AN
EULOGIUM
TO THE MEMORY OF
Dr. SAMUEL COOPER,
DELIVERED, BY APPOINTMENT,
BEFORE THE
PHILADELPHIA MEDICALSOCIETY,
ON THE FOURTH DAY OF MARCH, 1799.
By CHARLES CALDWELL, A.M. M.D.
A MEMBER OF THE SOCIETY.
PHILADELPHIA:
PRINTED BY HENRY TUCKNISS,
FOR MATHEW CAREY, NO. 118, MARKET-STREET.
1799.

Extract from the Minutes of the Philadelphia Medical 
Society.
March 4th, 1799.
"RESOLVED, That the thanks of this Society
be presented to Dr. CHARLES CALDWELL, for the
eloquent, judicious, and appropriate Eulogium, deli-
vered by him, this day, upon the character of our de-
ceased friend and colleague Dr. SAMUEL COOPER.
And, Resolved further, That a copy of it be re-
quested for immediate publication."
GEORGE LEE, SECRETARY.

AN 
EULOGIUM, &c.
Gentlemen of the Philadelphia Medical Society,
TO embalm, by offerings of tributary monuments,
the memory of the wife, the valiant, the good,
and the great, is a custom co-eval with the history of
man. Nor is this custom less honourable and praise-
worthy, from its nature, than venerable, from the cir-
cumstance of its high antiquity. Whether we view it,
in its relationship to the cultivation of private virtues,
or to the promotion of public good, its objects are
highly interesting and important. They are, to fan in
our breasts the flame of friendships threatened with
extinction by the damps of death, to add perpetuity
to sentiments of gratitude for distinguished services,
to cherish in our bosoms a love of exalted worth, and
to allure us on to virtuous conduct, through the me-
dium of our constitutional propensity to imitation,
and by the powerful motives of emulation and the
love of praise.
For these purposes have the rude but energetic
songs of the bards and minstrels, of old, resound-
ed—for these purposes have temples and other archi-
tectural monuments been erected in honour of de-
parted heroes—for these purposes has the chissel of
the skilful statuary been plied—for these purposes has 

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the pencil of the painter been exercised—for these
purposes have the pens of the historian and biogra-
pher been employed—and, for these purposes has the
voice of the eulogist been heard—Allow me to add,
for these purposes have we assembled on the present
interesting, but mournful, occasion!—
Death, my fellow members, has, not long since, in-
vaded our institution, and swept off one of the most
distinguished of our colleagues!—The name of Coop-
er is still alike dear and familiar to most of you,
though he, who bore that name, has sunk, with all
his virtues, to an untimely grave!—But I renounce
the unfounded thought, and retract the unwelcome
and injurious assertion!—Though our inestimable col-
league has himself, disappeared, it is not so with his
numerous virtues! They still remain, a guardian con-
stellation-—a glittering galaxy, to light his surviving
friends, on the dark and intricate journey of life!—
Thus were the pious sages of the east, originally
apprised of the birth of the Messiah, and afterwards
conducted on their way to do him homage, by a
bright and supernumerary star in the heavens!—
Though snatched away by a sudden and unexpected
stroke, this amiable young philosopher has not left us
without a fair and authentic testimonial of his affec-
tion and regard! We have even become his heirs—
He has bounteously bequeathed to us his character
and example—a legacy, as far superior to the ordina-
ry bequests of men, as moral excellence surpasses the
value of perishable matter; or, as the beauty of intel-
lect surpasses the beauty of material objects! Mine is
the melancholy, yet not unwelcome talk, to examine 

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well the contents of this legacy; to endeavour to
appreciate each separate article of the treasure it em-
braces, and exhibit a detailed statement of the whole,
that you may, then, with the more facility, arrive at an
estimate of its real worth—To drop the language of
metaphor, I am called on, by your suffrages, to speak
what I know, respecting the general character of our
deceased friend.
As the field, on which I am about to enter, abounds
with the choicest flowers and fruits of intellect and
morality, you will pardon me should I leave it with
much reluctance. But it is not more rich and beauti-
ful, than extensive and capacious. For though our
friend and colleague did not, in age, complete his
twenty-seventh year, in scientific acquirements, in rec-
titude of principle, and in acts of benevolence and
virtue, he had already attained an advanced longevi-
ty. Let my reluctance, then, to lose sight of a pros-
pect so fair and enchanting, as that exhibited by the
character of the gentleman, whose worth we com-
memorate, be received as an apology, for any unin-
tentional trespass I may commit on your patience.
In your late resolution to perpetuate, by an eulogi-
um, the memory of Dr. Cooper, you have done e-
qual honour to me, to yourselves, to genius, to sci-
ence, to morality, to religion, and to the healing art.
You have done honour to me, by the appointment
which your flattering partiality has assigned me: you
have done honour to yourselves, by avowing your un-
alterable attachment to distinguished excellence: you 

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have done honour to genius, by an attempt to pre-
serve from the shades of oblivion, one who possessed
an uncommon share of this first of endowments: you
have done honour to science, by paying due respect
to the memory of one, who would shortly have been
ranked among its brightest ornaments: you have
done honour to morality, by doing homage to a cha- 
racter formed on the basis of its purest principles:
you have done honour to religion, by a respectful
tribute to the worth of a young philosopher, whose
life was a series of conduct conformable to its pre-
cepts: and you have done honour to the healing art,
by making honourable and worthy mention of one,
who had spent many toilsome years in its cultivation,
and whose talents and industry would have raised
him, in time, to a level with the most exalted medi-
cal characters of the age.
Dr. Cooper was a native of the state of Maryland.
He was born in Talbot county, on the Eastern Shore,
on the 8th of September, 1772. Amid the fields and
forests, in the neighbourhood of this place, did he
imbibe, from early observation, the rudiments of that
knowledge of nature, which he afterwards cultivated
with such industry and success. Though himself the
only surviving individual of his family, he, notwith-
standing, retained and exhibited, through the whole
of his life, the most respectful and affectionate attach-
ment to the place of his birth, being also the
place where the relics of his forefathers and kinsmen
were deposited. Respecting the parentage of our de-
ceased colleague, my knowledge is extremely limited
and defective. As his pre-eminent modesty kept him 

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for ever silent on subjects that bore relation to him-
self, I never, during the whole of our acquaintance,
received from him, a single article of information re-
specting his descent and family connections. I well
know, however, that he possessed neither the right
nor the inclination, to avail himself of that most empty
and unmeaning of all boasts, a long and splendid line
of ancestry. As far as I have been able to learn, his
parents were remarkable for nothing except their ho-
nesty, their industry, and the general decorum and
rectitude of their conduct. No uncommon blaze of
parental genius, no glitterring pomp of accidental
riches, no towering pride of family alliances, no
lengthened catalogue of ancestral greatness, contri-
buted to add an artificial lustre to the birth of our
young philosopher. Like the fair star of the morning,
springing from the bosom of the darkest hour, he rose
to what he was, from the lap of obscurity. Nor let
the haughty and the high-born, those slaves to conspi-
cuous descent, and titled greatness, consider his re-
spectability and merit as diminished by this—Let such
remember, that to the humble valley, no less than to
the cloud-capt mountain, are many of our most beau-
teous and majestic streams indebted for their origin.
Who, in gazing on the brilliancy of the diamond,
can suffer the darkness of the matrix, where its beau-
ties were matured, to throw, in imagination, an en-
vious shadow over its lustre?—Or who, on surveying
the majesty of the oak, that exults in its strength, and
towers aloft, the glory of the forest, can consider its
grandeur as, in any measure, diminished by the small-
ness of the acorn from which it sprang? 

