Upon the whole, it must be admitted, we think, that this is a somewhat interesting child’s toy.  But has the kite a future?  Will its powers exhibit new developments, or has it already reached its pride of place?  If a twelve-foot kite has the force of a man, would it take many more feet to lift a man into the air?  And supposing the man to be in a strong cage of network, with bamboo ribs, and a seat of the same material, would he have greater difficulty in governing his aërial coursers by means of the Pocock cords, than if he were flashing along the road from Bristol to London?  Mind, we do not say that this is possible:  we merely ask for the sake of information; and if any little boy will favour us with his opinion, we shall take it very kind.  Come and let us fancy that it is possible.  The traveller feels much more comfortable than in the car of a balloon, for he knows he can go pretty nearly in what direction he chooses, and that he can hasten or check the pace of his horses, and bring them to a stand-still at pleasure.  See him, therefore, boldly careering through the air at the rate of any number of miles the wind pleases.  At a single bound he spans yonder broad river, and then goes bowling over the plantation beyond, just stirring the leaves as he passes; trees, water, houses, men, and animals gliding away beneath his feet like a dream.  Now he stoops towards the earth, just to make the people send up their voices that there may be some sound in the desert air.  Now he swings up again; now he leaps over that little green hill; now he—­Hold! hold, little boy!—­that will do:  enough for a time of a Child’s Toy.

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.

         ’....  Whose trained eye was keen,

As eagle of the wilderness, to scan
His path by mountain, lake, or deep ravine,
Or ken far friendly huts on good savannas green.’ 
                  —­Campbell:  Gertrude of Wyoming.

On the 14th of last September, America lost the greatest of her novelists in the person of James Fenimore Cooper.  He was born on the 15th of that month, 1789; so that, had he lived but a few hours longer, he would have completed his sixty-second year.  At the time of his birth, his father, Judge Cooper, resided at Burlington, New Jersey, where the future littérateur commenced his education, and in so doing acquired a decided reputation for talent, which was not tarnished during subsequent years of tutelage at Newhaven and Yale College.  At sixteen he exchanged the study of ancient literature and the repose of academic life for the bustling career of a ‘middy’ in the American navy; continuing for some half-dozen years his connection with those ocean scenes which he then learned to love so well and to describe so vividly.  His retirement into private life took place in 1811, soon after which he married Miss de Lancey (whose brother is known to many as one of the