IRVING, Cooper, and Hawthorne have long been the classic names of American fiction, and no fourth has been added to their number in the quarter of a century since Hawthorne's death. To the question, why the best American novels belong to this earlier time, no very satisfactory answer has been given. If we except Mrs. Stowe's "Uncle Tom's Cabin" and the weird tales of Poe, it is perhaps equally remarkable that what remains of notable American fiction has made its appearance within the last decade. Of stories for the young, the best are Louisa M. Alcott's "Little Women" and "Little Men," Frances Hodgson Burnett's "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and Thomas B. Aldrich's "Story of a Bad Boy." George W. Cable has published several striking novels of Louisiana character. Bret Harte has written stories of life in the Far West which, like the novels of Henry James, Jr., have enjoyed greater popularity in England than at home. The several romances of Francis M. Crawford are highly original and imaginative. It is William D. Howells, the most popular of our recent writers of fiction, seems imbued with the spirit of social reform; though the ends he aims at have not taken definite shape in his work, nor perhaps in his thought. therefore regrettable that in his several essays in criticism Howells should have set up, for the guidance of the novelwriter, an ethical standard of which he himself has fallen short, and especially that he should have thought it necessary to decry the far more influential work of such masters as Dickens and Thackeray. COOPER 1789-1851 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER the novelist was born in New Jersey in 1789, and died at Cooperstown, New York, in 1851. The best of his works are "The Spy," ," "The Prairie," "The Pilot," and "The Last of the Mohicans." His fame is owing mainly to the excellence of his delineation of Indian life and of maritime adventure. In this no writer has yet excelled him. His style is dramatic, and pure and scholarly in construction. No American writer has received more cordial treatment at the hands of foreign critics. Victor Hugo went to the extreme of pronouncing him a greater novelist than Scott; the London Athenæum called him "the most original writer that America has yet produced;" and the Revue de Paris said: "Who is there writing English among our contemporaries, if not of him, of whom it can be said that he has a genius of the first order?" These panegyrics would not be accepted by literary authorities of the present day, when English literature is far stronger and richer than at their date. But Cooper's title to a high place among our writers is undisputed. In the assignment of his rank he should have the benefit of the consideration that he was a pioneer in a specialty of authorship that before his time was hardly approached by American writers, and which for many years he occupied without a rival. Our selection is from "The Prairie," a story of Indian life. THE INDIAN ADOPTION I. A LOW, feeble, and hollow voice was heard rising on the ear, as if it rolled from the inmost cavities of the human chest, and gathered strength and energy as it issued into the air. A solemn stillness followed the sounds, and then the lips of the aged man were first seen to move. "The day of Le Balafré is near its end," were the first words that were distinctly audible. "He is like a buffalo on whom the hair will grow no longer. He will soon be ready to leave his lodge to go in search of another that is far from the villages of the Siouxes; therefore what he has to say concerns not him, but those he leaves behind him. His words are like the fruit on the tree, ripe and fit to be given to chiefs. 66 Many snows have fallen since Le Balafré has been found on the war-path. His blood has been very hot, but it has had time to cool. The Wahcondah gives him dreams of war no longer; he sees that it is better to live in peace. "My brothers, one foot is turned to the happy hunting-grounds. the other will soon follow; and then an old chief will be seen looking for the prints of his father's moccasins, that he may make no mistake, but be sure to come before the Master of Life by the same path that so many good Indians have already traveled. But who will follow? Le Balafré has no son. His oldest has ridden too many Pawnee horses; the bones of the youngest have been gnawed by Konza dogs. Le Balafré has come to look for a young arm on which he may lean, and to find a son, that when he is gone his lodge may not be empty. Tachechana, the skipping fawn of the Tetons, is too weak to prop a warrior who is old. She looks before her, and not backwards. Her mind is in the lodge of her husband." The enunciation of the veteran warrior had been calm, but distinct and decided. His declaration was received in silence; and though several of the chiefs who were in the counsels of Mahtoree turned their eyes on their leader, none presumed to oppose so aged and venerated a brave in a resolution that was strictly in conformity to the usages of the nation. The Teton himself was content to await the result with seeming composure, though the gleams of ferocity that played about his eye occasionally betrayed the nature of those feelings with which he witnessed a procedure that was likely to rob him of that one of all his intended victims whom he most hated. In the mean time Le Balafré moved with a slow and painful step towards the captives. He stopped before the person of Hard-Heart, whose faultless form, unchanged eye, and lofty mien he contemplated with high satisfaction. Then, making a gesture of authority, he waited until his order had been obeyed, and the youth was released from the post and his bonds by the same blow of the knife. When the young warrior was led nearer to his dimmed and failing sight, the examination was renewed with strictness of scrutiny. "It is good," the wary veteran murmured, when he found that all his skill in the requisites of a brave could detect no blemish ; “this is a leaping panther. Does my son speak with the tongue of a Teton?" The intelligence which lighted the eyes of the captive betrayed how well he understood the question; but still he was far too haughty to communicate his ideas through the medium of a language that belonged to a hostile people. Some of the surrounding warriors explained to the old chief that the captive was a Pawnee-Loup. "My son opened his eyes on the 'waters of the wolves,' ," said Le Balafré, in the language of that nation, "but he will shut them in the bend of the river with a troubled stream.' He was born a Pawnee, but he will die a Dahcotah. Look at me. I am a sycamore that once covered many with my shadow. The leaves are fallen, and the branches begin to drop. But a single sucker is springing from my roots; it is a little vine, and it winds itself about a tree that is green. I have long looked for one fit to grow by my side. Now have I found him. Le Balafré is no longer without a son; his name will not be forgotten when he is gone. Men of the Tetons! I take this youth into my lodge." No one was bold enough to dispute a right that had so often been exercised by warriors far inferior to the present speaker; and the adoption was listened to in grave and respectful silence. Le Balafré took his intended son by the arm, and leading him into the very center of the circle, he stepped aside with an air of triumph in order that the spectators might approve of his choice. Mahtoree betrayed no evidence of his intentions, but rather seemed to await a moment better suited to the crafty policy of his character. The more experienced and sagacious chiefs distinctly foresaw the utter impossibility of two partisans so renowned, so hostile, and who had so long been rivals in fame, as their prisoner and their native leader, existing amicably in the same tribe. Still, the character of Le Balafré was so imposing, and the custom to which he had resorted so sacred, that none dared to lift a voice in opposition to the measure. They watched the result with increasing interest, but with a coldness of demeanor that concealed the nature of their inquietude. From this state of embarrassment the tribe was relieved by the decision of the one most interested in the success of the aged chief's designs. II. DURING the whole of the foregoing scene, it would have been difficult to have1 traced a single distinct emotion in the lineaments of the captive. He had heard his release proclaimed, with |