r,--a basket of
fruit,--then at his race-mate, and accepted the challenge, but not on
even terms. It was not enough for a sailor simply to outrun a landsman;
he could do more. A little girl stood near, her bright face eager with
watching for the fray. Cooper turned quickly and caught her up in his
arms, and with the pride and muscle of an athlete exclaimed, "I'll carry
her with me and beat you!" Away they flew, Cooper with his laughing
burden upon his shoulders; one corner was turned, and the excited crowd
saw with surprise James Cooper with his small rider keeping pace with
the other flying youth. Another, and the other corners were soon passed;
both sprang like race-horses near the end of the course, but Cooper,
with his little black-eyed girl aloft and the perspiration pouring down
his manly brow and cheeks, was the first to reach the mark, and amidst
such cheers and hurrahs as only pioneers can freely give, and as freely
enjoy. The fruit he had won, but soon it was shared by all around. That
little girl, later the wife of Captain William Wilson, often told the
story of her ride on pleasant James Cooper's shoulders.

[Illustration: OTSEGO HALL GATES.]

While never a rhymester, Cooper, in his early manhood and at rare times
after, did write occasional sentimental and comic verses that betokened
both clever imagination and other merit. Into the _Otsego Herald_
printing-office a poor epileptic ballad-singer came one day to ask help
from a group of gentlemen A purse was made up for him, but he, looking
among them, said if one of them would write for him "a few
verses--something new"--they would be worth more than the silver given
him. Young Cooper offered to try, and asked on what subject he should
write "There's nothing sells like ballads," was the reply. So the ballad
was promised; and some thirty or more pathetic verses were written at
once, about the small frontier village recently burnt by troops under
Colonel Murray during the close of the last war with England. This
ballad bore the high-sounding title of "Buffalo Burnt, or the Dreadful
Conflagration." It won such success among the farm-house gentry that
the singer returned for another ballad and obtained it. Some years later
Mr. Cooper was invited to a tea-party in a near village, when a young
lady, led to the piano for music, began to sing, much to the author's
disturbing amazement, "Buffalo Burnt, or the Dreadful Conflagration."

[Illustration: BUFFALO BURNT.]