Commandment, as well as to show the curse and hardening effects of avarice. It is a tale beautifully told, and one of great interest and attraction. The principal characters of the story are honest Roger Acton, the luckless finder of the "Crock of Gold;" his pure and simple-hearted daughter Grace, her lover Jonathan, Simon Jennings the murderer, his aunt Bridget Quarles the murdered one, and Ben Burke the poacher.

The same year (1844) Mr. Tupper published two other works of fiction, in one volume each, namely: "Heart, a social Novel," and "The Twins, a domestic Novel"-both highly subservient to the cause of sound morals, and depicting virtue and vice in their appropriate colors. His next work, published in 1845, is entitled "A Thousand Lines," a little tract of but sixty pages, containing poems on various subjects, written in his most captivating manner.

Mr. Tupper is most known by his "Proverbial Philosophy," and a book more replete with sound practical wisdom is hardly to be found, though it must be confessed the style of it is in some parts rather inflated. His prose works are also eminently instructive. Of these, the "Crock of Gold" has been most widely read, and generally admired; for, as a tale of intense interest and clear moral point, it is scarcely exceeded. The following is the simple account of its origin:—

While laying out One day, observ. trenches, wet and

"Some years ago he purchased a house at Brighton. the garden, he had occasion to have several drains made. ing a workman, Francis Suter, standing in one of the wearied with toil, Mr. Tupper said to him in a tone of pleasantry, 'Would you not like to dig up there a crock full of gold?' 'If I did,' said the man, 'it would do me no good, because merely finding it might not make it mine.' 'But, suppose you could not only find such a treasure, but honestly keep it, would you not think yourself lucky?' 'Oh yes, sir, I suppose I should -but,' after a considerable pause, 'but, I am not so sure, sir, after all, that that is the best thing that could happen to me. I think on the whole I would rather have steady work and fair wages all the season than to find a crock of gold!' Here was wisdom. The remark of the honest trench-digger at once set in motion a train of thought in the mind of the author. He entered his study-wrote in large letters on a sheet of paper these words, 'THE CROCK OF GOLD, a tale of Covetousness'—and in less than a week this remarkable story was finished." With such simple threads does genius elaborate the richest and most gorgeous tapestry.1

An "authorized edition," at once beautiful and complete, of Mr. Tupper's works, has just been published by Messrs. E. H. Butler & Co., of Philadelphia, in four volumes. Volume I. contains "The Crock of Gold"-" The Twins" -"Heart." Volume II. "An Author's Mind"- -"Miscellanies"-" Probabilities." Volume III. "Ballads"-" Poems"-" Geraldine"-"The Metres of King Alfred." Volume IV. "Proverbial Philosophy"-" A Modern Pyramid," &c. These books should be in every household library.

OF COMPENSATION.

Equal is the government of heaven in allotting pleasures among men,
And just the everlasting law that hath wedded happiness to virtue:
For verily on all things else broodeth disappointment with care,
That childish man may be taught the shallowness of earthly enjoyment.
Wherefore, ye that have enough, envy ye the rich man his abundance?
Wherefore, daughters of affluence, covet ye the cottager's content?
Take the good with the evil, for ye all are pensioners of God,
And none may choose or refuse the cup His wisdom mixeth.
The poor man rejoiceth at his toil, and his daily bread is sweet to him:
Content with present good, he looketh not for evil to the future:
The rich man languisheth with sloth, and findeth pleasure in nothing.
He locketh up with care his gold, and feareth the fickleness of fortune.
Can a cup contain within itself the measure of a bucket?

Or the straitened appetites of man drink more than their fill of luxury?
There is a limit to enjoyment, though the sources of wealth be boundless:
And the choicest pleasures of life lie within the ring of moderation.

Also, though penury and pain be real and bitter evils,

I would reason with the poor afflicted, for he is not so wretched as he seemeth.

What right hath an offender to complain, though others escape punishment, If the stripes of earned misfortune overtake him in his sin?

Wherefore not endure with resignation the evils thou canst not avert? For the coward pain will flee, if thou meet him as a man.

Consider whatever be thy fate, that it might and ought to have been worse, And that it lieth in thy hand to gather even blessing from afflictions: Bethink thee, wherefore were they sent? and hath not use blunted their

keenness?

Need hope, and patience, and courage, be strangers to the meanest hovel?
Thou art in an evil case-it were cruel to deny to thee compassion,
But there is not unmitigated ill in the sharpest of this world's sorrows:
I touch not the sore of thy guilt; but of human griefs I counsel thee,
Cast off the weakness of regret, and gird thee to redeem thy loss:
Thou hast gained, in the furnace of affliction, self-knowledge, patience, and
humility,

And these be as precious ore, that waiteth the skill of the coiner:

Despise not the blessings of adversity, nor the gain thou hast earned so hardly,

And now thou hast drained the bitter, take heed that thou lose not the sweet.

Power is seldom innocent, and envy is the yoke-fellow of eminence;
And the rust of the miser's riches wasteth his soul as a canker.

The poor man counteth not the cost at which such wealth hath been purchased;

He would be on the mountain's top without the toil and travail of the

climbing.

But equity demandeth recompense; for high-place, calumny and care; For state, comfortless splendor eating out the heart of home;

For warrior-fame, dangers and death; for a name among the learned, a

spirit overstrained;

For honor of all kinds, the goad of ambition; on every acquirement the

tax of anxiety.

He that would change with another, must take the cup as it is mixed: Poverty, with largeness of heart: or a full purse, with a sordid spirit; Wisdom, in an ailing body; or a common mind with health;

Godliness, with man's scorn; or the welcome of the mighty, with guilt; Beauty, with a fickle heart; or plainness of face, with affection.

