early life conspired to render you energetic and self-relying.
You had the right sort of education, and Providence also helped to
train you. Besides, once more I ask you, did your Master stop to
inquire how human misery was brought about before he relieved it?
Away with this unmanly, selfish policy! Follow thy generous
impulses, follow out the yearnings of thy heart, without which you
never can have peace; above, all, follow Christ."

Mr. Cleveland shut the window, heaved a deep sigh, and took several
more turns across the room. "I believe it is all true," at length he
said, "and I have been a confounded fool. I'll turn about, and lead
a different life, so help me Heaven! I have wealth, and not a chick
nor a child to spend it on, nor to leave it to when I die, and so
I'll spend it in doing good, if I can only find out the best way;
that's the trouble. But never mind, I'll be my own executor." He now
rang the bell for Tom.

Tom immediately appeared, with his usual "Yer's me, sir."

"Tom," said Mr. Cleveland, "put me in mind in the morning, to send a
load of wood to old Mrs. Peters."

"Yes, sir," said Tom, "an' you better sen' some bacon, 'cause I bin
yerry (hear) little Mas Jack Peter say him ain't bin hab no meat for
eat sence I do' know de day when. I rispec