Indiana American. [volume] (Brookville, Ind.) 1833-1861, 1854-12-15

The villain and who the victim tn,
title alone tells him Of the colder
hinge on, which the, story turns b,
can look through stone walls. il neet
be. OF mesmerically see. without ma
king use ofahis eyes no pecp-hole.
for him as for Pyramus sand Thisbe
40 initiation requisite for any hidder
mysteries all arcana are revealed tc
him, every sanctum is highway
No Art of mortal pen can defeat this
mischief Of acnteness; character is
character /; oaks grow of acorns, and
the plan Of life maybe detected in a
microscopic speech. The career. oi
Mr. Jennings is, as much predestined
by a. to iniquity, from the first inti-
nation that he never makes excuse,
as honest Roger is to trouble and
temptation, from. the weary effort
wherewithal he woke. And, even
now. pretty Grace and young Sir John,
the reader fhinks. he.ca guess at ma
lures coasequence !; while. with res.
pect to Rogers going forth to dig this
morning. lie sees it straight before
him, and need not ask forthe result.
Ii the reader has The eye of Lieuen-
hoeck, and can discern, cradled in the
small triangular beech-mast, a noble
forest tree, with silvery trunk, branch
ing arms, aad dark-green foliage, he
deserves 10 be, omplimented, indeed.
for his OWE keen skill; but. at the
same time. Nature will not hurry her
self for him, but will quietly educe
results which he foreknew-or tho'l
he did-4a century ago. And is there
not the highest Art-in this unveiled
simplicity |; 70 lead the reader onwards
by a straight road, with the setting
sun a-blaze at the end Of it, knowing
his path, knowing its object, yet still
borne on with spirits unexhausted,
and unfagging foot? Trust me, there
is better praise in this, than in daz
zling the distracted glance with a per-
petual succession OF luminous fire. flies
and dragging your fair novel reader
through the mazes of thousand Incl
dents.
Thirdly, and lastly, in this prefato-
rial say, there is to be considered that
inevitable defeator of all printed Sc
crets-impatience. Nothing iscommon-
er (most wise people do it, whose fate
is, that they must keep up with the
current duplication. and therefore
must keep down the still increasing
crowd Of authorial creations, J. moth
ing is more venial. more laudable, than
to read the last chapter first and so.
finding out all mysteries at once, to
save ones self a vast deal of unnec-
essary trouble. And, for mere tale
telling, this may be sufficient. What
need TO burden memory with imagin-
ary statements, or to weary out ones
sympathies on trite fictitious woes p
come to the catastrophe at once the
uncle hanged the heir righted the
heroine an orange-howered bride; and
the white-headed grandmother, after
all her wrongs, winding up the story
with a prudent moral. Now this may
all be very we'll with histories that
merely carry a sting in the tail, whose
moral is the warning of the rattle
snake, and whose hoi-exciting interest
is posted with the scorpions venom.
They are the Dragon of Wantley,
with one caudal points barbed ter
mination we, like Moore, of Moore
Hall, all point, covered with spikes ;
everywhere we boast ourself an eth
ical hedge hog, all-over-armed with
keen morals--a Rumor, PAINTED full
of tongues, echoing all around with
revealing Of secrets. The feelings OF
our humble hero, altered Roger Ac-
ton, are worthy to be studied by the
great, TO be silted by the rich and
Grace's simple tongue may teach the
sage, for its wisdom is from above -
and Jonathan, for all his shoulder-knot
and smart cockade, is worthy to give
lessons to his master; that master,
also, is far better than you think him
and poor Burke too, for true humai-
tvs sake so we get mint Of morals,
set aside the story. 1t is not the raw
material, but the workmanship, that
gives its value to the lowered damask ;
our grand-dames' sumptuous taffeties
and stand-alone brocades are but
spun silk-worms' interiors the fair
est statue is intrinsically but u mass
of clumsy stone. until, indeed, the
sculptor has roughhewn it, and ..sha.
ped il, and chiseled it, and finished all
the touches with sand-paper This
story of "The Crock Of Gold" pur-
ports to be Dutch pictare, as be-
cometh Doors, their huts, their short
and simple annals so that, after its
moralities, the mass Of minute detail
is the only thing thatsssgives it any
value.
Now, whist you all have been
yawning through these egotistical
phrases, Rogerhas been digging in his
garden /; there he is, pecking away al
what once was a celcry-bed, but now
are fallow trenches; celery, as we all
know. is a waler.loying plant doing
best in marshy land, so no wonder the
trenches open on the sedge, and the
muddy shallow opposite Pike Island
puddles up 10 them. There needs be
no suspense. no mystery At all Rog'
er's dream had clearly sent him thith-
er, for he should not have leyelled
those trenches yet awhile. it was Q
little too soon-bad husbandry and
barring the appearance Of a devil
Rogers dream came true. Yes, un'
der the roots Of clump Of bulrush
he lifted out with his spade--a pot o
Narbonne honey
When 6rst be spied the pot, hi'
heart was in his nouth--it must bt