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THE INLAND SEA
BY J. FENIMORE COOPER
"Here the heart
May give a useful lesson to the head,
And Learning wiser grow without his books."
ILLUSTRATED FROM DRAWINGS BY F. O. C. DARLEY
NEW YORK: PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON,
459 BROOME STREET.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
W. A. TOWNSEND AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York
FOLLOWING the order of events, this book should be the third in the Series of the Leather-Stocking Tales. In the Deerslayer, Natty Bumppo, under the Sobriquet which forms the title of that work, is represented as a youth, just commencing his forest career as a warrior; having, for several years, been a hunter so celebrated, as already to have gained the honorable appellation he then bore. In the Last of the Mohicans he appears as Hawkeye, and is present at the death of young Uncas; while in this tale, he reappears in the same war of '56, in company with his Mohican friend, still in the vigor of manhood, and young enough to feel that master passion to which all conditions of men, all tempers, and we might almost say, all ages, submit, under circumstances that are incited to call it into existence.
The Pathfinder did not originally appear for several years after the publication of the Prairie, the work in which the leading character of both had closed his
career by death. It was, perhaps, a too hazardous experiment to recall to life, in this manner, and after so long an interval, a character that was somewhat a favorite with the reading world, and which had been regularly consigned to his grave, like any living man. It is probably owing to this severe ordeal that the work, like its successor, the Deerslayer, has been so little noticed; scarce one in ten of those who know all about the three earliest books of the series having even a knowledge of the existence of the last at all. That this caprice in taste and favor is in no way dependent on merit, the writer feels certain; for, though the world will ever maintain that an author is always the worst judge of his own productions, one who has written much, and regards all his literary progeny with more or less of a paternal eye, must have a rea sonably accurate knowledge of what he has been about the greater part of his life. form too high an estimate of his relates to others; but it is not easy to see why he should fall into this error, more than another, as relates to himself. His general standard may be raised too high by means of self-love; but, unless he be disposed to maintain the equal perfection of what he has done, as probably no man was ever yet fool enough to do, he may very well have shrewd conjectures as to the comparative merits and defects of his own productions.
Such a man may relative merits, as
This work, on its appearance, was rudely and maliciously assailed by certain individuals out of pure personal malignancy. It is scarcely worth the author's while, nor would it have any interest for the