ART. VII.-The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. A Tale; by the Author of the "Pioneers," "Prairie," &c. 2 vols. Philadelphia. 1829.

THIS work is a failure. It contains a few of those detached passages of spirited narration, to which our author's novels are, in a great measure, indebted for their popularity-and were it the performance of an inferior writer, or of a new candidate for fame, it would be entitled to favour as a very good imitation of Cooper-but those will be sadly disappointed, who regulate their expectations by the standard of the Pilot and the Red Rover. The moment we perceived that the scene was laid on shore, we anticipated no rivalry of the novelist's achievements on his own element. We did hope, however, that his maturer geniusnerved and exhilarated by success-would, in the ample, and yet virginal region of American fiction, make wider excursions, explore deeper recesses, and unfold new and lavish sources of treasure; but we have been cheated of our promised gratification, by his lingering in the field of his former fame, and "fighting his battles o'er again," instead of securing farther conquests. He has lost the sustaining glow and energy of early adventure, and if other and yet prouder triumphs do not await him on the ocean, he must seek new sources of interest by travel or by study; for in his sojourning on the land, he has been at his ease only in the wilderness, and the work before us proves that he has exhausted even his forest craft.

Resuming the theme of border-life, he has not varied it with sufficient skill to avoid the dullness of repetition, and monotonous as the song of the bird from which it, too appropriately, receives its name, the Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish is but an echo of the Pioneers, the Last of the Mohicans, and the Prairie. If Mr. Cooper were merely manufacturing for the trade, he might be content to improve his monopoly by multiplying flat copies of a few partially successful sketches, and yet farther extending the catalogue of savage dangers and escapes, so prodigally commenced in the Last of the Mohicans; but if fame be his object, he must embody new creations. Let him desert a field which will produce no more under his mode of cultivation, He has worn out his tomahawk and scalping knife, and before his laurels have withered at the council-fires, let him wipe off his war-paint and abandon the frontier-Variare cupit rem prodigaliter unam.

The time of this novel is during the wars of King Philip or Metacom. Mark Heathcote, a rigid old Puritan, being scan

dalized by certain religious innovations in the colony, abandons the Atlantic settlements, and with his son, Content, and their household, removes into the wilderness, and establishes a fortified farm, on a tributary of the Connecticut. Years glide over them, without interruption of the quiet of their simple lives, and though Massachusetts and Rhode-Island were kept in a state of constant apprehension, the emigrants have only heard of Indian alarms, without having been themselves molested in their border seclusion. The narrative commences by the arrival, one evening, of a middle-aged, toil-worn, and stern-looking stranger, who having briefly and secretly communed with the patriarch, departs mysteriously the same night. Soon after his departure, an alarm of Indians is given; a watch is set, and Conanchet, the orphan son of the renowned and ill-fated Narragansett chief, Miantonimoh, is captured, lurking about the palisadoes. He is confined in a block-house, which had been erected by way of citadel, in the centre of the improvements. The succeeding day, certain low-bred men-at-arms arrive, in pursuit of the stranger, and are frightened away by apprehensions of the Indians. The young captive, called Miantonimoh by the family, is kindly treated but vigilantly guarded. After six months confinement, being permitted to accompany a hunting party, he returns not with the foresters, but re-appears late at night preceded by the stranger, between whom and the young Indian, there seems to be a mutual intelligence. This is afterwards explained by our being told that the blockhouse was not only the prison of the captive, but the hiding place of the stranger. After an earnest private conference between old Mark Heathcote and his persecuted guest, the little garrison is exhorted to be on the alert. Mysterious warnings are given by the frequent sounding of the conch at the postern, and these are followed by an attempt of the Narragansetts to surprise the defences. They are at first repulsed, but the onset is repeatedly and furiously renewed. In the confusion of the fight, a savage finds his way to the apartment of Ruth, (the wife of Content) and her children, but Conanchet rescues them from his tomahawk. Ruth, fearing a second attack of this nature, leaves her children, and flies for succour. Meantime, the savages break into the enclosure on every side, fire the buildings, and drive the whites for refuge to their citadel. In the moment of this horrible catastrophe, Ruth forgets her children, and does not recover her recollection until the building where they lie concealed, is in flames. Then she rushes into the blazing dwelling, followed by the intrepid stranger (Submission) but the savages are upon them, and to return with the children into the block house seems impo

"There was barely hope, that the space between the dwelling and the block-house might yet be passed in safety.

