TICONDEROGA. *

As Gil Blas reflected when he saw his companions so skilfully stowing the Jew's ducats about their persons, " there is nothing like knowing one's business." Incessant romance-producing has given. something of sameness or mannerism to the conduct and treatment of Mr. James's fictions, as well as to his composition. He may proceed by recipe rather than invention, and not allow himself time to wait for lucky thoughts or propitious moments; substituting cleverly-expressed commonplaces for new or searching thoughts. Still, Mr. James knows his business. Fresher subjects, more real pictures of actual life, greater brilliancy or pungency of composition, may be found in a few other writers; but we know of no one who can be so trusted for turning out a marketable article at a short notice. One work may be better than another, as one vintage may be better than another ; but the reader will have a story which shall carry him along, if not breathlessly, yet without listlessness, or impatience, or over-excitement. The fic- tionist understands his market too, and produces a commodity which if not distinguished for rare gifts shall at least answer its • se.

The sojourn of Mr. James in America has naturally induced him to. turn his attention to Transatlantic themes ; and Ticonderoga would have had the merit of originality had not Cooper already handled the Red Indian—the hunter, peculiar in his character, and himself half Indian in his habits—the settler of education and cul- tivated tastes, whose outward circumstances contrast oddly with his inward thoughts—together with the stir of French colonial warfare, and the presence of British and colonial officers. In fact, Cooper has touched the identical event of the attack upon the fort of Ticonderoga and Lord Howe's premature death. Cooper, however, merely treated the expedition and the gallant Lord Howe episodically. With Mr. James "Lord H—" is the pro- minent figure of the story, and the lover as well as hero. Around him are giouped the diSrent actors in the Anglo-French Colonial scar; retrospection bringing up a portion of the historical past. A rather moody gentleman-settler, with his son and daughter, fur- -rashes a sort of Jaques in himself, a heroine in Edith Prevost, and an active adventurer in her brother Walter ; while good and bad Indiana, with Americans or " Colonists " as they were then called, complete the dramatis personae. Besides the level scenes and love- story there are the usual occurrences of border life in America,— as a forest on fire, captivity by Indians, the incidents of war, and so forth.

Although removed far enough from the conventionalisms of

home novels or European historical romance, 2'iconderoga is not so fresh as might have been fairly expected. It is not that travellers and " sketchers " of various degrees of merit have presented the most striking characteristics of the people and the country in an authentic form, and so possessed the general reader with the raw materials of romance. Neither is it that Cooper and numerous successors have used these materials till they have become some- what trite ; for Mr. Charles Murray, by changing his localities and bringing other modes of life and another mood of mind to look at them, produced freshness in his Prairie Bird. Mr. James, unfor- tunately, brings an old mind with its old modes to the newer sub- ject and the new images and scenes which his American observa- tion may have collected. It is as if a workman were to use one mould for all the materials he might have to cast. Hence, though Ticonderoga is a good enough novel, it is more Xameslike than it ought to be, even after allowance is made for its author having selected an event which occurred a century ago, all his know- ledge of which must be historical; whereas Cooper, passing his youth in the country, had the advantage of tradition, and even of hearsay, from some of the actors in such scenes.

A considerable feature of the story is the abduction of Walter

Prevost by Indians, to secure a victim in case they cannot get hold of Woodchuck, a hunter. This man has shot one of the tribe ; and, though it was done in eelf-defence, the act falls under the law of blood for blood. Walter is attached to the daughter of the Indian chief Black Eagle, and she after some difficulty discovers his prison.

"Seated on the ground, with his head almost bent down to his knees, his

brown hair falling wild and shaggy over his face, his dress soiled, anu in some parts torn, and his bands thin and sallow, sat poor Walter Prevost, the image of despair. All the bright energies of his eager, impetuous nature, seemed quelled ; the look of happy, youthful enjoyment, was altogether gone ; and with it the warm hopes and glowing aspirations, the dreams of future happiness or greatness, of love and joy and tenderness. The sunshine had departed ; the motes of existence no longer danced in the beam. "He lifted not his head when the Indians entered ; still and impassible as themselves, he sat without movement or word ; the very senses seemed dead in the living tomb where they had confined him. But the sight touched them with no pity.

"Gazing at him with a curious, cunning, serpent-like look, Apukwa placed before him a wallet which he carried, containing some dried deer's

• Ticonderoga: or the Black Eagle. A Tale of Times not long Past. By G. P. B. James, Esq., Author of "The Gipsy," "Richelieu," Stec. he. In three volumes Published by Newby. flesh and parched Indian corn • and, after having watched him for a moment, without a change of countenance, he said, in a cold tone, There is food--. take it-and eat.'

"As if the sound of his hated voice had startled the youth from a death- like sleep, Walter sprang suddenly to his feet., exclaiming, Why should I

eat to prolong my misery ? Slay me ! Take thy tomahawk and dash my brains out ! Put an end to this torment, the most terrible that thy fiendlike race have ever devised.'

