The Press.
London, England, 1854-03-11 00:00:00

many characters, he gets rid of them by trap-
door artifices, or he makes them follow the
example of the things revealed by the micro-
scope in a drop of water, and destroy each
other. In short, if cleverness of construction
was enough to win renown as a novelist, Mr.
James might compete with the first of his
class. Or, if he would write slowly, medi-
tate much, and search for originality, he might
produce two or three tales of more real lite-
rary value than the long array of his popu-
larly successful but never fascinating perfor-
mances.
Yet, though we remark upon his defects, we
must not be understood as wishing to dispa-
rage Mr. James's undoubted talents. Though
his writings want the glow of genius, and
though he never invents, it is a fact beyond
controversy that he is such a master of the
mechanism of novel-writing that he can enlist
and sustain our attention. His reflections
have the justness of thought resulting from a
knowledge of the world, both theoretical an d
practical ; his morality is unexceptionable ;
and he has the resources of a stored intellect,
wherewith to supply both colour and design
to his plots.
" Ticonderoga " shows that this vigorous
author is not yet fatigued. In many respects
it is one of the best of his recent fictions, and
we are happy to record that it does not com-
mence with a description of " two horsemen,"
and that the self-denying author in these three
volumes (as a Peelite theologian would say)
"has put a constraint on his concupiscence
for describing thunderstorms. The title of
the volume tells the nature of its contents.
Its time is 1758, and its dramatis persona are
taken from American colonists, English officers,
and the Indians. It has local colour and some
historical fidelity, and as a novel will reward
perusal ; but it is too evident that the writer
wishes to supply the place left vacant by Mr.
Cooper. It begins with the previous reflec-
tions of one leading a secluded life in the
forest, and who thus writes in his journal :
Among the minor trials of faith, few, perhaps, are more
difficult to contend against than that growing conviction
which, commencing very soon after the holiday happiness
of youth has been first tasted, becomes stronger every year,
as experience unfolds to us the great, dark secrets of the
world in which we are placed—the conviction of the general
worthlessness of our fellow-men. A few splendid exceptions,
a few bright and glorious spirits, a few noble and generous
hearts, are not sufficient to cheer and to brighten the bleak
prospect of the world's unworthiness ; and we can only re-
concile to our minds the fact that this vast multitude of
base, depraved, tricky, insincere, ungrateful beings are the
pride of God's works, the express images of his person, by
a recurrence to the great fundamental doctrine of man's
fallen state, and utter debasement from his original high
condition, and by a painful submission to the gloomy and
fearful announcement, that "strait is the gate and narrow is

he way, and few there be that find it."
If man's general unworthiness be a trial of our faith and
of our patience, the most poignant anguish of the torture is
perhaps the keen conviction of his ingratitude and his in-
justice—not alone the ingratitude and injustice of indivi-
duals, but those of every great body—of every group—of so-
called friends, of governments, of countries, of people.
Vainly do we follow the course of honour and uprightness ;
vainly do we strive to benefit, to elevate, to ennoble our
fellow-men ; vainly do we labour to serve our party, or our
cause, or our country. Neither honour, nor distinction, nor
reward, follows our best efforts, even when successful, unless
we possess the mean and contemptible adjuncts of personal
interest, pushing impudence, crooked policy, vile subser-
viency, or the smile of fortune.
Here am I, who for many arduous years laboured with
zeal, such as few have felt, at sacrifices such as few have
made, and with industry such as few have exerted, to
benefit my kind and my country. That I did so, and with
success, was admitted by all ; even while ethers, starting in
the career of life at the same time as myself, turned their
course in the most opposite direction, pandered to vice, to
folly, and even to crime, and trod a flowery and an easy
way, with few of the difficulties and impediments that beset
my path.
And what has been the result? Even success has brought
to me neither reward, nor honour, nor gratitude. On those
who have neither so laboured, nor so striven, whose objects
have been less worthy, whose efforts have been less great,
recompenses and distinctions have fallen thick and fast—
s Government's patronage—a Sovereign's favour—a people's
applause. And lam an exile on a distant shore ; unthought
of, unrecompensed, unremembered.

There is pathos and something of the tone
of poetry in those remarks, addressed to the
melancholy of the human heart, that fountain
of sympathy perpetually drawn upon by the
writers of ages. Mr. James, however, should
endeavour to give us an American tale of
our own times. He remarks truly enough
The types of American character are very few—much
fewer than the American people imagine. There are three
or four original types very difficult to distinguish from their

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