"I would I had asked that the door of the block should be held in hand,' muttered Submission; it would be death to linger an instant in that fierce light; nor have we any manner of——————'

"A touch was laid upon his arm, and turning, the speaker saw the dark eye of the captive boy looking steadily in his face.

"Wilt do it?' demanded the other, in a manner to show that he doubted, while he hoped.

"A speaking gesture of assent was the answer, and then the form of the lad was seen gliding quietly from the room.

"Another instant, and Miantonimoh appeared in the court. He walked with the deliberation that one would have shown in moments of the most entire security. A hand was raised towards the loops, as if to betoken amity, and then dropping the limb, he moved with the same slow step into the very centre of the area. Here the boy stood in the fullest glare of the conflagration, and turned his face deliberately on every side of him. The action showed that he wished to invite all eyes to examine his person. At this moment the yell ceased in the surrounding covers, proclaiming alike the common feeling that was awakened by his appearance, and the hazard that any other would have incurred by exposing himself in that fearful scene. When this act of exceeding confidence had been performed, the boy drew a pace nearer to the entrance of the block.

"Comest thou in peace, or is this another device of Indian treachery?' demanded a voice, through an opening in the door left expressly for the purposes of parley.

"The boy raised the palm of one hand towards the speaker, while he laid the other with a gesture of confidence on his naked breast.

"Hast aught to offer in behalf of my wife and babes? If gold will buy their ransom, name thy price.'

Miantonimoh was at no loss to comprehend the other's meaning. With the readiness of one whose faculties had been early schooled in the inventions of emergencies, he made a gesture that said even more than his figurative words, as he answered

"Can a woman of the Pale-faces pass through wood? An Indian arrow is swifter than the foot of my mother.'

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'Boy. I trust thee,' returned the voice from within the loop. If thou deceivest beings so feeble and so inuocent, Heaven will remember the wrong.'

Miantonimoh again made a sign to show that caution must be used, and then he retired with a step calm and measured as that used in his advance. Another pause to the shouts betrayed the interest of those whose fierce eyes watched his movements in the distance.

When the young Indian had rejoined the party in the dwelling, he led them, without being observed by the lurking band that still hovered in the smoke of the surrounding buildings, to a spot that commanded a full view of their short but perilous route. At this moment the door of the block-house half-opened, and was closed again. Still the stranVOL. V.—NO. 9.

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ger hesitated, for he saw how little was the chance that all should cross the court unharmed, and to pass it by repeated trials he knew to be impossible

'Boy,' he said,' thou, who hast done thus much, may still do more. Ask mercy for these children, in some manner that may touch the hearts of thy people.'

Miantonimoh shook his head, and pointing to the ghastly corpse that lay in the court, he answered coldly

"The red-man has tasted blood.'

"Then must the desperate trial be done! Think not of thy children, devoted and daring mother, but look only to thine own safety. This witless youth and I will charge ourselves with the care of the innocents.'

Ruth waved him away with her hand, pressing her mute and trembling daughter to her bosom, in a manner to show that her resolution was taken. The stranger yielded, and turning to Whittal, who stood near him, seemingly as much occupied in vacant admiration of the blazing piles as in any apprehension of his own personal danger. he bade him look to the safety of the remaining child. Moving in front himself, he was about to offer Ruth such protection as the case afforded, when a window in the rear of the house was dashed inward, announcing the entrance of the enemy, and the imminent danger that their flight would be intercepted. There was no time to lose, for it was now certain that only a single room separated them from their foes. The generous nature of Ruth was roused, and catching Martha from the arms of Whittal Ring, she endeavoured, by a desperate effort, in which feeling rather than any reasonable motive predominated, to envelop both the children in her robe.

ye,

"I am with ye!' whispered the agitated woman; hush ye, hush babes! thy mother is nigh!'