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As my acquaintance with our fellow-member,
whose worth we commemorate, did not commence
till his arrival at manhood, I am disqualified for being
a minute biographer of his earlier years. I am una-
ble to ascend, historically, to the period of his infan-
cy, when his observation was gradually awakening to
the beauties, the harmonies, and the contrasts of na-
ture, I will not undertake to portray to you, from
positive anecdote, the impressive wonder with which
he, at first, viewed the general fabric of visible crea-
ation—the delight he derived from an immediate ex-
amination of surrounding bodies—nor the silent rap-
ture, with which he surveyed the distant expanse of
the starry heavens! His sensations, when first intro-
duced to an interview with the more bold and sublime
scenes of nature—when the heavens were involved in
a dark and tumultuous covering of clouds—when all
nature seemed immersed in a depth of expectation and
solicitude, on account of the impending elementary
convulsion—when, at length, the fierce lightning be-
gan to dart, in all directions, its dreadful coruscations,
and the mingled roar of tempest and of thunder to be,
every moment, reiterated in his ears—the sensations,
I say, of our young philosopher, on such an interest-
ing occasion as this, constitute a subject of which it is
not my design to attempt a description. Allow me,
however, to observe, that they must have been such,
as could be experienced only, by a young mind of
superior strength and consummate sensibility—a mind
exquisitely formed for the enjoyment of that pleasure,
arising from the contemplation of objects of grandeur
and sublimity. I can, at least, very confidently as-

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sert, that, when arrived at manhood, Dr. Cooper,
possessed a mind peculiarly adapted to the enjoyment
of this superior description of pleasure—a mind, form-
ed to listen, with that of the minstrel of Beattie,
"with pleasing dread, to the deep roar of the wide-
"weltering waves;" or, with that of Shakespear, to
exult in the whirlwind, and enjoy the storm!
The progress, which our deceased friend made, in
the cultivation and evolution of his intellectual pow-
ers, are points, which I will, in like manner, pass
over in silence. I will not attempt to trace the ex-
pansion of his mind through all its infinitude of gra-
dations from his early infancy, when it was but little
—perhaps, I might even say, nothing more than a
sensitive germ, till that period of maturity in which it
became capable of the most glowing conception, and
the most powerful exertion of philosophic thought.
In vain would I attempt to point to the time, when
his opening imagination commenced its sportive ex-
cursions, to collect materials for its future scenes of
mimic creation—and, in vain, to the time, when his
understanding began to discern and discriminate, and
his reason to unravel, by degrees, its slender and in-
tricate thread of induction. These are themes of
refinement, which I am obliged to resign to a better
informed, a more metaphysical, and more descriptive
pen.
The particulars of Dr. Cooper's early scholastic
education, in the country, are wholly unknown to 
me. Being unacquainted with himself, at this interest-
ing period of life, and having, since, had no know-
B

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ledge of any of his teachers, patrons, or school-fel-
lows, I am constrained to leave a blank in this part of
his biography. If we may judge, however, of his cha-
racter, as a student, at this, from that which he bore at-
a subsequent period, he was equally distinguished for
the intensity of his application to study, the amiability
of his manners, the decorum of his general deportment,
and the accuracy and rapidity of his literary acquire-
ments. It may not be amiss, however, to observe,
that there, not unfrequently, exists between the early
and subsequent periods of the lives of illustrious cha-
racters, the most striking dissimilitude both with re-
gard to their habits of study, and the evidences of
talents which they exhibit to the world. Thus, even
the celebrated Dean Swift was once considered by his
school-fellows and teachers, as an incorrigible block-
head; the supposed stupidity of the great Newton
himself, the illustrious father of astronomic philoso-
phy, procured for him, on first entering the universi-
ty, the nick-name of "The Calf;" and the afterwards
laborious and learned Gibbon, was pointed at, in the
earlier part of his life, as a perfect paragon of idle-
ness and dissipation.
When of feeble and tender age, and wholly inade-
quate to the talk of self-direction, young Cooper had
the misfortune to be deprived of both his parents.
On the occurrence of this event, our minor was in-
trusted to the guardianship of Mr. John Needles, a
gentleman, whose name alone, constitutes the only
article in his history, respecting which I possess any in-
formation. Thus circumstanced, before precept and
example had fully formed and established his princi-

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ples of conduct—before observation and experience
had furnished him with knowledge, or reason had
lighted up her lamp for the direction of his steps,
the situation of our young friend was critical and
perilous. Suddenly cast on the fathomless and tur-
bulent ocean of life, with the syren-voice of dissipa-
tion and pleasure, for ever melodiously vibrating in
his ear, and no venerable Mentor to conduct him, in
safety, to the wished-for Utica of virtue, dark and du-
bious, at best, were his prospects of future celebrity
and happiness! But no situation, however perilous
and unfavourable, in appearance, can justify our sub-
mission to a spirit of despondency. Fortune is ever
changeful, and may, in the ceaseless revolution of
events, give birth to something unexpectedly auspici-
ous. Such was her conduct to our young philoso-
pher. Though she appeared to frown, malignantly, on
his earlier years, she favoured him with her smiles, at
a subsequent period. In his passage through life, he
acquired, by the mildness of his disposition, the at-
tractive gentleness and modesty of his manners, and
the general rectitude of his deportment, friends and
patrons, whose conversation and advice, supplied, in
a great measure, the want of parental admonition and
example.
In the year eighty-six, being, then, in the fourteenth
year of his age, young Cooper was removed, by his
guardian, to Philadelphia, for the purpose of complet-
ing his classical education. Here he had the good for-
tune to be placed under the auspices of a chartered
scholastic institution, the most ancient of the kind in
the state, yet not more venerable, from its age, than 

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respectable, from its good government and extensive
utility. I allude to the Friends' public grammar
school, taught, at that time, by Mr. Robert Proud,
a gentleman, whose qualifications, as a teacher, can
receive no additional respectability or lustre, by any
thing that can result from the efforts of my pen.
Mr. Proud is a character, whose unaccommodating
sincerity and attachment to truth, are well known to
prevent him alike from censuring unjustly the faults
of his enemies, or bestowing unmerited praises on
the excellencies of his friends. Nor is he, perhaps,
second to any one, in his powers for the discovery of
youthful merit. To acquire the particular friendship
of such a teacher, and to be spoken of by him in
terms of the highest applause, must be alike grateful
to the feelings of a pupil, and evidential of his being
possessed of superior worth. Such a pledge was it the
good fortune of our colleague to receive and retain.
Mr. Proud was his inalterable friend when living—
He faithfully watched and recorded, in his memory,
his numerous virtues as they opened, and does not
cease to dwell on them now, as a just and grateful tri-
bute to his memory when dead.
Dr. Cooper continued a pupil in the grammar
school, in Philadelphia, till some time in the autumn
of the year ninety. During this period he was equal-
ly distinguished for his studious habits, his decorum
of behaviour, and the ease and rapidity of his advance-
ment in the various branches of scholastic literature.
Besides the acquisition of a very liberal acquaintance
with geography, mathematics, history, and natural
philosophy, he became so perfectly master of the La- 

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tin, French, and Greek languages (particularly of
the two former) as to write and converse in them
with elegance and ease. I believe I am correct in
asserting, that, in point of scholastic and philosophical
acquirements, he stood alone, the pride, the boast (I
had almost said) the idol, of the institution!
But the resources of his genius were, by no means,
expended on the study of the classics. Possessed of an
imagination towering, active, fertile, and creative—
an imagination bright and fervid as as sun-beam, and co-
extensive in its range with the land-marks of creation,
his mind was not to be imprisoned in the narrow cloister
of scholastic learning. With a native and strong predi-
lection for works of fancy, he faithfully devoted his
hours of amusement to the cultivation of an intimate ac-
quaintance with the writings of the poets. No puerile
attachment to giddy and unmeaning sports—no dislo-
cated propensity to the idle amusements and dissipation
of the times—no criminal pursuit of forbidden plea-
sures, ever diverted his attention from its favourite
channel. Instead of dexterously spinning the well-
poised top, or following, with his eye, the polished
marble rolling along the pavements of our streets, he
chose to pursue, with the illustrious Newton, the hea-
venly bodies revolving on high, in their spacious or-
bits. Instead of consuming his hours in the lap of
apathy and idleness—instead of participating, with a
circle of dissolute companions, in shameful and peril-
ous scenes of immorality and vice, he chose to soar,
with his beloved Milton, through the haunts of angels,
to the throne of the Deity—to descend, in imagina-
tion, to the infernal regions, and survey the glooms, 

