of critic of his country and
countrymen. It seems hardly possible that in this narrow-minded,
disagreeable, and essentially vulgar character, Cooper could have
fancied he was creating anything but a contemptible boor. The contrast
between what is said of him, and what is said by him, almost reaches the
comic. We read constantly of his caustic satire; we find little of it in
his conversation. His fine face is, according to the author, always
expressing contempt and sarcasm; but the examples of these that are
shown in his speeches are usually specimens of that forcible-feeble
straining to be severe which marks the man of violent temper and feeble
intellect. As represented, he has neither the feeling, the instincts,
nor the manners of a gentleman. He so much dislikes untruth that he
insinuates to a guest, very broadly as well as very unjustly, that he is
lying. In short, he is one of those rude and vulgar men who fancy that
they are frank simply because they are brutal. No civilized society
would long tolerate the presence, if even the existence, of such an
animal as he is here represented to be.

Even he, however, shines by comparison with the heroine. Of her we hear
no end of praise. Her delicacy, her plastic simplicity, the simple
elegance of her attire, her indescribable air of polish, her surpassing
beauty and modesty of mien, are referred to again and again. She is
simple, she is feminine, she is dignified. To men her smiles are faint
and distant. Across her countenance no unworthy thought has ever left a
trace. Once and once only did she fail to keep up to the high (p. 154)
level of deportment which she ordinarily maintained. On one occasion
"her little foot moved" in spite of the fact that "she had been
carefully taught, too, that a ladylike manner required that even this
beautiful portion of the female frame should be quiet and unobtrusive."
Something, however, must always be pardoned to human nature; and Cooper
doubtless felt that it would not do to make his heroine absolutely free
from frailty. As a sort of foil to her was introduced her cousin Grace
Van Cortlandt. She, to be sure, had not had the advantage of foreign
travel; but there was a redeeming feature in her case. She belonged to
an old family. She was saved in consequence from being entirely
submerged in that sweltering, foaming tide of mediocrity, which called
itself New York society. Belonging to an old family did not, however,
preserve her from