The stranger was very differently employed. The instant the crash of glass was heard, he rushed to the rear; and he had already grappled with the savage so often named, and who acted as guide to a dozen fierce and yelling followers.

"To the block !' shouted the steady soldier, while with a powerful arm he held his enemy in the throat of the narrow passage, stopping the approach of those in the rear by the body of his foe. For the love of life and children, woman, to the block !'

The summons rang frightfully in the ears of Ruth, but in that moment of extreme jeopardy her presence of mind was lost. The cry was repeated, and not till then did the bewildered mother catch her daughter from the floor. With eyes still bent on the fierce struggle in her rear, she clasped the child to her heart and fled, calling on Whittal Ring to follow. The lad obeyed, and ere she had half-crossed the court, the stranger, still holding his savage shield between him and his enemies, was seen endeavoring to take the same direction. The whoops, the flight of arrows, and the discharges of musquetry, that succeeded, proclaimed the whole extent of the danger. But fear had lent unnatural vigour to the limbs of Ruth, and the gliding arrows themselves scarce sailed more swiftly through the heated air, than she darted into the open door of the block. Whittal Ring was less successful. Aş he

crossed the court, bearing the child entrusted to his care, an arrow pierced his flesh. Stung by the pain, the witless lad turned, in anger, to chide the hand that had inflicted the injury.

"On, foolish boy!' cried the stranger, as he passed him, still making a target of the body of the savage that was writhing in his grasp. On, for thy life, and that of the babe!'

"The mandate came too late. The hand of an Indian was already on the innocent victim, and in the next instant the child was sweeping the air, while with a short yell the keen axe flourished above his head. A shot from the loops laid the monster dead in his tracks. The girl was instantly seized by another hand, and as the captor with his prize darted unharmed into the dwelling, there arose in the block a common exclamation of the name of Miantonimoh !" Two more of the savages profited by the pause of horror that followed, to lay hands on the wounded Whittal and to drag him within the blazing building. At the same moment, the stranger cast the unresisting savage back upon the weapons of his companions. The bleeding and half-strangled Indian met the blows which had been aimed at the life of the soldier, and as he staggered and fell, his vigorous conqueror disappeared in the block. The door of the little citadel was instantly closed, and the savages, who rushed headlong against the entrance, heard the fitting of the bars which secured it against their attacks. The yell of retreat was raised, and in the next instant the court was left to the possession of the dead.

"We will be thankful for this blessing,' said Content, as he aided the half-unconscious Ruth to mount the ladder, yielding himself to a feeling of nature that said little against his manhood. If we have lost one that we loved, God hath spared our own child.'

"His breathless wife threw herself into a seat, and folding the treasure to her bosom, she whispered rather than said aloud- From my soul, Heathcote, am I grateful!'

"Thou shieldest the babe from my sight,' returned the father, stooping to conceal a tear that was stealing down his brown cheek, under a pretence of embracing the child-but suddenly recoiling, he added in alarm-' Ruth!'

"Startled by the tone in which her husband uttered her name, the mother threw aside the folds of her dress, which still concealed the girl, and stretching her out to the length of an arm, she saw that, in the hurry of the appalling scene, the children had been exchanged, and that she had saved the life of Martha !

"Notwithstanding the generous disposition of Ruth, it was impossible to repress the feeling of disappointment which came over her with the consciousness of the mistake. Nature at first had sway, and to a degree that was fearfully powerful.

"It is not our babe!' shrieked the mother, still holding the child at the length of her arm, and gazing at its innocent and terrified countenance, with an expression that Martha had never yet seen gleaming from eyes that were, in common, so soft and so iudulgent.

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"I am thine! I am thine!' murmured the litile trembler, struggling in vain to reach the bosom that had so long cherished her infancy. If not thine, whose am I?'