His fortune was achieved, his course was run, his
destiny fulfilled.
Soon, every thing and place appeared to him one uniform and universal
blank. His beautiful apartments were unused, his carriage and horses
unemployed, his books unread, his papers unopened, his meals untasted,
and his clothes unworn. He had lost all enjoyment of life, and
contemplated suicide.
Saturday night arrived, and he resolved on Sunday morning early,
before the busy populace were stirring, he would make his way to
Waterloo bridge and jump into the river, or tumble off.
At three o'clock, he set out on his final expedition, and had nearly
reached the bridge, the shadows of the night protecting him from
observation, when a figure stood before him. Amazed at being seen by
any one, he turned out of the path, when the figure crouching low
before him, revealed a tattered, miserable man, baring his head in
abjectness.
"What are you doing here?" inquired the retired merchant.
"I have a wife and family, whom I can't help from starving, and I am
afraid to go and see them. Last night I knew they would be turned into
the streets," replied the man.
"Take that," replied the merchant, giving him his purse, with gold and
silver in it--thinking to himself, "how much more useful this will be
to him, than in my pockets in the water.
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