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the torments, and the horrors of the place, in compa-
ny with Homer, Virgil, and Fenelon—or to unravel
the mazes of the nature and character of man, with
Horace, Juvenal, Shakespear, and Pope. But his
amusements did not consist solely in traversing the su-
perior regions of poetry; he would oftentimes, in his
more gay and sportive moments, descend to listen to
the shrill and piercing notes of the harp of Gray—to
enjoy the melody of the tuneful Waller's lute—to
dwell enraptured on the voice of the muse of Thom-
son—or stray enchanted through the fairy regions of
the descriptive Spencer!
Such were the elegant and rational amusements,
which occupied, during the earlier part of his life, the
leisure hours of him whose virtues we have met to
commemorate. But he did not remain satisfied with
cultivating, and regaling his taste for the poetical
beauties contained in the writings of others. Such
an end was, by far, too groveling for his literary am-
bition. Nor was that ambition destitute of the aid
of talents, fully adequate to its gratification. Born
with a genius almost equally competent to every spe-
cies of literary exertion, he, not unfrequently, indulge
ed his imagination in the most chaste and elegant ef-
fusions of poetry. Many of these productions, of our
young bard and philosopher, were published, under
fictitious names, in the different prints of the city,
and were sought after, with avidity, by readers of
taste. As a farther evidence of his acquirements in
literature, it is but justice to observe, that several of
these were clothed in pure, correct, and classical Latin.

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It will hereafter appear, that, at a subsequent peri-
od, when time had fully evolved his muse's pinions,
and farther experience had emboldened her flights,
he gave birth to several poems, which might have
been owned, without a blush, by the pen of a Dry-
den, a Pope, or a Darwin. Nor were his talents in
writing, confined to poetry alone; his prose composi-
tions were no less remarkable for exterior beauty and
substantial merit.* Their excellence consisted in va-
riety of matter and richness of sentiment, combined
with perspicuity, elegance, and energy of expression.
His talents for descriptive narration were particularly
bold, glowing, and happy. Here it was that he ap-
peared to tower above himself. Having command of
a style highly animated, but not extravagant; rich,
but not exuberant; lofty, but not bombastic; figu-
rative, yet neither studied nor affected; and full, yet
not degenerating into superfluous verbosity—he pos-
sessed, in a degree to which few writers have preten-
sions, the art of giving to his subject the figure, the
colouring, I had almost said, the motions of life.—
Such were the effects of studious habits, contracted at
an early period of life, on the mental accomplish-
ments of him whose premature death we so justly de-
* In corroboration of this fact, I had the pleasure to receive,
by request, from Dr. Rush, the following note, which I here sub-
join by special permission.
"So high was the opinion entertained of Dr. Cooper's correct
"taste and judgment in the English language, that one of the
"oldest of his preceptors in medicine, Dr. Rush, submitted the last
"volume of his Medical Inquiries and Observations, to his criti-
"cism, before he committed it to the press."

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plore. While others, of his age, were engaged in
pursuit of evanescent pleasures, in parties, at balls,
at concerts, or at the theatre, he, in his closet, sur-
rounded by the writings of poets, philosophers, and
sages, and zealous in the investigation of some favour-
ite subject, was in the actual enjoyment of that more
rational and permanent pleasure, arising from the con-
templation of truth, and the cultivation of the several
powers of the mind. They, like the gaudy, sportive,
and improvident tribes, that hover around the tempt-
ing, but perishable sweets of a flower, remained con-
tented with the enjoyment of the present moment;
while he, like that well-known insect, which nature
would seem to have created as a model of wisdom
and industry, devoted his time to the accumulation of
a store for future enjoyment, which nothing but the
hand of death could exhaust!
As the period of Dr. Cooper's continuance at the
grammar-school of this place, was that in which his
mental powers began to be unfolded, like an intellec-
tual Eden, to the minds of his acquaintance, it may
not be amiss, on the present occasion, to attempt, at
least, to make them pass in bright, but brief, review
before you.
Here would seem, indeed, to be the threshold of
my toils! Here do I become duly sensible of the
weight of my subject! Here its difficulties thicken
and magnify to my view, like Alps rearing their
crests over Alps, till even hope becomes almost ex-
tinct, and enterprize disheartened at the arduous pros-
pect.—Where! Tell me, ye choice and favoured spi- 

(17) 
rits, whose faculties of utterance move in nice and
perfect accordance to your powers of conception,
where shall I find a mirror of expression, to furnish
an adequate representation of such a splendid assem-
blage of faculties, as that exhibited by the mind of
our departed friend! Could I, like the prophet of
old, but have caught the skirt of his mantle, as he
ascended! Could I now invoke to my aid but one ray
of that genius, by which he was illuminated and in-
spired—then, indeed, would I feel some degree of
confidence in myself—then would I venture to indulge
the pleasing hope, of being followed, by your appro-
bation, in my descent from this place, to which I have
been raised by your flattering suffrage!
The mind of Dr. Cooper, as far as relates to the
history of its physical powers, would appear to have
involved, in its constitution, little less than an absolute
contradiction. Among its assemblage of brilliant and
valuable qualities, it embraced such as have been ge-
nerally supposed to be hostile and incompatible. While
it possessed, in an eminent degree, the properties of
the world-descrying telescope, it was, by no means, a
stranger to those of the microscope. While it shone
a Herschel, in its capacious range, and boundless
comprehension, it was, no less, a Leewenhoek, in
its painful and accurate examination of the minutiæ
of matter. Exquisite in its sensibility, and nice in its
perception, no physical object, however inconsidera-
ble, could be presented, nor any phenomenon occur,
without giving rise to an appropriate impression, or
exciting a corresponding exercise of thought. Like
the well-poised needle, tremblingly alive to the at-
C

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tractions of the pole, his mind appeared to possess a
constitutional bent and affinity to truth. Nor was
this affinity under the government of quantity, so
much as of quality. It was called into action by
truths the most minute, no less than by those of su-
perior magnitude.
It has been already observed that Dr. Cooper's ima-
gination was so enterprizing and powerful, as, occasi-
onally, to accompany his muse in the loftiest flights.
It might be said, like the poet's eye, to range "from
heaven to earth and from earth to heaven," collect-
ing every thing fair and valuable in its way. But it
Was not left to its own wild, desultory excursions,
like a tempest-driven vessel, without a pilot and with-
out a helm. It was ever reined in, and governed, by
a solid and luminous understanding, and corrected by
the most delicate and accurate taste.
Nor was his capacity for reasoning at all inferior to
his other intellectual powers. For ever tracing, with
nice discernment, and uncommon facility, the exist-
ing relations and connections between propositions or
things, it seldom failed to conduct him to fair and
happy conclusions. In reasoning, what was to others
toilsome and fatiguing, appeared, with him, but plea-
sure and amusement.
His memory was a capacious and faithful repository
of facts, opinions, and principles. It was fed through
the avenues of all his senses, for each sense was ren-
dered subservient to the information of his mind. So
comprehensive was it as to admit every thing interest. 

