James Fenimore Cooper | Page 9

that post; laborious, upright, firm, yet patient and kindly by nature. His training of the boys was excellent. Saturdays were given to religious lessons, and he paid careful but quiet attention to their morals and manners." From his sister Hannah's teaching Judge Cooper's youngest son went to Master Cory's school. It was kept in "one of those tasteless buildings that afflict all new countries," and here was called the "Academy." It served Cooperstown in timely ways for religious and political meetings; public courts were held here, and a ball was given now and then under its roof. As to the school, time and incident brought out a taste for music in the pupils of Master Cory. It seems that Judge Cooper had brought from Philadelphia a large upright organ of imposing appearance and power, which he placed in his manor-house hall. Its arrival in the village made a summer's sensation. When put up and adjusted, a rehearsal of country dances, reels, and more serious music came floating through the broad door and ample windows of Otsego Hall into Master Cory's domain, the Academy, which stood in the adjoining street. As, with magic effect the strains of "Hail Columbia" poured into the schoolroom, Master Cory skilfully met a moment of open rebellion with these words: "Boys, that organ is a remarkable instrument. You never heard the like of it before. I give you half an hour's intermission. Go into the street and listen to the music!"
[Illustration: COOPERSTOWN PRIOR TO 1835.]
These "Academy boys" were ambitious; each annual exhibition was crowded, to listen to the speeches "of Coriolanus, Iago, Brutus, and Cassius" by "raw lads from the village and adjoining farms," in all the bravery of local militia uniform--blue coats "faced with red, matross swords, and hats of '76." On such an occasion James Cooper, then a child of eight years, became the pride and admiration of Master Cory for his moving recitation of the "Beggar's Petition"--acting the part of an old man wrapped in a faded cloak and leaning over his staff. It is recorded that James had the fine, healthy pie-appetite usual to his age, for, says the record, when his eldest brother "was showing the sights of New York to the youngest, he took him to a pasty-shop, and, after watching the boy eat pasty after pasty, said to him: 'Jim, eat all you want, but remember that each one costs the old man a lot.'" Pasty then outbalanced property for "Jim."
In due time the lad outgrew the Academy's instruction, but from boy to-man he never outgrew Master Cory's affection, nor his own for the dear home scenes on the shores of the "Haunted Lake," which he was so soon to leave for his first important schooling. The books he wrote later tell how he never forgot the howl of the wolf across the icy field of Otsego on cold winter nights, the peculiar wail of the sharp-toothed panther in the quiet wood roads, nor the familiar springs where the deer lingered latest. One autumn day, while still a pupil under Master Cory's charge, the future author of "The Pioneers" was at play in his father's garden, when suddenly he was surprised by a deer which came leaping over the fence from the street, almost brushing his face as it bounded away into the pine woods at the back of the house. This incident he often related to his children.
It was not long before this youngest son was sent from home. The eventful journey to Albany was made in the care of a near and worthy farmer, "who was carrying toward the Hudson a load of wheat from the fields of Otsego." They went over the fine turnpike,--the great highway of that day,--"just finished from the Hudson to Cherry Valley." The child had heard much of this wonder of roads from the gentlemen at his father's table who were interested in it, and he was eager to see its toll-gates and stone bridges. After leaving "the corduroy tracks" leading to it from Cooperstown, the famous turnpike burst upon the gratified schoolboy's vision. As they trotted slowly along the farmer pointed out, among-other marvels of the way, "a tavern for every mile" of the sixty between Albany and Lake Otsego. A long-train of farmers' wagons, filled with the precious wheat, was slowly rolling eastward, passing-emigrant wagons of "growing families" and household gear moving westward to the great lake countries. All this delighted the boy of nine, who was finally set down at the door of St. Peter's Rectory at Albany, New York. Here for four years he became one of the four young pupils of the Rev. Thomas Ellison, rector of the church. Dr. Ellison was an Englishman and a graduate of Oxford--a rare scholar and a king's man. From him