very wide of the mark; but in this, as in so many things, there
is a divinity that shapes our rough-hewn ends. Had Cooper enjoyed the best
scholastic advantages which the schools and colleges of Europe could have
furnished, they could not have fitted him for the work he was destined to
do so well as the apparently untoward elements we have above adverted to;
for Natty Bumppo was the fruit of his woodland experience, and Long Tom
Coffin of his sea-faring life.

"The Pioneers" and "The Pilot" were both published in 1823; "Lionel
Lincoln" in 1825; and "The Last of the Mohicans" in 1826. We may put
"Lionel Lincoln" aside, as one of his least successful productions; but
the three others were never surpassed, and rarely equalled, by any of his
numerous subsequent works. All the powerful, and nearly all the
attractive, qualities of his genius were displayed in these three novels,
in their highest degree and most ample measure. Had he never written any
more,--though we should have missed many interesting narratives, admirable
pictures, and vigorously drawn characters,--we are not sure that his fame
would not have been as great as it is now. From these, and "The Spy," full
materials may be drawn for forming a correct estimate of his merits and
his defects. In these, his strength and weakness, his gifts and
deficiencies, are amply shown. Here, then, we may pause, and, without
pursuing his literary biography any farther, proceed to set down our
estimate of his claims as a writer. Any critic who dips his pen in ink and
not in gall would rather praise than blame; therefore we will dispose of
the least gracious part of our task first, and begin with his blemishes
and defects.

A skilful construction of the story is a merit which the public taste no
longer demands, and it is consequently fast becoming one of the lost arts.
The practice of publishing novels in successive numbers, so that one
portion is printed before another is written, is undoubtedly one cause of
this. But English and American readers have not been accustomed to this
excellence in the works of their best writers of fiction; and therefore
they are not sensitive to the want of it. This is certainly not one of
Scott's strong points. Fielding's "Tom Jones" is, in this respect,
superior to any of the "Waverley Novels," and without an equal, so far as
we know, in English literature. But, in sitting in judgment upon a writer
of novels, we cannot waive an inquiry into his me