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ing from whatever quarter, and so faithfully tenacious,
as seldom or never to lose a useful fact or truth, by
which it had, once, been duly impressed. In a word,
his observation and industry had collected, and his
memory gave reception to, an inconceivable volume
of materials, to be arranged, systemized, and con-
verted to their proper purposes, by the other kindred
powers of his mind.
Thus, superlatively eminent, in its expansion and vi-
gor, and nicely balanced, in all its powers, the mind
of Dr. Cooper was to be respected as the dwelling-
place of genius. This divine endowment does not
appear to consist, as has been suspected by some, in
an additional or supernumerary faculty of the mind,
to be denominated, a sense of truth, and representing,
in miniature, the immediate intuition of the Deity.
Such velocity is there, however, in the movements
of genius—with such rapidity and ease does it bound
from truth to truth, and from principle to principle,
most perfectly comprehending each, yet dwelling long
on none, that the existence of such an opinion is, by
no means, extraordinary. This first gift of heaven
would seem to be the result of an exquisite degree of
mental sensibility, a talent for extensive, rapid, and
accurate observation; a capacious and retentive mem-
ory; a lively, strong, and enterprizing imagination;
a clear and profound understanding; and vigorous
and active powers of reason, all nicely balanced, and
reciprocally aiding each other in the discovery of
truth. 

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By the balance of the mental powers, I mean, that
they should all be equal in point of strength and per-
section, the one not characterized by excess, nor the
others by deficiency. Like the different parts of a well-
finished edifice, they should support, strengthen, and
ornament each other. Thus, the man, whose mind
is nothing but an entire blaze of imagination, can,
by no means, b« said to be in possession of genius.
Nor can he, whose imagination is weak, or phlegma-
tically dull, though his other powers be of the most
exalted grade. The same thing must be said of him,
whatever be the perfection of his imagination, his
memory, and his understanding, who is incapable of
rapidly advancing to general truths, by the aid of sim-
ple and intermediate propositions. The man of real ge-
nius possesses a mind that can, at once, feel, perceive,
observe, retain, distinguish, soar, and combine, and that
can perform all these functions, in a manner the most
perfect—Though such a mind must be esteemed a
phœnix, no less in rarity than in beauty and excel-
lence; yet such was the mind of our departed col-
league!
Beneath the auspices, and amid the numerous lite-
raty advantages of Philadelphia, the intellect of our
young friend disclosed its resources, with a rapidity,
and acquired, finally, a degree of expansion, strength,
and activity, to which, under circumstances, less fa-
vourable, it could never have attained. Had it been
suffered to remain sequestered, in a distant and ob-
scure part of the country, where the orb of science
sheds, at best, but a faint and sickly gleam, its pow-
ers might have lain for ever dormant and undiscover- 

(21)
ed by the world, for want of adequate causes to rouse
them into action. Thus lies the diamond embedded
in the rock, its value unknown, and its lustre unad-
mired, till the skilful hand of the lapidary rescues it
from its imprisonment, and ushers it to the world for
ornament and for use. Thus lies the marble, a crude
and shapeless mass, till, touched by the magic chissel of
the statuary, it springs erect, with the beauty and ele-
gance of the human form. And, thus, beneath the
raging of the wintry elements, lies, cold and torpid,
the vegetable embryo, till, awakened into life by the
voice of spring, it expands its tender leaves and flow-
ers, a harbinger and pledge of its impending fertility!
In the autumn of the year ninety, young Cooper
left the grammar school in this city, by the direction
of his guardian, and returned to Maryland, with a
view to engage in the study of a profession. His loss
was much and sincerely regretted, by a very respecta-
ble acquaintance, who followed him, to his retreat in
the country, with the most cordial expressions of
friendship and affection. Nor was this an occurrence
at all unexpected. For such was his general charac-
ter and deportment, that to know, and admire him,
were events inseparably and necessarily connected.
Sometime in the year ninety-one, he entered on his
medical studies, in his native state, under the direc-
tion of Dr. Martin, a gentleman whose esteem and
confidence he very soon acquired, and of whom I
have always heard him speak in terms the most re-
spectful. In ninety-two he returned to Philadelphia, on
an invitation from the managers of the Pennsylvania 

(22)
hospital, and, on the 28th of August, in the same
year, entered as an apprentice to that celebrated, and
benevolent institution—an institution, which reflects
equal honour on its original founders, and on those,
who, at the present day, conduct it with such con-
summate wisdom and fidelity!
Here our young friend found himself in a situation
admirably calculated to exercise, and rear to full ma-
turity, every bright and amiable quality of his mind.
The ancient and venerable mansion, where he resided,
enclosed by a massy wall, and overshadowed by lofty
trees, prepared, in appearance, to bid defiance to the
shock of ages, impressed his mind with sensations oF
solemnity, favourable to the contemplation and recep-
tion of the truths of nature. Nor were the best
sources wanting for the supply of such truths. Fur-
nifhed with a large and choice collection of books, on
every branch of physical science, immersed in walks
well suited for the purposes of observation and reflec-
tion, and surrounded by numerous objects of distress,
claiming equally his attention and skill as a physician,
and philosopher, and his sympathy and soothing ten-
derness, as a man; he found ample scope for the ex-
ercise of all his intellect and benevolence. Nor did
he suffer either the powers of his head, or the virtues
of his heart, to contract the cankering rust of indo-
lence. Ever busied in pursuits of science, of litera-
ture, or of humanity, his life was a perpetual circle
of action. Except during his hours of repose, which
were but few, and when engaged in familiar inter-
course with his friends, his mind was but seldom in-
dulged in the luxury of relaxation. To him the a-

(23)
musements of the city presented no attractions. Su-
premely intent on acquiring knowledge, and on doing
good, he found no time to bestow on such useless en-
gagements. His business was study, his pleasure re-
sulted from the alleviation of human misery, and his
amusement consisted in the cultivation of polite litera-
ture; but, more particularly, in frequenting the
haunts of the muses. It may not, perhaps, be deemed
inadmissible to observe, that, during the whole time
of his apprenticeship to the Pennsylvania hospital, he
attended the theatre but twice, both times in complai-
sance to my importunity. His first visit was, to be
present at the performance of Shakespear's celebrated,
tragedy of Othello; and his second, at that of the
Revenge, by Dr. Young. Though struck by the
brilliancy and elegance of the scenery of the stage,
and delighted with the sublimity of sentiment, and
energy of expression, which characterize those two
monuments of genius, his enjoyment was, notwith-
standing, mingled with much regret, that talents,
which might be employed for the important purpose
of ameliorating the condition of man, should be suf-
fered to evaporate in theatrical declamation!
Of the attention and ability, with which he discharg-
ed his numerous and arduous offices, as an appren-
tice to the hospital, the united applause of the mana-
gers and physicians of that benevolent institution,
constitute the most respectable degree of testimony.
Never were the duties of that appointment performed
with greater tenderness, fidelity, and skill, than when
it was filled by our deceased colleague. But this fact
does not, for its authenticity, rest, exclusively, on 

(24)
the evidence with which we are furnished by the ma-
nagers and physicians: it is still farther substantiated,
by the spontaneous reports, and heart-felt effusions,
of many individuals, who, during his apprenticeship,
found an assylum from death, within the walls of the
hospital. Long will these characters, with gratitude,
remember, and long will they continue to declare to
the world, with what skill and solicitude he combated
their diseases; and, with what a friendly and unweari-
ed hand, he held to their view the all-supporting mir-
ror of hope. Nor will this be the amount of their
tributary evidence—Often will they forego the gene-
ral and fashionable topics of conversation, to speak of
the times, when, as he passed along the wards, whose
very breezes were the vehicle of sighs, and whose
walls had been long the melancholy mansion of the
echo of distress—oftentimes, I say, will they delight
to tell, how, under such circumstances, the benignity
of his address, and the sympathy of his manners, sus-
pended the impression of their ruthless maladies, and
lulled, for a while, their agonies to rest! Thus,
amid the wild disorder of a troubled ocean, does oil,
diffused over the surface of the water, afford a tem-
porary respite to the convulsions of the deep!
But those within the walls, where he resided, were
not the only objects who experienced his beneficence
and humanity. The out-patients of the hospital were,
at that time, numerous, and widely dispersed through
the city and liberties. I will venture to affirm, with-
out any wish to throw a shade over the merits of his
predecessors, that his exertions, for alleviating the suf-
ferings of these indigent applicants,were unprecedented 

