He listened with fixed attention; and now and then threw out suggestions of cure such as are not unfrequent with cultivated minds.
The great characteristics of his intellect were now even more conspicuous than before. Not a murmur escaped his lips; conviction of his extreme illness wrought no alteration of features; he gave no expression of despondency; his tone and his manner were equally dignified, cordial, and natural. It was his happiness to be blessed with a family around him whose greatest gratification was to supply his every want, and a daughter for a companion in his pursuits, who was his intelligent amanuensis and correspondent as well as indefatigable nurse.[1]
I forbear enlarging on matters too professional for present detail. During the night after my arrival he sustained an attack of severe fainting, which convinced me still further of his great personal weakness. An ennobling philosophy, however, gave him support, and in the morning he had again been refreshed by a sleep of some few hours' duration. I renewed to him and to his family the hopes and the discouragements in his case. Never was information of so grave a cast received by any individual in a calmer spirit. He said little as to his prospects of recovery. Upon my taking leave of him, however, shortly after, in the morning, I am convinced from his manner that he shared my apprehensions of a fatal termination of his disorder. Nature, however strong in her gifted child, had now her healthful rights largely invaded. His constitutional buoyancy and determination, by leading him to slight that distant and thorough attention demanded by primary symptoms, doubtless contributed to their subsequent aggravation.
I shall say but a few words more on this agonizing topic. The letters which I received, after my return home, communicated at times some cheering facts of renovation, but on the whole, discouraging demonstrations of augmenting illness, and lessened hope, were their prominent characteristics. A letter to me from his son-in-law, of the 14th of September, announced: "Mr. Cooper died, apparently without much pain, to-day at half-past one, P.M., leaving his family, although prepared by his gradual failure, in deep affliction. He would have been sixty-two years old to-morrow."
A life of such uniform and unparalleled excellence and service, a career so brilliant and honorable, closed in a befitting manner, and was crowned by a death of quiet resignation. Conscious of his approaching dissolution, his intelligence seemed to glow with increased fulness as his prostrated frame yielded by degrees to the last summons. It is familiarly known to his most intimate friends, that for some considerable period prior to his fatal illness, he appropriated liberal portions of his time to the investigation of scriptural truths, and that his convictions were ripe in Christian doctrines. With assurances of happiness in the future, he graciously yielded up his spirit to the disposal of its Creator. His death, which must thus have been the beginning of a serene and more blessed life to him, is universally regarded as a national loss.
Will you allow me to add a few words to this letter, already perhaps of undue extent. It has been my gratification during a life of some duration to have become personally acquainted with many eminent characters in the different walks of professional and literary avocation. I never knew an individual more thoroughly imbued with higher principles of action than Mr. Cooper: he acted upon principles, and fully comprehended the principles upon which he acted. Casual observers could scarcely, at times, understand and appreciate his motives or conduct. An independence of character worthy of the highest respect, and a natural boldness of temper which led him to a frank, emphatic, and intrepid utterance of his thoughts and sentiments, were uncongenial to that large class of people, who, from the want of moral courage, or a feeble physical temperament, habitually conform to public opinion, and endeavor to conciliate the world. Mr. Cooper was one of the most genuine Americans in his tone of mind, in manly self-reliance, in sympathy with the scenery, the history, and the constitution of his country, which it has ever been my lot to know. His genius was American, fresh, vigorous, independent, and devoted to native subjects. The opposition he met with on his return from Europe, in consequence of his patriotic, though, perhaps, injudicious attempts to point out the faults and duties of his countrymen, threw him reluctantly on the defensive, and sometimes gave an antagonistic manner to his intercourse; but, whoever, recognizing his intellectual superiority, and respecting his integrity of purpose, met him candidly, in an open, cordial and generous spirit, soon found in Mr. Cooper an honest man, and a thorough patriot.
How strongly is impressed upon my memory his personal appearance, so often witnessed during his rambles in Broadway and amidst the haunts of this busy population. His phrenological development might challenge comparison with that of the most favored of mortals. His manly figure, high, prominent brow, clear and fine gray eye, and royal bearing, revealed the man of will and intelligence. His intellectual hardihood was remarkable. He worked upon a novel with the patient industry of a man of business, and set down every fact of costume, action, expression, local feature, and detail of maritime operations or woodland experience, with a kind of consciousness and precision that produced a Flemish exactitude of detail, while in portraying action, he seemed to catch by virtue of an eagle glance and an heroic temperament, the very spirit of his occasion and convey it to the reader's nerves and heart, as well as to his understanding. Herein Mr. Cooper was a man of unquestionable originality. As to his literary services, some idea may be formed of the consideration in which they are held by the almost countless editions of many of his works in his own country, and their circulation abroad by translations into almost every living tongue.
I may add a word or two on the extent of his sympathies with humanity. What a love he cherished for superior talents in every ennobling pursuit in life—how deep an interest he felt in the fortunes of his scientific and literary friends—what gratification he enjoyed in the physical inquiries of Dekay and Le Conte, the muse of Halleck and of Bryant, the painting of Cole, the sculpture of Greenough! Dunlap, were he speaking, might tell you of his gratuities to the unfortunate playwright and the dramatic performer. With the mere accumulators of money—those golden calves whose hearts are as devoid of emotion as their brains of the faculty of cogitation—he held no congenial communion at any time: they could not participate in the fruition of his pastime; and he felt in himself an innate superiority in the gifts with which nature had endowed him. He was ever vigilant, a keen observer of men and things; and in conversation frank and emphatic. It was a gratifying spectacle to encounter him with old Col. Trumbull, the historical painter, descanting on the many excellencies of Cole's pencil, in the delineation of American forest-scenery—a theme the richest in the world for Mr. Cooper's contemplation. A Shylock with his money-bags never glutted over his possessions with a happier feeling than did these two eminent individuals—the venerable Colonel with his patrician dignity, and Cooper with his somewhat aristocratic bearing, yet democratic sentiment; the one fruitful with the glories of the past, the other big with the stirring events of his country's progress, in the refinement of arts, and national power. Trumbull was one of the many old men I knew who delighted in Cooper's writings, and who in conversation dwelt upon his captivating genius.
To his future biographer Mr. Cooper has left the pleasing duty rightly to estimate the breadth and depth of his powerful intellect—psychologically to investigate the development and functions of that cerebral organ, which for so many years, with such rapid succession and variety, poured out the creations of poetic thought and descriptive illustration—to determine the value of his capacious mind by the influence which, in the dawn of American literature, it has exercised, in rearing the intellectual fabric of his country's greatness—and to unfold the secret springs of those disinterested acts of charity to the poor and needy, which signalized his conduct as a professor of religious truth, and a true exampler of the Christian graces. He has unquestionably done more to make known to the transatlantic world his country, her scenery, her characteristics, her aboriginal inhabitants, her history, than all preceding writers. His death may well be pronounced a national calamity. By common consent he long occupied an enviable place—the highest rank in American literature. To adopt the quaint phraseology of old Thomas Fuller, the felling of so mighty an oak must needs cause the increase of much underwood. Who will fill the void occasioned by his too early departure from among us, time alone must determine. With much consideration, I remain,
Dear sir, yours most truly,
JOHN W. FRANCIS.