of Cooper's works, by the Reverend Dr. W.W.
Battershall of St. Peter's Church in Albany, New York, the present
rector, and successor of Doctor Ellison, Cooper's boyhood instructor.
Then the Rev. Ralph Birdsall, rector of the author's "little parish
church," spoke of Fenimore Cooper's church-yard home: "A marble slab
that bears no praise for fame or virtue; only a simple cross, symbol of
the faith in which he lived and died, and upon which he based his hopes
of immortality." The soldier lying near, brought from the field of
honor; the author's old neighbors, who exchanged with him in life the
friendly nod; hands that were calloused with the axe and shovel, and
Judge Temple's aged slave in narrow home--all sleeping beneath the same
sward and glancing shadows are not less honored now than is the plain,
unpolished slab of stone, bearing two dates,--of birth and entrance into
the life eternal of James Fenimore Cooper.

On his airy height of the "Cooper Memorial," gleaming white through the
lakewood slope of Mt. Vision, wondrous Leatherstocking stands, a rare
tribute to simple, uplifting goodness. Clad in his hunting-shirt,
deerskin cap, and leggings, his powder-horn and bullet-pouch swung over
his shoulder, his dog Hector at his feet, looking up with speaking
expression into the fine, wise, honest face of his master, stands Natty,
gazing over all the lake he loved so well.

[Illustration: LAKE OTSEGO.]

---- o'er no sweeter lake
Shall morning break or noon-cloud sail;
No fairer face than thine shall take
The sunset's golden veil.

J.G. WHITTIER.

"Cooper had no predecessor and no successor in his own field of
fiction; he stood alone,--he was a creator, and his 'Natty' will stand
forever as the most original of pioneer characters," wrote Henry M.
Alden.

[Illustration: LEATHERSTOCKING.]

With Rev. Mr. Birdsall, many think the time has come when the fame of
Fenimore Cooper demands a world-given memorial in Cooperstown. A
lifelike statue from an _artist's_ chisel should show the "'prose poet
of the silent woods and stormy seas' seated, pen in hand, gazing
dreamily for inspiration over the Glimmerglass, where the phantom
creatures of his genius brood." Let it stand, a new-world literary
shrine, in the square fronting the Old-Hall home site, which northward
commands a sweeping view of his "little lake" and a side glimpse of
lofty Leatherstocking of the tree-tops--not far away.

[Illustration: LE