(25) 
in the annals of the institution which he served. Of this
description of patients he visited upwards of five hun-
dred, during the two last years of his apprenticeship.
Nor did he attend them with that cold indifference,
which, too generally, characterizes the actions of man,
when directed to objects of wretchedness and charity.
Painfully sensible to their sufferings and wants, he was
a stranger to that counterfeit humanity, which evapo-
rates in the empty parade and professions of sympathy.
Leaving to others the suspicious practice of announ-
cing, in words, their benevolent and charitable dispo-
sitions, he spoke, by his actions, the reality of his
feelings. When called on to administer relief in the
line of his profession, his exertions were paramount
to every difficulty. Neither the inclemency of the
weather, nor the untimeliness of the hour, could
operate as barriers to the accomplishment of his pur-
poses. The stream of humanity, issuing from the copi-
ous reservoir of his heart, was neither to be congealed
by the wintry blast, nor evaporated to dryness by the
summer blaze! Fed by a tributary streamlet from
every fibre in his system, it could be exhausted, only,
with the termination of his life! There stands scarce-
ly a hovel of indigence in the neighbourhood of the
hospital (and the same thing may be said of many at
a distance) that does not exhibit some memorial of
his skill, as a physician, and of his humanity, as a
man. Such was the labour and assiduity with which
he attended these objects of penury and misfortune,
that the temporary loss of his own health was not
unfrequently the painful consequence. In his toil-
some rounds, to administer to these paupers gratu-
itous relief, he was lighted on his way by the twink- 
D

(26)
ling fires of the night, perhaps, not much less fre-
qently than by the orb of day. But for this, his re-
ward was high and enviable: it was nothing less than
a conscious enjoyment of the heaven-born "luxury
of doing good!"—a reward, denied to all except to
minds of true benevolence! Allow me to add, a re-
ward, for the enjoyment of which, no mind was more
perfectly calculated—no mind possessed a more exqui-
site relish, than that of our friend, whom we this day
commemorate!
So wise and economical was Dr. Cooper's division
and appropriation of time, that, notwithstanding the
wide and diversified scene of his active engagements,
he still found leisure for cultivating the field of gene-
ral science. To the divisions of chemistry, and natu-
ral history (including the subordinate compartment
of botany) he exhibited a more decided and elective
attachment. In these delightful and important branches
of science, his accumulation of knowledge was alrea-
dy extensive and respectable. Had he lived to the
customary period of human life, there is little doubt,
but that he would have acquired a place and a name
among the most distinguished chemists and naturalists
of the age.
Nor did either his taste for polite literature, or his
propensity to frequent the haunts of the muses, for-
sake him while immersed in the cares and duties of
the hospital. It was here his style in prose received
its maturity and its polish, and here was the birth-
place of some of his finest poetic effusions. In confir-
mation of this last assertion, I beg leave to lay before 

(27)
you Dr. Cooper's bold and picturesque description of
the several varieties of madness, contained originally
in a letter to myself, in the autumn of ninety-three,
when we were both medical students, and the compo-
nent ideas of which were derived from observation
on the maniacs, at that time confined within the walls
of the hospital.
"Here moody madness, of wild passions born,
"Muses reclined, in ghastly state forlorn;
"Or weeps, or laughs, or desultory sings,
"Totters along, and speaks unmeaning things;
"Or with fierce eye, lank jaw, and horrent brow,
"Loud raving, clanks his iron chains below!"
The accuracy of many of your judgments, with re-
gard to the merit, and the sensibility and correctness
of your tastes, for the beauties of poetry, supersede the
necessity of any comment on the foregoing lines.
From this time, let Dr. Cooper, as far as relates to
the poetic description of madness, be ranked with
Lee, Penrose, and the immortal Shakespear!
It is a maxim, equally ancient and well established,
that the acquaintances we form, but, more particular-
ly, the intimacies we contract, reflect, like mirrors,
our characters to the world. It may not, therefore,
be amiss to observe, that our deceased friend was so
fortunate, in life, as to be favoured with the closest
intimacy and friendship by several distinguished cha-
racters, whose talents, virtues, and accomplishments
cover his memory with much reflected honour. From
the respectable catalogue of these, I beg leave to se-
lect, in particular, the names of Dr. Rush, Dr. Bar- 

(28) 
ton, and Mr. Samuel Coates. The two former of
these were connected with our colleague, principally,
by the medium of literature and science: they had
been his teachers in medicine, and some of its colla-
teral branches, and found him possessed of virtues
and qualities, which conciliated their affection, and
commanded their esteem. But the latter was his
friend and patron on all occasions: sagacious in the
discovery, firm in the protection, and zealous in the
advancement of youthful merit, he saw Dr. Cooper,
and became deeply interested in the issue of his for-
tune!
I feel that I have already engrossed too much of
your time, and trespassed, I am afraid, unwelcomely
on your patience. But I flatter myself the apology,
already offered, will cover the fault I have involunta-
rily committed—a fault, indebted, for its origin, to
an excessive attachment to the memory of my friend!
On taking a general survey of the character of our
departed fellow-member, quality has crouded on my
view after quality, and virtue after virtue, and each
One too fair and tempting to be passed unnoticed.
Nor have I yet completed the illustrious catalogue.
Though some small tribute has been paid, yet still am
I deeply in arrears to his merit. I have briefly spo-
ken of the physical talents he possessed, and have
slightly glanced at some of the amiable qualities of
his heart. But respecting his moral virtues, I have,
hitherto, been silent. To suffer these to remain still in
the back ground, unnoticed, and unappraised, would
render my biographic sketch extremely imperfect and 

(29) 
exceptionable, and would, indeed, be little less than
treason to the memory of our friend!
Of the moral virtues of Dr. Cooper I can say, in
general, that their connected lustre constituted the
ursa major, the brightest constellation in the hemis-
phere of his character. He possessed none of those
wild irregularities, none of those immoral habits,
none of those vicious propensities, which are too of-
ten the lamentable concomitants of genius. Time
would fail me were I to attempt a detailed and indivi-
dual description of this fair and inestimable assemblage
of virtues. I can only add, that they were such, as
seemed calculated to form a perfect equilibrium and
correspondence between the moral and physical parts
of his character. Were his powers of intellect origi-
nally strong? his moral virtues were, in like manner,
unsullied—Were the former improved by high culti-
vation? the latter were confirmed by experience and
habit.
But in that galaxy, formed by the combined radi-
ance of the moral qualities of Dr. Cooper, there
were two which shone with distinguished lustre. I
mean his love of justice, and his attachment to the
indefeasible rights of man. Such was the power of
these two virtues, that it led him to a voluntary sacri-
fice of more than half his fortune, by executing ma-
numissions to all his slaves. Nor was this action per-
formed with that pausing hesitation, that calculating
reluctance, characteristic of a base and mercenary dis-
position: It was spontaneous and prompt, as if pro-
ceeding from a mind urged on by a pure and irresist- 

(30) 
ible sense of right. Lest accident, or death, might
intercept the accomplishment of his upright and be-
nevolent purposes, Dr. Cooper executed manumissions
to his negroes, on the morning of the day in which
he had emerged from the character of a minor. De-
termined that the sun should never behold him volun-
tarily aiding in the unprincipled business of African
slavery, before that luminary had gilded the moun-
tains with his earliest beams, the pen was in his hand,
to subscribe to the deed, that now gilds his memory
with such a blaze of honour. But his humanity, on
this occasion, was in no degree inferior to his love of
justice, which restored to freedom this injured people.
For those of his slaves who were incapable of self-
government and support, he made such provisions, as
were sufficient to preserve them from poverty and
want.
As far as relates to the enjoyment of freedom, he
acknowledged no distinction between the sable Afri-
can, in his humble hut, and the lordly monarch on
his ermined throne. So liberal and extensive were
his sentiments and schemes of benevolence, that, like
the all-pervading light of heaven, they embraced the
whole circle of animated nature.* In this respect, he
even surpassed the compliment paid to the late earl
* The extent of the charity, benevolence, and also of the grati-
tude of Dr. Cooper, is evidenced by the tenor of his last will and
testament, subjoined as an appendix to this publication. This in-
strument is, without any comment, respectfully submitted to the
attention of the reader. I would beg leave, however, to observe,
that it speaks the praises of the testator, in a higher strain of eulo-
gium, than even the pen of a Burke or a Grattan could bestow! 

