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 worried 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.

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?
Wo'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.