man roused by great perils, overborne by heavy sorrows, wasted by strong
passions,--we recognize the same master-hand which has given us such
powerful pictures of character in the other sex. In other words, Cooper is
not happy in representing those shadowy and delicate graces which belong
exclusively to woman, and distinguish her from man; but he is generally
successful in sketching in woman those qualities which are found in both
sexes. In "The Bravo," Donna Violetta, the heroine, a rich and high-born
young lady, is not remarkable one way or the other; but Gelsomina, the
jailer's daughter, born in an inferior position, reared in a sterner
school of discipline and struggle, is a beautiful and consistent creation,
constantly showing masculine energy and endurance, yet losing nothing of
womanly charm. Ruth, in "The Wept of the Wish-ton-Wish," Hetty Hutter, the
weak-minded and sound-hearted girl, in "The Deerslayer," Mabel Dunham, and
the young Indian woman, "Dew of June," in "The Pathfinder," are further
cases in point. No one can read the books in which these women are
represented and say that Cooper was wanting in the power of delineating
the finest and highest attributes of womanhood,

Cooper cannot be congratulated upon his success in the few attempts he has
made to represent historical personages. Washington, as shown to us in
"The Spy," is a formal piece of mechanism, as destitute of vital character
as Maelzel's automaton trumpeter. This, we admit, was a very difficult
subject, alike from the peculiar traits of Washington, and from the
reverence in which his name and memory are held by his countrymen. But the
sketch, in "The Pilot," of Paul Jones, a very different person, and a much
easier subject, is hardly better. In both cases, the failure arises from
the fact that the author is constantly endeavoring to produce the
legitimate effect of mental and moral qualities by a careful enumeration
of external attributes. Harper, under which name Washington is introduced,
appears in only two or three scenes; but, during these, we hear so much of
the solemnity and impressiveness of his manner, the gravity of his brow,
the steadiness of his gaze, that we get the notion of a rather oppressive
personage, and sympathize with the satisfaction of the Whartons, when he
retires to his own room, and relieves them of his tremendous presence. Mr.
Gray, who stands for Paul Jones, is more carefully elaborated, but the
result is far from sa