(31) 
of Chatham, by his eloquent friend and eulogist, the
celebrated Grattan. In sketching the outlines of the
character of this unrivalled statesman and orator, the
Irish Demosthenes has the following bold and com-
prehensive expression. "His object was England, his
ambition was same." With truth may I say of our
departed friend, that his object was more than Eng-
land, it was the peopled world; and that his ambiti-
on was more than fame, it was the happiness of the
whole human race!
But I have not yet completed my analysis of his
mind, nor summed up, in full, my account of his me-
rit. Over the preceding assemblage of talents and of
virtues, was thrown a made of retiring modesty,
which, by softening and even, in appearance, at-
tempting to conceal their lustre, rendered them dou-
bly impressive and interesting. Thus, the gauzy veil,
floating before the countenances of the fair, height-
ens their beauty, and adds superior power to their
charms. And, thus, the shadowy curtains of the night,
spread along the vault of heaven, awaken into life
the lustre and beauty of its slumbering fires!
With respect to the theological principles of Dr.
Cooper, I shall say nothing, except that he was an
enthusiastic admirer of the pure and sublime morality
of the christian religion, and regulated, by its pre-
cepts, the tenor of his conduct. So superlative was
his attachment to a life of peace, that he was never
known to interfere in a controversy, either of a religi-
ous or of a political nature. He was a quaker, by prin-
ciple and adoption, though not by birth or early edu- 

(32)
cation. He was led to attach himself to this denomi-
nation of christians, in consequence of discovering,
that their sentiments and collective disposition were,
in most respects, in unison with his own. He admir-
ed the modest simplicity of their manners, the moral-
ity and uprightness of their general conduct, and their
love of an orderly and peaceful life, and, therefore,
resolved to become one of their society.
In May, ninety seven, our colleague completed his
studies, and was admitted to the degree of doctor of
medicine, in the university of Pennsylvania. On this
occasion, he acquitted himself, in all respects, with
distinguished reputation. But his celebrity, as a gra-
duate, arose, more particularly, from the merit of his
inaugural dissertation. This performance treated of
the history and medicinal virtues of the Datura-Stram-
monium, an indigenous and very powerful vegetable of
our country. It is not excessive eulogy to say, that,
as a piece of experimental investigation, it is not, 
perhaps, inferior to any dissertation, of the kind, that
has ever appeared, either in this, or in any other
country. Was America favoured with many such
pupils, to adorn, by graduation, her rising semina-
ries, we would soon become acquainted with the me-
dicinal virtues and powers of all her indigenous ve-
getables, many of which now bloom and wither in
her fields and forests, neglected through inattention,
and, through ignorance, unknown!
In the autumn of ninety-seven, Dr. Cooper left the
Pennsylvania hospital (his term of apprenticeship hav-
ing now expired) and settled, as a practitioner of me- 

(33) 
dicine, in the city of Philadelphia. He had, previ-
ously to this, received several pressing, and very flat-
tering, invitations to settle in different and respectable
parts of the country; but he rejected them all, de-
claring, that he had rather live on bread and water,
in Philadelphia, in the midst of literary societies * and
friends, than roll in affluence in the country, remote
from such opportunities for the cultivation of his
mind.
Though surrounded by physicians of talents, learn-
ing, long establishments, and powerful family con-
nections, yet still was he rising, with rapidity, in pro-
fessional reputation, Already was he employed by
many wealthy and respectable families: already was
he, occasionally, called into consultation with the
old and established practitioners of the city, who had,
even, been his fathers and teachers in medicine. But
his principal business, and, with truth, may I add, his
principal pleasure, as a physician, arose from his hu-
mane and gratuitous attentions to the poor. His ha-
bits of practical benevolence and charity he did not
leave behind him, within the walls of the hospital.
He bore them with him to the heart of the city, even
farther brightened and confirmed by a change of situ-
ation. Thus the fruit tree, ingrafted on a foreign
stock, or transplanted into a different soil, regales
the senses by a greater luxuriance of flowers and
E
* Dr. Cooper was, already, an active, faithful, and distinguish-
ed member of various literary institutions in Philadelphia. Among
these may be mentioned, in particular, the medical society, the che-
mical society, and the academy of medicine. 

(34) 
fruit! A knowledge of this, often drew to his door
objects of poverty, wretchedness, and disease. Nor
did he ever give them cause to go murmuring or dis-
consolate away. By his skill, as a physician, he ad-
ministered relief to their maladies, and, by the cheer-
fulness of his conversation, the mildness of his man-
ners, and the indescribable tenderness of his attention,
as a man, he often succeeded in dissipating the gloom
that overshadowed their minds.
Thus passed, till the month of August, ninety-
eight, the hours of our beloved colleague, not con-
sumed in a round of dissipation, not immersed in apa-
thetic indolence, nor yet devoted to the indulgence
of philosophic ease—but divided between the real du-
ties of his profession, the active pursuits of science,
and the various offices of charity, arising out of his
situation. At this period an event occurred, which
the genius of Philadelphia has already enrolled in
the darkest page of her catalogue of misfortunes, and
the effects of which, she will long—very long, con-
tinue, with justice, to deplore. Nor did, even, the ge-
nius of Columbia remain insensible to the sorrows of
his daughter. The general concerns of the nation,
for a while, neglected, he appeared to mingle his
tears with hers, over such an unprecedented instance 
of calamity. But the distresses of our city were not
confined to the bosoms of its own immediate inhabi-
tants: Like the ripple, spreading around over the sur-
face of the lake, they were communicated along the
inexplicable web of human feeling, till, by breasts of
sympathy, they were finally realized, even in the most
distant extremes of our country. 

(35)
To you it is unnecessary for me to mention the cause
of this unparalleled extent and complexity of distress.
It is already imprinted on your memories, in charac-
ters, which, in point of permanency, beggar any im-
pressions that can possibly result from my feeble ac-
cents. It is unnecessary for me to inform you, that,
at this period, we were a third time visited by that
first of physical evils, which, by way of pre-eminence
in horror and fatality, our divines have emphatically
denominated "the destroying angel," I mean the
vengeful spirit of pestilence! This insatiate demon
(like the poet's Python, descended from the ferment-
ing filth, deposited by the waters of Deucalion's
flood)—this demon, I say, sprung from the co-opera-
ting sources of filth, in our city, our suburbs, and
along our wharves, invaded our habitations in all his
horrors. Nor did he come alone: Terror was com-
missioned the leader of his van, while agony, death,
and desolation were marshalled in the rear. Thus ac-
companied, and thus arrayed, the malignant spirit
swept, with his inexorable myrmidons, along our
streets, diffusing around his envenomed breath. At
once were our prospects of pleasure and security blast-
ed; at once was the aspect of our city metamorphosed.
No longer the crouded emporium of our country—no
longer the haunt of gaiety and ease, Philadelphia was
converted into a scene of consternation and tumult.
From every tongue dropped expressions of terror-
on every face sat the gloom of dejection, mingled
with the wildness of deep apprehension. Flying from
the city, as if its foundations were convulsed by the
rockings of an earthquake, or its buildings threaten- 

