her, Poll Acton grew to be a fury: she raged and stormed, and well
she might, at filth and discomfort in her home, at nauseous dregs and
noisome fumes, at the orgie still kept up, day by day, and night by
night, through the length of that first foul week, which succeeded the
fortunate discovery. And not in vain she raged and stormed--and fought
too; for she did fight--ay, and conquered: and miserable Roger, now in
full possession of those joys which he had longed for at the casement of
Hurstley Hall, was glad to betake himself to the bench at Bacchus's,
whither he withdrew his ragged regiment. Thus, that crock had spoilt all
there was to spoil in the temper and conduct of the wife.

Look also at the pretty prattling babes, twin boys of two years old,
whom Roger used to hasten home to see; who had to say their simple
prayers; to be kissed, and comforted, and put to bed; to be made happier
by a wild flower picked up on his path, than if the gift had been a
coral with gold bells: where were they now? neglected, dirty, fretting
in a corner, their red eyes full of wonder at father's altered ways, and
their quick minds watching, with astonished looks, the progress of
domestic discord. How the crock of gold has nipped those early blossoms
as a killing frost!

Again, there used to be, till this sad week of wealth and riotous
hilarity, that constantly recurring blessing of the morn and evening
prayer which Roger read aloud, and Grace's psalm or chapter; and
afterwards the frugal meal--too scanty, perhaps, and coarse--but still
refreshing, thank the Lord, and seasoned well with health and appetite;
and the heart-felt sense of satisfaction that all around was earned by
honest labour; and there was content, and hope of better times, and
God's good blessing over every thing.

Now, all these pleasures had departed; gold, unhallowed gold, gotten
hastily in the beginning, broadcast on the rank strong soil of a heart
that coveted it earnestly, had sprung up as a crop of poisonous tares,
and choked the patch of wheat; gold, unhallowed gold, light come, light
gone, had scared or killed the flock of unfledged loves that used to
nestle in the cotter's thatch, as surely as if the cash were stones,
flung wantonly by truants at a dove-cot; and forth from the crock, that
egg of wo, had been hatched a red-eyed vulture, to tyrannize in this sad
home, where but lately the pelican had dwelt, had spread her fostering
wing, and poured out the wealt