stocking appears in his youth; "The Last of the Mohicans" and “The Pathfinder," in which we see him in the maturity of his powers; "The Pioneers" and "The Prairie," in which are portrayed his old age and death. Cooper counted these works as his best. "If anything from the pen of the writer of these romances," he said in his old age, "is at all to outlive himself, it is unquestionably the series of the 'Leatherstocking Tales.' To say this is not to predict a very lasting reputation for the series itself, but simply to express the belief that it will outlast any or all of the works from the same hand." Among the other works of this period, which can only be named, are “The Two Admirals," "Wing-and-Wing," "Wyandotte," "Afloat and Ashore," "The Redskins," and "The Ways of the Hour." The closing years of Cooper's life were comparatively se rene. The storm of criticism and detraction, against which he had long contended, had in large measure abated. He was growing again in favor with his countrymen; and his own feelings, as opposition relaxed, subsided into a calmer and kindlier mood. At last disease laid its wasting hand upon his strong frame. It turned into an incurable dropsy. When the physician told him there was no longer any hope, he received the announcement with the manly courage that had characterized him all through life. He gave up the literary projects he was fondly cherishing, and spent his last days in the cheerful resignation of Christian faith. The end came Sept. 14, 1851, on the eve of his sixty-second birthday. There is no more heroic character in the history of our literature. Cooper was cast in a large and rugged mould. He had deep convictions and a strong will; and hence he was often impatient of opposition, obstinate in his opinions, and brusque in his manners. He never acquired, and perhaps never cared to acquire, a polished deference to the views of others. He did not usually make a favorable impression on first acquaintance. But these defects were only on the surface. He was frank, honest, fearless, large-hearted; and among those who knew him best, he inspired a deep and loyal affection. He could not be tempted to sacrifice principle, to scheme for reputation, to stoop to anything mean and low. Cooper has often been called "the American Scott;" and the title, though displeasing to him, is not wholly undeserved. He has described the scenery and manners of his native country with a passion and power scarcely inferior to what is found in the romances of the great Scotchman. He has thrown over the pioneer life of America something of the same glamour with which "the Wizard of the North" has invested the mediaval life of Europe. There are points of striking resemblance in the characters of these two great writers. They belonged to the same type of strong manhood. They were alike chivalrous and patriotic. With abounding physical strength, they rejoiced in the companionship of the woods and mountains. Their hearts were open to the charms of natural scenery. They were both, to borrow a term from mental science, objective rather than subjective in their habits of thought; and thus it happens that instead of profound psychological studies, they have given us glowing descriptions and thrilling narratives. Cooper's works do not exhibit a high degree of literary art. His novels, like those of Scott, are characterized by largeness rather than by delicacy. He painted on a large canvas with a heavy brush. He worked with great rapidity; and as a natural consequence we miss all refinement of style. He is often slovenly, and sometimes incorrect. The conversations, which he introduces freely, are seldom natural, often bombastic, and generally tiresome. His plots are usually defective. His novels are made up of narratives more or less closely connected, but not forming necessary parts in the development of a dramatic story. With some notable exceptions, his characters are rather wooden, and move very much like automatons. They are continually doing things without any apparent or sufficient reason. His women belong to the type which is made up, to use his own phrase, "of religion and female decorum." They are insipid, helpless, vague-so limited by a narrow and conventional decorum as to be wholly uninterest ing. They rarely say anything or do anything that shows the true womanly spirit of devotion, helpfulness, and self-sacrifice. These are faults that are palpable and acknowledged. What, then, are the excellences which, triumphing over these serious drawbacks, still render Cooper one of the most popular of authors? First, he had the power of graphic description. Without catching the spiritual significance of nature, he yet presented its various forms with extraordinary vividness. "If Cooper," said Balzac, "had succeeded in the painting of character to the same extent that he did in the painting of the phenomena of nature, he would have uttered the last word of our art." But above this and above every other quality is Cooper's power as a narrator. It is here that his genius manifests itself in its full power. His best novels are made up of a succession of interesting or exciting events, which he narrates with supreme art. We realize every detail, and often follow the story with breathless interest. Cooper is an author, not for literary critics, but for general readers. In the words of Bryant, "he wrote for mankind at large; hence it is that he has earned a fame wider than any author of modern times. The creations of his genius shall survive through centuries to come, and perish only with our language." WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. GREAT genius is not always associated with exalted character. There is much in the life of Pope, of Burns, and of Byron that we cannot approve of. So far as their works reflect their moral obliquities, we are forced to make abatements in our praise. It is greatly to the credit of American literature that its leading representatives have been men of excellent character. Dissolute genius has not flourished on our soil. At the funeral of Bryant, it was truthfully said, "It is the glory of this man that his character outshone even his great talent and his large fame." In a poem "To Bryant on his Birthday," Whittier beautifully said: "We praise not now the poet's art, The moral element in literature is of the highest importance. It is a French maxim, often disregarded in France as elsewhere, that Nothing is beautiful but truth." 1 It is certain that only truth is enduring. Whatever is false is sure, sooner or later, to pass away. Bryant gave beautiful expression to the same idea in the oft-quoted lines from his poem, "The Battle-Field: " "Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; 1 Rien n'est beau que le vrai, |