e began to build, and
from that time onward he continued to buy pieces of the ground as often
as they were for sale, if he could spare the money; until in 1854 the
whole block was his own.

At first his intention was merely to establish and endow just such an
evening school as he had felt the need of when he was an apprentice boy
in New York. But long before he was ready to begin, there were free
evening schools as well as day schools in every ward of the city, and he
therefore resolved to found something, he knew not what, which should
impart to apprentices and young mechanics a knowledge of the arts and
sciences underlying the ordinary trades, such as drawing, chemistry,
mechanics, and various branches of natural philosophy.

While he was revolving this scheme in his mind he happened to meet in
the street a highly accomplished physician who had just returned from a
tour in Europe, and who began at once to describe in glowing words the
Polytechnic School of Paris, wherein mechanics and engineers receive the
instruction which their professions require. The doctor said that young
men came from all parts of France and lived on dry bread, just to attend
the Polytechnic.

He was no longer in doubt; he entered at once upon the realization of
his project. Beginning to build in 1854, he erected a massive structure
of brick, stone, and iron, six stories in height, and fire-proof in
every part, at a cost of seven hundred thousand dollars, the savings of
his lifetime up to that period. Five years after, he delivered the
complete structure, with the hearty consent of his wife, his children,
and his son-in-law, into the hands of trustees, thus placing it beyond
his own control forever. Two thousand pupils at once applied for
admission. From that day to this the Institute has continued from year
to year to enlarge its scope and improve its methods. Mr. Cooper added
something every year to its resources, until his entire gift to the
public amounted to about two millions of dollars.

Peter Cooper lived to the great age of ninety-two. No face in New York
was more familiar to the people, and surely none was so welcome to them
as the benign, placid, beaming countenance of "Old Peter Cooper." The
roughest cartman, the most reckless hack driver would draw up his horses
and wait without a word of impatience, if it was Peter Cooper's quaint
old gig that blocked the way. He was one of the most uniformly happy
persons I have ever met, and