ointments and ornamentation of the place. Within a
niche of the main hall of the house is the bust of Fenimore Cooper which
David d'Angers made in Paris in 1828; and embedded in the foundation of
the building is the corner-stone with the original marking that Cooper
carved in 1813 for the house that he built, but which was burned before
he could move into it, at Fenimore. Fynmere has contributed to the
revival of pleasures that belonged to an elder day in Cooperstown, for
it has drawn hither large house-parties of young people to enjoy the
holidays of Christmastide, to join in winter sports, and to appreciate
the splendors of snow and ice in a region usually renowned only for the
charm of its summer season.

From the beginning of Cooperstown's celebrity as a watering-place the
hope was cherished, among the residents, that the village might include
a suitable hotel overlooking the lake, and attracting visitors to linger
on its shores. This dream was realized in 1909 when the O-te-sa-ga
opened, having been built by Edward S. Clark and his brother Stephen C.
Clark. The hotel was planned to accommodate three hundred guests, and
occupies the old site of Holt-Averell, commanding a magnificent view of
the full length of the lake.

Cooperstown is a village of incomparable charm. There is not the like of
it in all America. It has a character of its own sufficiently
distinctive to prevent it from becoming the leech-like community into
which, through the slow commercializing of native self-respect, a summer
resort sometimes degenerates, stupidly enduring the winter in order to
batten upon the pleasures of the rich in summer. Cooperstown is old
enough and wise enough to have a juster appreciation of lasting values.
It has tradition and atmosphere. It is a village that rejoices in the
simple virtues of life peculiar to a small community, while its fame as
a summer resort annually brings its residents within reach of far
influences and wide horizons.

[Illustration: COOPERSTOWN FROM MT. VISION]

All lovers of Cooperstown know a favorite summer walk that passes from
the village up the hill on the eastern border of the lake, rises beyond
Prospect Rock, winds over a wooded summit, descends, turns westerly
through a shady grove, crosses a farm, then threads a stretch of densest
foliage, when suddenly one emerges upon a clearing, and unexpectedly
beholds, glittering far below, the waters of the Glimmerglass, with the
homes and spires