For so hath Providence determined, that a man shall not easily discover Unmingled good or evil, to quicken his envy or abhorrence.

A bold man or a fool must he be who would change his lot with another; It were a fearful bargain, and mercy hath lovingly refused it;

For we know the worst of ourselves, but the secrets of another we see not; And better is certain bad, than the doubt and dread of worse.

Just, and strong, and opportune is the moral rule of God.

Ripe in its times, firm in its judgments, equal in the measure of its gifts:
Yet men, scanning the surface, count the wicked happy,

Nor heed the compensating peace, which gladdeneth the good in his afflictions:
They see not the frightful dreams that crowd a bad man's pillow,
Like wreathed adders crawling round his midnight conscience;
They hear not the terrible suggestions that knock at the portal of his will,
Provoking to wipe away from life the one weak witness of the deed;
They know not the torturing suspicions that sting his panting breast,
When the clear eye of penetration quietly readeth off the truth.
Likewise of the good what know they? the memories bringing pleasure,
Shrined in the heart of the benevolent, and glistening from his eye;
The calm self-justifying reason that establisheth the upright in his purpose;
The warm and gushing bliss that floodeth all the thoughts of the religious.
Many a beggar at the cross-way, or gray-haired shepherd on the plain,
Hath more of the end of all wealth than hundreds who multiply the means.

FORGIVE AND FORGET.

When streams of unkindness, as bitter as gall,
Bubble up from the heart to the tongue,
And Meekness is writhing in torment and thrall,
By the hands of Ingratitude wrung-

In the heat of injustice, unwept and unfair,
While the anguish is festering yet,

None, none but an angel or God can declare
"I now can forgive and forget."

But, if the bad spirit is chased from the heart,
And the lips are in penitence steep'd,

With the wrong so repented the wrath will depart,
Though scorn on injustice were heap'd;

For the best compensation is paid for all ill,
When the cheek with contrition is wet,

And every one feels it is possible still
At once to forgive and forget,

To forget? It is hard for a man with a mind,
However his heart may forgive,

To blot out all insults and evils behind,
And but for the future to live:

Then how shall it be? for at every turn
Recollection the spirit will fret,

And the ashes of injury smoulder and burn,
Though we strive to forgive and forget.

Oh, hearken! my tongue shall the riddle unseal,
And mind shall be partner with heart,
While thee to thyself I bid conscience reveal,
And show thee how evil thou art:
Remember thy follies, thy sins, and-thy crimes,
How vast is that infinite debt!

Yet Mercy hath seven by seventy times
Been swift to forgive and forget!

Brood not on insults or injuries old,

For thou art injurious too

Count not their sum till the total is told,

For thou art unkind and untrue:

And if all thy harms are forgotten, forgiven,
Now mercy with justice is met;

Oh, who would not gladly take lessons of heaven,
Nor learn to forgive and forget?

Yes, yes; let a man, when his enemy weeps,

Be quick to receive him a friend;

For thus on his head in kindness he heaps
Hot coals to refine and amend;

And hearts that are Christian more eagerly yearn,

As a nurse on her innocent pet,

Over lips that, once bitter, to penitence turn
And whisper, Forgive and forget.

BYGONES.

'Let bygones be bygones"-they foolishly say,
And bid me be wise and forget them;

But old recollections are active to-day,
And I can do naught. but regret them:

Though the present be pleasant, all joyous and gay,
And promising well for the morrow,

I love to look back on the years past away,
Embalming my bygones in sorrow.

If the morning of life has a mantle of gray,-
Its noon will be blither and brighter;

If March has its storm, there is sunshine in May,
And light out of darkness is lighter:

Thus the present is pleasant, a cheerful to-day,
With a wiser, a soberer gladness,

Because it is tinged with the mellowing ray

Of a yesterday's sunset of sadness.

"In the following sonnet," remarks the able and accomplished poet-editor of the "New York Evening Post," "suggested by his recent visit to Niagara, the author of 'Proverbial Philosophy' is in the right, so far at least as it regards the impression first made on the beholder of the great cataract. The sense of beauty overpowers that of majesty. The green, transparent waters, sliding smoothly over the huge precipice, and becoming snowy sheets of foam as they descend; the milky tide of the river as it floats away from the bottom of the falls; the soft mists that half veil the cataract, with rainbows glittering among them; the pastoral amenity of the shores, with the charming islands on the edge of the precipice, and the swiftly rushing streams that flow between them, form altogether a scene which delights rather than overawes. It is only after long contemplation of Niagara that the mind opens to the idea of its vastness and grandeur."

NIAGARA-A SONNET.

I longed for Andes all around, and Alps,
Hoar kings and priests of Nature, robed in snow,
Throned as for judgment in a solemn row,

With icy mitres on their granite scalps,

Dumb giants, frowning at the strife below

I longed for The Sublime!

-Thou art too fair,

Too fair, Niagara, to be sublime;

In calm slow strength thy mighty floods o'erflow,
And stand a cliff of cataracts in the air-

Yet, all too beauteous, Water-bride of Time,
Veiled in soft mists, and cinctured by the bow,
Thy pastoral charms may fascinate the sight,
But have not force to set my soul aglow,

Raptured by fear, and wonder, and delight.

THE TRIAL.

The trial now came on, and Roger Acton stood arraigned of robbery and murder. I must hasten over lengthy legal technicalities, which would only serve to swell this volume, without adding one iota to its interest or usefulness. The case was clear as light against poor Acton. No alibi-he lived upon the spot. No witnesses to character; for Roger's late excesses had wiped