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ART. III.-COOPER AND HIS NOVELS.

Darley's Illustrated edition of COOPER'S Novels. In thirty-two Volumes. New York: W. H. Townsend & Co.

THE new and beautiful edition of Cooper's Novels, now nearly completed, by Messrs. Townsend & Co., gives us an occasion, which we have long desired, to lay our hearty tribute upon the altar of his memory. He has done so much for his country's Literature, he saw so distinctly the narrow prejudices of the times in which he lived, he described so clearly and fearlessly the dangers to which, in the practical workings of our Government, our Institutions are exposed, and in which, alas, they are now threatened with remediless ruin; nay, more, as a Christian Moralist, he was so loyal to those great principles which the Church holds and teaches, that he richly deserves, on the pages of our Review, to be named with honor, and to be commended to the attention of the American people. It is not, however, as a Moralist that we are now to regard Mr. Cooper, though, wè are glad to say, that in all his writings we have not found a line that would cause a blush upon the cheek of the most pure and refined. Neither, as Church Reviewers, shall we dwell upon the heroism with which he dared to plant himself upon the Christian Faith, as the only true fountain of Social Reform. We have here, undoubtedly, one secret of that bitter opposition, from a certain portion of the press, with which, in his later years, he was obliged to contend. There is another respect, also, in which Cooper's works merit the regard of Churchmen. Himself a Churchman by birth and education, he never hesitated, from a time-serving policy, to express the unscriptural authority and the true character of religious pretensions, which, in his day, were far more bold and intolerant than they are now. Thus in "The Sea Lions," he uses the lancet in the following style.

"There are two great species of deacons-one species belongs to the priesthood, and become priests and bishops; passing away, as priests and bishops are apt to

do, with more or less of the savor of godliness. The other species are purely laymen, and are sui generis. They are ex officio, the most pious men in a neighborhood, as they sometimes are, as it would seem to us, ex officio, also the most grasping and mercenary,"—p. 16. "Deacon Pratt had all the usual sectarian terms at the end of his tongue; never uttered a careless expression; was regular at meeting; apparently performed all the duties that his church required of its professors, in the way of mere religious observance; yet was he as far from being in that state which St. Paul has described succinctly as 'for me to live is Christ, and to die is gain,' as if he had been a Pagan.-p. 50."

Our present object, however, is to notice briefly some of his writings, to advert to some traits in his character, and to give a few of our own personal recollections of him.*

Every reader of the "Pioneers" is familiar with Cooperstown and the rich forest scenery of Otsego Lake. One thing is wanting, however, to complete the picture of fifty years ago: a gray-eyed, dark-haired, ruddy boy, nimble as a deer and gay as a bird. Cooper was but an infant when he was first carried to Cooperstown. His birthplace was Burlington, New Jersey, where he first saw the light on the 15th of September, 1789, and the little village, which was to be the home of his boyhood and his final resting-place, had been built by his father only three years before. Judge Templeton has always been supposed to be an outline sketch of that gentleman, and the "Pioneers" tells us what kind of a life was led in this home which he had made for himself in the wilderness. Perhaps the love of the water which led Cooper to the Navy, was first imbibed on the Otsego, and the associations with which he has invested old ocean for so many minds, would thus be owing, in part, to a quiet little lake among the hills. Never was the "child" more truly "father of the man" than in Cooper.

At thirteen he entered Yale; too young, if that favorite institution had been what it is now, but yet old enough to prove himself an apt and ready scholar. The poet Hillhouse was in the same class, and younger than he. Dr. Dwight was then President, with a well-won reputation as a teacher, which has already outlived his claims as a poet. It would be interesting to know how the stripling, who was to become one of the real

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*"We refer the reader to a work which has already been reviewed in our pages; Biographical Studies. By George Washington Greene. New York: G. P. Putnam. 1860."

founders of American literature, looked and felt in the presence of one of its earliest votaries. The young poet was something of a rogue, the old one not a little proud of his position; and it is difficult to withstand the temptation of indulging the fancy in some amusing scenes between them; the culprit looking straightforward with a funny mixture of drollery and indefinite dread of consequences in his clear, gray eye, and the old doctor bolt upright in his chair, with a thunder-cloud on his brow, and measuring out his oppressive sentences with Johnsonian dignity. The only recorded expression, as far as we know, of Cooper's opinion of the poetical merits of his old master, is his answer to Godwin's reference to the "Conquest of Canaan" and "Vision of Columbus" as the only American poems that he had ever heard of,-"Oh, we can do better than that now."

