ale, on what
was called the Angevine farm, from the name of a French family that
had occupied it for several generations. The site of his dwelling was
a commanding one, and gave from the south front an extensive view of
the country about it and of Long Island Sound. It remained his home
until the literary profession, upon which he unexpectedly entered, (p. 015)
forced him to leave it for New York city.

Great changes had occurred during these years, or were occurring, in
his personal surroundings. His father had died in 1809, and his mother
in 1817. Before 1820 five daughters had been born to him. The first of
these did not live to the age of two years; but the others all reached
maturity. The second, Susan Augusta, herself an authoress, became in
his later years his secretary and amanuensis, and would naturally have
written his life, had not his unfortunate dying injunction stood in
the way. A son, Fenimore, born at Angevine, in 1821, died early, and
his youngest child, Paul, now a lawyer at Albany, was not born until
after his removal to New York city. Surrounded by his growing family,
he led for the two or three years following 1817 a life that gave no
indication of what was to be his career. His thoughts were principally
directed to improving the little estate that had come into his
possession. He planted trees, he built fences, he drained swamps, he
planned a lawn. The one thing which he did not do was to write.

CHAPTER II. (p. 016)

1820-1822.

Cooper had now reached the age of thirty. Up to this time he had
written nothing, nor had he prepared or collected any material for
future use. No thought of taking up authorship as a profession had
entered his mind. Even the physical labor involved in the mere act of
writing was itself distasteful. Unexpectedly, however, he now began a
course of literary production that was to continue without abatement
during the little more than thirty years which constituted the
remainder of his life.

Seldom has a first work been due more entirely to accident than that
which he composed at the outset of his career. In his home at Angevine
he was one day reading to his wife a novel descriptive of English
society. It did not please him, and he suddenly laid down the book and
said, "I believe I could write a better story myself." Challenged to
make good his boast, he sat down to perform the task, and wrote out a
few pag