again be cold and hungry, you cannot do otherwise than give him more,
if you are a good man; you can never cease giving to him, if you have
more than he has. And if you draw back, you will thereby show that
every thing that you have done, you have done not because you are a
good man, but because you wished to appear a good man in his sight,
and in the sight of men.

And thus in the case with the men from whom I chanced to recede, to
whom I ceased to give, and, by this action, denied good, I
experienced a torturing sense of shame.

What sort of shame was this? This shame I had experienced in the
Lyapinsky house, and both before and after that in the country, when
I happened to give money or any thing else to the poor, and in my
expeditions among the city poor.

A mortifying incident that occurred to me not long ago vividly
reminded me of that shame, and led me to an explanation of that shame
which I had felt when bestowing money on the poor.

[This happened in the country. I wanted twenty kopeks to give to a
poor pilgrim; I sent my son to borrow them from some one; he brought
the pilgrim a twenty-kopek piece, and told me that he had borrowed it
from the cook. A few days afterwards some more pilgrims arrived, and
again I was in want of a twenty-kopek piece. I had a ruble; I
recollected that I was in debt to the cook, and I went to the
kitchen, hoping to get some more small change from the cook. I said:
"I borrowed a twenty-kopek piece from you, so here is a ruble." I
had not finished speaking, when the cook called in his wife from
another room: "Take it, Parasha," said he. I, supposing that she