College then as now, and perhaps even more than now, was the path to one of the learned professions; and Cooper, whose tastes led him to seek for a more adventurous career, left it in his fourth year for the Navy. There were no schools in our Navy then, and it was common for the young candidate for nautical honors to make a voyage before the mast in a merchantman, by way of initiation; a custom which Cooper, in looking back upon his own course from an interval of forty years, is far from approving. In his case, however, few will regret it. It was his first intercourse with sailors, his first initiation into the hardships and enjoyments, the pains and the pleasures of sea-life, which he surely could never have painted so truthfully but for that year and a half in the forecastle.

It was in a round jacket and tarpaulin that the future guest of Rogers and Holland House first set his foot on English ground, his imagination glowing with the recollection of all that he had heard and read of her power and glory, and his heart thrilling with the thought that this was the land of his fathers. He was soon at home in London, ran through the usual round of sights, peered from under his tarpaulin at the wonders of the Tower and the beauties of the "West End," and in the evening, amused the forecastle with tales and descriptions from the scenes of his day's ramble.

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There was another kind of experience, too, which Cooper added to his stock during this memorable voyage. The Sterling had hardly dropped her anchor in English waters before she was boarded by a man-of-war's boat, and one of her best men taken from her to be forced into the British Navy, another of them only escaping by having a certificate which the officer could not refuse to acknowledge, though he had refused to acknowledge his "protection." At London another was lost, and the Captain himself was seized by a press-gang. On their return passage, just as they were running out, they were boarded by a gun-boat officer, who attempted to press a Swede. Cooper could not stand this insult to his flag, and was in high words with the Englishman, when the Captain compelled him to restrain himself and be silent. Such were some of his first

lessons in this rough but manly school. He now entered the Navy, and continued the study of his profession in its higher walks. How successful these studies were he has already proved by his writings; and years ago we heard him described by a brother officer, who knew him well, as active, prompt, and efficient, a pleasant shipmate, always ready to do his duty, and rigorous, too, in exacting it from others.

In 1811 he resigned his commission, and married Miss Delancey, whose gentle character and domestic tastes were admirably fitted to call out the deep affections of his own nature, and favor that grateful intermingling of action and repose which are so essential to vigor and freshness of mind. He had established himself in a quiet little house, which is still standing, at Mamaroneck, in Westchester county, not so near to the city as in these days of railroads and steamers, but near enough to make an excursion easy, and enable him to see his friends whenever he chose. He loved his books, he loved the quiet life of the country, he loved the calm sunshine of his home, and the days glided smoothly away, scarcely revealing to him or to those around him the powers which were rapidly maturing in this voluntary obscurity. It was this seeming monotony that furnished the occasion which first revealed his real calling. He was reading a new novel to his wife: "Pshaw," said he, "I can write a better one myself:" and to prove that he was

in earnest, he set himself directly to the task, and wrote the first chapter of "Precaution." "Go on," was Mrs. Cooper's advice, when she had listened to it as a young wife may be supposed to listen to the first pages from her husband's pen. The work was completed: a friend in whose literary judgment he placed great confidence, the late Charles Wilkes, gave a favorable opinion, and "Precaution" was printed. His vocation was now decided. His active mind had found its natural outlet, and yielding to the impulse of his genius, he took his station boldly on his native soil, amid the scenes of American history, and wrote the "Spy." The success of the "Spy" was complete, and almost immediate. It was not merely a triumph, but a revelation, for it showed that our own society and history, young as they were, could furnish characters and incidents for the most inviting form of romance. There was a truthfulness about it which everybody could feel, and which, in some countries where it has been translated, has given it the rank of a real history. And yet there was a skillful grouping of characters, a happy contrast of situations and interests, an intermingling of grave and gay, of individual eccentricities and natural feeling, a life in the narrative, and a graphic power in the descriptions, which, in spite of some common-place, and some defects in the artistic arrangement of the plot, raised it at once to the first class among the novels of the age. But its peculiar characteristic, and one to which it owed, above all others, its rank as a work of invention, was the character of 'Harvey Birch,'

The same originality of invention and admirable discrimination are found in his next great character, 'Leather Stocking.' In all that relates to his calling, Leather Stocking, like Harvey Birch, is a simple and natural character. They have the same judgment and common sense. But the shrewdness which was so well placed in the tradesman, would have shrunk into littleness and cunning in the man of the woods. Simple-heartedness, and clear, quick perception, would be his natural characteristics. Resolution would become fortitude and daring; and his days and nights under the canopy of the woods, with the sunlight falling through the opening tree-tops as it falls on the

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