The chaplains of the Archbishop exchanged glances of pleased anticipation. What they had heard suggested that Cooperstown kept a live Indian on view as a symbol of its history and romance, just as Rome maintains always its pair of wolves at the Capitoline hill. The rector tried in vain to divert their thoughts toward other objects. When the carriage rolled through the Cooper Grounds the chaplains insisted upon seeing the Indian. There was nothing to do but to point out J. Q. A. Ward's sculptured Indian which stands in the midst of the park, a replica of the one in Central Park, New York, and better mounted, altogether a fine work of art, but—
"Oh, I say," exclaimed one of the chaplains, as they looked at one another in deep disappointment, "Not alive; not alive!"
During the Archbishop's stay in Cooperstown he attended daily services in Christ Church, and enjoyed visiting points of interest on the lake and in the village. That a souvenir of the visit might be preserved the Archbishop and the Bishop were photographed together on the front porch of Fernleigh. Apparently some prosaic adviser had represented to the Archbishop that his usual costume would make him undesirably conspicuous in America, for during his tour of this country the Primate of all England abandoned the picturesque every-day dress of an English bishop, with its knickerbockers and gaiters, in favor of the international hideousness of pantaloons. At the time of the photograph Bishop Potter was wearing leggings, having just returned from riding, so that the two bishops appeared to have exchanged costumes.
The Archbishop with Bishop Potter
The Archbishop desired not to have anything like a public reception, but it was intimated to a few neighbors that they would be welcomed at Fernleigh on a certain evening. At this gathering the most regal figure, who, in the ancient finery of her apparel, wearing a headdress topped with an ostrich plume, may be said to have eclipsed the most distinguished guests, was Susan Augusta Cooper, granddaughter of the novelist, representing, as it were, the very foundation of the village. Miss Cooper was one of the most characteristic survivals of the old régime in Cooperstown. She lived next door to Fernleigh in Byberry Cottage, which had been built as a home for the two unmarried daughters of the novelist shortly after the burning of Otsego Hall, and largely out of material rescued from it, including the oaken doors, the balusters of the stairway, and two bookcases from Cooper's library which were transferred to the cottage. Susan Augusta Cooper took up her residence there with her mother and aunts in 1875, and when she died in 1915 had been the sole occupant of the cottage for many years. She was a type of old-fashioned neighborliness, and made a specialty of ministration to the needs of sick and poor throughout the village. One frequently met her on some errand of mercy; the basket on her arm contained good things prepared with her own hands for the needy; the large and stately figure had grown rather mountainous with advancing years, and the dignity of her slow and measured pace suggested the steady progress of a ship moving in calm waters. The solemnity of her countenance, and the grave manner of her carefully chosen words, were lovably familiar to those who knew her warm and generous heart.
When Miss Cooper's health failed she was obliged to undergo an operation which left her a cripple, unable to get about except in a wheel-chair propelled by an attendant. Always a faithful communicant of Christ Church, her disability occasioned what came to be almost a parochial ceremony, for when Miss Cooper made her communion she was wheeled to the chancel steps, and the priest came forward to administer to her, while the other communicants respectfully waited until she had withdrawn.