anybody that the men who took the pains to look up their
forefathers had any superiority to those who shared in the general
indifference as to who their forefathers were. He went farther than this
in some instances, and expressly implied that blood and birth were
necessary to gentility. This was provincialism pushed to an extreme.
Whatever we may think of its actual value, English aristocracy resembles
in this gold and silver, that it has an accepted value independent of
the character of its representatives. It is, therefore, current
throughout the civilized world; whereas American aristocracy is like
local paper money: worth nothing except in its own country, and even
there receiving little recognition or circulation outside of the
immediate neighborhood in which it is found. Still, the subject of blood
and birth is a solemn one to those who believe in it, and they are
absolutely incapable of comprehending the feelings of a world of
scoffers, or, if they do, impute them to imperfect mental or spiritual
development. On this point Cooper had the misfortune to say what some
think but dare not express.

The wrath aroused, especially in New York city, by this particular
novel, had about it something both fearful and comic. In one (p. 158)
respect Cooper had the advantage, and his critics all felt it. His work
was certain to be translated into all the principal languages of modern
Europe. The picture he drew of New York society would be the one that
foreigners would naturally receive as genuine. By them it would be
looked upon as the work of a man familiar with what he was describing,
the work of a man, moreover, who had been well known in European circles
for his intense Americanism. It was vain to protest that it was a
caricature. The protest would not be heeded even if it were heard. His
enemies might rage; but they were powerless to influence foreign
opinion, and they felt themselves so. Rage they certainly did; and if
the assault made upon him had been as effective as it was violent,
little would have been left of his reputation. Even as late as 1842,
during the progress of the libel suits, some one took the pains to
produce a novel in two volumes called "'The Effinghams, or Home as I
Found It,' by the Author of the 'Victims of Chancery.'" The whole aim of
this tale was to satirise Cooper. Mere malignity, however, has little
vitality; and in spite of the fact that the work was widely praised by
the journals for it