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In an instant afterwards, she humbly added, Forgive me anything I may have said, that seems to chide my father."

"Bless you, bless you, dearest one!" was Roger's sobbing prayer, who had listened to her wisdom breathlessly. “Ah, daughter," then exclaimed the humbled happy man; "I'll try to do all you ask me, Grace; but it is a hard thing to feel myself so wicked, and to have to speak up boldly like a Christian man.”

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

EXPERIENCE.

THEN with disjointed sentences, suited to the turmoil of his thoughts, half in a soliloquy, half as talking to his daughter, Roger Acton gave his hostile testimony to the worth of wealth.

"Oh, fool, fool that I have been, to set so high a price on gold. To have hungered and thirsted for it,-to have coveted earnestly so bad a gift,—to have longed for Mammon's friendship, which is enmity with God! What has not money cost me? Happiness :-ay, wasn't it to have given me happiness? and the little that I had, (it was much, Grace, not little, very much, too much—God be praised for it!) all, all the happiness I had, gold took away. Look at our dear old home,―shattered and scattered, as now I wish that crock had been. Health, too; were it not for gold, and all gold gave, I had been sturdy still, and capable; but my nights maddened with anxieties, my days wor

ried with care, my head feverish with drink, my heart rent by conscience,―ah, my girl, my girl, when I thought much of poverty and its hardships, of toil, and hunger, and rheumatics, I little imagined that wealth had heavier cares and pains: I envied them their wanton life of pleasure at the Hall, and little knew how hard it was: well are they called hard-livers who drink, and game, and have nothing to do, except to do wickedness continually. Religion,can it bide with money, child? I never knew my wicked heart, till fortune made me rich; not until then did I guess how base, lying, false, and bad was "honest Roger;" how sensual, coarse, and brutal, was that hypocrite steady Acton." Money is a devil, child, or pretty near akin.

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Then I complained of toil, too, didn't I?-Ah, what are all the aches I ever felt,-labouring with spade and spud in cold and rain, hungry belike, and faint withal, -what are they all at their worst, (and the worst was very seldom after all,) to the gnawing cares, the hideous fears, the sins,-the sins, my girl, that tore your poor old father? Wasn't it to be an end of troubles, too, this precious crock of gold? Woe's me, I never knew real trouble till I had it! Look at me, and judge;

what has made me live like a beast, sin like a heathen, and lie down here like a felon? What has made me curse Ben Burke, kind, hearty, friendly Ben? and given my poor good boy an ill-report as having stolen and slain? all this crock of gold. But O, my Grace, to think that the crock's curses touched thee, too! didn't it madden me to hear them? Dear, pure, patient child, my darling injured daughter, here upon my knees I pray, forgive that wrong!" and he fell at her feet beseechingly.

“My father," said the noble girl, lifting up his head and passionately kissing it; “when they whispered so against me, and Jonathan heard the wicked things men said, I would have borne it all, all in silence, and let them all believe me bad, father, if I could have guessed that by uttering the truth, I should have seen thee here, in a dungeon, treated as a-a murderer! How was I to tell that men could be so base, as to charge such crimes upon the innocent, when his only fault, or his misfortune, was to find a crock of gold? Oh! forgive me, too, this wrong, my father!”

And they wept in each other's arms.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

JONATHAN'S TROTH.

GRACE had been all but an inmate of the prison, ever since her father had been placed there on suspicion. Early and late, and often in the day, was the duteous daughter at his cell, for the governor and the turnkeys favoured her; who could resist such beauty and affection, entreating to stay with a father about to stand on trial for his life, and making every effort to be allowed only to pray with him? Thus did Grace spend all the week before those dread assizes.

As to her daily maintenance, ever since that bitter morning when the crock was found, her spiritual fears had obliged her to abstain from touching so much as one penny of that unblest store; and, seeing that honest pride would not let her be supported by grudged and common charity, she had thankfully suffered the wages of her now betrothed Jonathan to serve as