(36)
ed to be whelmed in a deluge of lava, the eyes and
footsteps of all were directed in quest of an assylum,
in the depth of the country! Still, however, with de-
moniac rage!—still with more than giant-strides,
went forward the dreadful work of destruction!—But
I forbear from a farther description of the tragical
scene—The attempt, at best, must prove abortive,
and would, no doubt, in the minds of some, by whose
presence I am honoured, tend to a renovation of feel-
ings, which I had much rather be instrumental in
soothing into a state of tranquillity, or even of pro-
found and everlasting sleep!
Amid this embattled chaos of disorder and confu-
sion, our departed colleague was by no means, an
idle, or an indifferent spectator. He early discovered,
and most devoutly deprecated, the impending cloud
of calamity, nor saw, without solicitude, the bursting
of the tempest. But his fears and anxieties respected
not his own personal health and safety. They sprang
from a much more generous source, the health and
safety of his friends and fellow-citizens. Calm, intre-
pid, and resigned, as far as respected himself, he re-
solved, from the first, to ride out the storm, or be
wrecked, a faithful and spontaneous matryr to the
duties of his profession. So powerful was this sense
of duty, and so unconquerable this sentiment of hero-
ism, that neither the entreaties of his friends, nor the
most bold and picturesque representation of the dan-
ger that awaited him, could have the smallest effect in
diverting him from his purpose. With a mind that
delighted in contending with difficulties—a mind, pos-
sessing an elective attraction to objects of greatness, 

(37) 
he determined, if possible, to take his stand, amid
the most formidable concentration of disease!
While influenced by this temper and disposition of
mind, Dr. Cooper was called, in conjunction with his
illustrious friend and colleague, Dr. Physic, to take
the medical charge of the city hospital. The end
and object of this institution it is unnecessary for me
to mention. It is known to you all, to have been in-
tended, as a receptacle for pestilential subjects, from
all parts of the city and liberties. Amid the ravages
of such a desolating calamity, the walls of the hos-
pital were soon found to be too contracted, to answer
the benevolent purposes of its establishment. So un-
expectedly rapid and profuse was the influx of the
sick, that it became necessary to pitch tents, and erect
temporary buildings for their accomodation.
Here was a scene, where, even, the mind of Dr.
Cooper might find ample room for the exercise of all
its powers, and the exhibition of all its virtues. Here
it might exhaust the sources of its strength and inge-
nuity, here find scope for its unwearied activity, here
expend the last drop of its benevolence and humani-
ty!—For the ability and address of the physician,
here existed a malignant and formidable epitome of
all febrile diseases; for the engagement of the man of
active industry, here were duties, numerous, diversi-
fied, and pressing, in the extreme; and to excite the
sympathetic attention of the man of humanity and
benevolence, here was a consummation of wretched-
ness and misery!

(33)
In each branch of this threefold character, Dr.
Cooper was qualified to acquit himself with equal e-
minence. But, on the present important and melan-
choly occasion, the extent of his abilities was the only
measure of the services he rendered. It is not sufficient
to say, that his life, while engaged in the city hospital,
was a circle of action, it was an uninterrupted series of
laborious exertion. Ever awake to the whisperings of
duty—ever painfully sensible to the sufferings of his pa-
tients, he acted as the physician, the nurse, and the
friend, to those whom disease had subjected to his
care. But his attention to himself bore an inverse ra-
tio to his attention to others. Absorbed in his views
of public good, his own individual safety was banish-
ed from his mind. In his excessive zeal for the inter-
est of the institution which he served, he even neg-
lected or resisted the calls of his system for refresh-
ment and repose. Often has he relinquished his table
for the more delicious banquet of contributing to
the relief and safety of the agonized objects by which
he was surrounded—Often has the noon of night
looked down, with approbation, on his round, through
the crowded wards, and the following day-dawn des-
cried him remote from his pillow!
In the intervals of his exertion as a physician, nurse,
and friend, to the sick, he devoted his time to dissec-
tions, and various physical experiments, calculated to,
throw light on the seat, the cause, the nature, and
the treatment of pestilential diseases. By this was his
situation rendered doubly perilous. But, in a mind
like his, a sense of duty, co-operating with a zeal for
the promotion of science, is paramount to every sel- 

(39)
fish consideration. Enterprizing and intrepid as the
celebrated but unfortunate Rosier, he appears, like
him, to have fallen a victim to a daring experiment.*
Beneath the pressure of such powerful and uninter-
rupted bodily and intellectual exertion, tired nature
could not possibly do otherwise than languish. For, to
excessive action, of whatever kind, debility never fails
to succeed, in conformity to an established principle
in the nature of man. Under such a combination of
circumstances, the seeds of pestilence, which Dr.
Cooper appears to have inhaled from the atmosphere
of Philadelphia, and which had lain, for some time,
dormant in his system, could not avoid being awak-
ened into life and action. Accordingly, this melancho-
ly occurrence took place on the 26th of August, the
same month in which he received his appointment to
the hospital.
Nor was his disease ushered in with symtoms of or-
dinary magnitude. Such was their unusual power and
malignity, that each one seemed separately commissi-
oned as the messenger of destruction. The demon of
pestilence, as if exasperated at having been so often
disarmed in a combat with the skill and address of this
young physician, appears, on this occasion, to have
concentrated all his strength and ferocity, determin-
* Dr. Physic, with much apparent reason, attributes the origin
of Dr. Cooper's disease, to his having visited the city, in the lat-
ter part of August, during the height of our pestilential constitu-
tion of atmosphere, with a view to subject the air of our streets,
particularly, of that part of Water-street, from which, the disease
appeared to spread, as from a focus, to a series of eudiometrical
experiments.

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ed, at once, on decisive revenge. Over the issue of
his dark and fatal purpose, let the friends of science
and humanity weep!
So fierce and violent was the commencement of
Dr. Cooper's disease, that it wrecked, like a tempest,
every fibre of his system. At its very onset, the pow-
ers of life were prostrated almost to extinction. For
several hours they remained, to a great degree, torpid
and inactive, as if in suspense whether or not to re-
treat for ever from the field of a conflict, so unequal
in point of strength, and so certain in its termination.
At length, however, they began to revive from the
violence of the shock, to which they had been subject-
ed—At length they attempted to return to the charge,
and offer resistance to the invading enemy!—But the
resistance was feeble, irregular, and ineffectual—It
resembled the convulsive and vacillating resistance of
a soldier, sinking beneath a wound from a victorious
adversary.—But the unexpected trespass I have alrea-
dy committed on your patience, forbids me to be mi-
nute on this part of my subject.
I call not your attention to the medical exertions
that were made for the preservation of the life of our
departed colleague. Under this head, it is sufficient
to say, that he was entrusted to the care of a Physic,
and a Rush—men, whose minds are an abstract of the
science of medicine, while their hearts are consecrat-
ed as the dwelling of humanity and benevolence!
—"Si pergama dextra
"Defendi possent, etiam hac defensa fuissent." 

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If skill could vanquish—mortal powers could save!
Such skill, such pow'rs, had snatch'd him from the grave!
Nor will I attempt to awaken your sympathy, nor
excite your admiration, by minutely pourtraying to
you his conduct, during the course of his illness.
Though he realized his sufferings and approaching
dissolution, not with the indifference of an insulated
misanthrope—not with the immoveable apathy of a
stoic—but with the genuine feelings and solicitude of
a man; yet he bore the one, with the fortitude of a
philosopher, and submitted to the other, with the re-
signation of a christian. On the third of September,
ninety-eight, the fatal and looked-for catastrophe oc-
curred. On this day, he yielded to his disease, having
nearly completed the twenty-seventh year of his age.
The place of his interment is not far distant—In
yonder* neighbouring and capacious reservoir of the
exuviæ of the dead, lie deposited his mouldering re-
lics. His body was conducted thither by four of his
particular friends,† whom, not even the dangers and
horrors of pestilence could deter from attending his
funeral, and bathing, with their tears, his hallowed
grave! May the dews of heaven weep tenderly over
him!—May they decorate his turf with their bright-
F
* The Friends' burying-ground, at the south-east corner of
Fourth and Arch streets.
† Mr. Samuel Coates, Dr. Thomas Horsefield, Mr. George
Lee, and Mr. Francis Higgins. It is but justice to observe, that
these same gentlemen visited him, frequently, at the city-hospital,
during his last illness. 