"The two Indians laughed, with a low, quiet, satisfied laugh. " We cannot slay thee,' said the brother of the Snake, 'till we know that thy pale-face brother who killed our brother cannot be found to take thy place.

He is far beyond your power !' cried Walter, vehemently ; he will never be within your grasp. I helped him to escape ; I delivered him from you. Slay me, slay me—dogs of Indians ! Your hearta are wolves' hearts

—you are not men, you arc women who dare not use a tomahawk. You are the scoff of your enemies. They laugh at the Oneidas ; they spit at them. They say they are children who dare not kill an enemy till the old men say 'kill him.' They fear the rod of their chief. They are like hares and rab- bits that tremble at the sound of the wind.'

"It was in vain that he tried to provoke them. They only seemed to en- joy his agony and the bitter words that it called forth.

"'Eat and drink,' said Apukwa coldly, as soon as Walter became silent ; for we are going to tie thee. We must hunt the deer, we must grind the corn—we cannot watch thee every day till the time of the sacrifice comes. Eat and drink, then ; for here are the thongs.'

"Walter glared at him for a moment, and then snatched up a gourd filled with water, which the brother of the Snake had brought, and drained it with a long and eager draught. He then cast it from him, and stood still and stern before them, saying, 'I will disappoint you. Henceforth I. will eat no more. Tie me if you will. I can fast as well as you Indians.' " The two men looked in each other's faces, apparently puzzled how to act; for, if he kept his resolution, their object would indeed be frustrated. The death of their kinsman, according to their superstition, required blood ; and by starvation the prisoner would escape from their hands. Still they dared not disobey the decision of the chiefs.

" A slight sign seemed to pass between them ; and, taking hold of the poor lad somewhat roughly, they bound both his hands and feet, twining the stout thongs of deer-skin round and round, and through and through, in what seemed inextricable knots. He stood quite still and passive ; and, when they had done, cast himself down upon the ground again, turning his face from them. The two men gazed at lum for a moment or two, and then, leaving the but in silence, replaced the bar.

" For some time after they were gone, Walter lay just as he had fallen. The dead apathy of despair had taken possession of him : life, thought, feel- ing, were a burden. The many days which had passed in that dull, dark,

silent abode, were rapidly producing on his mind that effect which solitary confinement is said too often to occasion. The transition is easy from

anxiety, grief, fear, through melancholy and gloom, to despair and madness. Oh, man, never shut out hope from thy fellow-creature ; or, if it must be so —if crime requires relentless punishment—then, whatever a false philan-

thropy would say, give thou death when thou takest away this world's hope, for then thou openest the gate of the grave to a brighter light than that which is extinguished. The All-seeing eye beams with mercy as well as light. "Be lay in that deathlike stillness for several hours ' • and there came, not a sound of any kind during all that time to relieve the blank monotony of the day. His ear by suffering, had been rendered painfully acute ; but the snow fell noiselessly, the wild animals were in their coverts or in their dens, the very wind had no breath. " Suddenly there was a sound. What was it ? It seemed like a cracking branch far up above his head. Then a stone rolled down and rattled over the bark roof, making the snow slip before it. Another crashing branch, and then a silence, which seemed to him to last for hours.

" Somepanther or cat-a-mount,' he thought, in the trees above.' And he laid his half-raised head down again upon the ground.

" No ! There were fingers on the bar, He heard it move. Had the In- dians come back to urge the food upon him ? The touch upon the bar, how- ever, seemed feeble compared with theirs. It lifted the heavy log of wood slowly and with difficulty. Walter's heart beat—visions came over his mind —hope flickered up ; and he raised himself as well as he could into a. sitting posture. From the ground he could not rise, for his hands were tied. " Slowly and quietly the door opened ; the light rushed in, and in the midst of its blaze stood the beautiful figure of the Blossom, with her head partly turned away as if in the act of listening.. Her long wavy hair, broken

from its band, and spotted with the white snow, fell almost to her feet. But little was the clothing that she wore ; no mantle, no over-dress, nothing but

the Ir than woman's embroidered shirt, gathered round her by a belt, and leaving the arms and legs bare. Her hands were torn and bloody her bright face and brow scratched by the, fangs of the bramble ; but still to Walter Prevost, as she stood listening there, it was the loveliest sight his eyes had ever rested on. " Thus, for a moment, she listened ; then gazed into the hut, sprang forward, cast her arms around his neck, and wept, as she had neva wept before.

" My brother, my husband !' she exclaimed, leaning her forehead on his shoulder, Otaitsa has found thee at length ?' " He would fain have east his arms around her ; he would fain have pros, sad her to his heart ; he would fain have told her that he could bear death, or even life, or any fate, for such love as hers, But his hands were tied, and his tongue was powerless with emotion. "A few moments passed in silence ; and then Otaitsa said, 'The cruel wolves have tied thee; but Otaitsa will give thee freedom.' "