I'll stay here and work till I make a hit, or luck runs dry, and then home and settle; and, meanwhile, I'll go down to Melbourne to-morrow, and send the dear old man two hundred pounds; and then back again here, and to it again." And with a fate-defiant smile, half bitter and half cheerful, Tom rose and went down again to his mates, and stopped their inquiries by--"What's done can't be mended, and needn't be mentioned; whining won't make me work the harder, and harder than ever I must work." Strange it is, how mortal man, "who cometh up and is cut down like the flower," can thus harden himself into stoical security, and count on the morrow, which may never come.

Yet so it is; and, perhaps, if it were not so, no work would get done on earth,--at least by the many who know not that God is guiding them, while they fancy that they are guiding themselves..