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est pearls!—And may the sympathising breezes, as
they pass along, sigh out their sorrows for his untime-
ly fall!
To the melancholy circumstances attending the
close of the life of Dr. Cooper, I beg leave to apply
a quotation from an epistolary poem, I had the plea-
sure to receive from him, in the autumn of ninety-
three, in which, with a boldness and pathos peculiar
to himself, he describes and laments the death of an
intimate friend, who fell a sacrifice to the pestilence
of that period.
"The young disease, wak'd by some demon's rage,
"Asserts its sway, o'erpowers his vigorous age,
"Along his system steals in tremors fleet,
"Shakes his lax arms, and chills his torpid feet,
"O'er his red cheek, and redder eye ball glows,
"Burns in his bosom, rends his aching brows,
"Goads and inflames his stomach's velvet sides,
"In torturing trains through every fibre glides,
"Or, with delirium, fierce, assails, enshrin'd
"In the bright brain, the shadowy tribes of mind—
"Now, issuing from, pale lips, dark currents flow,
"Or, downward, seek the long canal below,
"And bile, in novel ducts meandering, dies
"His lifeless limbs, and paints his beamless eyes—
"Weak throbs his heart, and faint the living fire,
"And failing lungs unaltered air respire,
"O'er all his senses shades eternal spread,
"And the young bard lies numbered with the dead!"
Such were the talents, and such the virtues—
such was the life, and such the death, of our friend
and colleague, whose worth we have, this day, assem-
bled to commemorate. Shall the splendid close of 

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the eighteenth century be obscured by a ridiculous,
and even criminal, prostitution of eulogium?—Shall
the name of the lordling, whose only title to celebri-
ty rests on the pride of ancestry, or the pomp of
wealth, be preserved and emblazoned in the rolls of
heraldry?—Shall the talents of the statesman, whose
military arrangements have exhausted the blood, and
whose projects of finance have beggared the coffers,
of his country, be circulated as a theme of encomi-
um among the nations of the world?—Shall the same
of the conqueror, whose life has been little else than
a constant series of rapine and massacre, be embalm-
ed by the reiterated eulogia of ages?—Shall such oc-
currences as these exist, and not one grateful monu-
ment be offered, in commemoration of the real friend
and benefactor of man?—Shall such occurrences as
these exist, and not one effort be made, to preserve,
from the gulf of oblivion, the memory of an enlight-
ened and a benevolent Cooper, whose time was devot-
ed to science, and to virtue, and whose life was finally
sacrificed, an offering on the altar of humanity? I
trust—I am confident, this will not be the case—
When the present assembly shall have been, long since,
numbered with their forefathers—when the lapse of
years shall have, long since, obliterated the remem-
brance of this day's feeble attempt to do homage to
the merit of our departed colleague, still shall his
name be revered by the inhabitants of Philadelphia—
still shall he be spoken of, with admiration and grati-
tude, as one who fearlessly volunteered his services,
and fell at his post on the forlorn hope of humanity— 

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as one, whose love of duty was triumphantly para-
mount to his love of life!
Hail! hapless youth! if fame my voice could give,
From age to age thy memory should live!
Long as, on high, the eternal mountains soar,
Long as the surges lash the shelving shore!
Long as, with gentle breath, the breezes sigh,
Or cloud-wreath'd tempests howl along the sky!
Long as the sun emits his golden light,
Or pearly stars bedeck the throne of night!
Long as o'er systems nature's God commands,
And bright creation's heav'n-born order stands! 

APPENDIX. 
LAST WILL and TESTAMENT
OF
Dr. SAMUEL COOPER.
I, SAMUEL COOPER, late of Maryland, but
now of Philadelphia, physician, do make my last
will and testament, in manner and form following, viz.
I will, that my debts be discharged, and my fune-
ral expenses paid by my executors.
Having always abhorred slavery, in every shape, I
have freed all my negroes, by executing, as I appre-
hend, proper manumissions; but if any thing is infor-
mally done, or any thing is wanting to complete their
emancipation, I request my executors to do it, and
to liberate the girls at eighteen, and the boys at
twenty-one years of age, if any of them survive me,
and to charge the expense to my estate; and I allow
my executors, if they see occasion, to pay any charge
that may be found necessary by them, to procure
suitable places for the young children, and to secure
to them the opportunity of obtaining a little school
learning. 

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Item.—I will, that my executors collect my out-
standing debts, in particular, a legacy of one hundred
and fifty pounds, with its interest, which was left me
by my grandfather, Thomas Winchester, deceased.
Item.—I will, that my executors, hereafter named,
shall sell, at any time they may think best, at public
or private sale, for cash or on credit, at their own
discretion, my two plantations or tracts of land, in
Talbot county, in the state of Maryland, with all
their improvements, and make good and sufficient
titles for the said lands and improvements, to the
purchaser or purchasers, in fee simple; and all the
monies arising therefrom (after payment of my debts,
and providing, if need be, for my young negroes,
as above mentioned) I give, with all the securities they
may take for the said lands, to the Contributors to the
Pennsylvania Hospital. But as it may happen, that
I may sell those lands myself, which I have some
thoughts of doing, it is my will, in that case, that
the said contributors shall have and possess all the
monies and securities I take for both or either of
those places, in the same manner as if my executors
were to sell them, under the preceding directions.
Having served my apprenticeship in the Pennsylva-
nia hospital, I know it to be a most valuable and use-
ful institution, not only as the best asylum in Ameri-
ca, for lunatics and the sick poor, but also the best
school of instruction for a medical pupil. With these
sentiments, I esteem it a duty I owe to the communi-
ty, to devote my earthly substance to encourage and
promote it, in preference to any temporal considera- 

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tion; I do, therefore, give to the contributors to the
said hospital and to their successors for ever, as well
my said two plantations, as all the monies that may
arise from the sale thereof, by me, or by my execu-
tors, and all my other estate, both real and personal,
whatsoever, to and for the following uses, viz.
I request them to buy a neat, substantial coachee,
or light waggon, that will conveniently hold a dri-
ver and six persons, with its furniture complete, to
procure which I allow them to pay a sum not to ex-
ceed six hundred dollars.
Item.—I request them to buy two good, sound, and
able-bodied horses, neither of which to be more than
eight years old, in the opinion of good judges; to
purchase which, I allow them to expend a sum not
exceeding five hundred dollars.
Item.—I allow them to retain, of my estate, any sum
they may think sufficient to pay a coachman two
years' wages.
Item.—I recommend that the carriage or horses may
never be lent from the house, nor suffered to be out
all night, unless the carriage is sent to be mended, or
the horses to pasture; that it be used, only, for the pa-
tients and their needful attendants, or to bring to, or
take from, the hospital, the managers, treasurer, or
physicians, when employed in the service of the
house; and it is further my desire, that the horses
may never be driven, on any pretence, more than six-
teen miles in one day. And as to the residue (my
debts, funeral expenses, and provision for my young

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negroes, which are to be paid and made before the
hospital contributors receive any part of my estate)
my will is, that it may be added to, and become a part
of, the capital stock, for the general use of the house,
and I trust it will be enough to purchase and support,
at all times, a carriage for the use of the patients, if
the managers shall approve thereof.
Lastly, I nominate and appoint my friends, Samuel
Coates, Thomas Morris, Mordecai Lewis, and Ellis-
ton Perot, the executors of this my last will and tes-
tament, hereby revoking and making null and void,
every other will by me heretofore made.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have here-
unto affixed my seal and subscribed my
name, this fifteenth day of August, one
thousand seven hundred and ninety-seven.
(L. S.) SAMUEL COOPER.
Signed, sealed,
&c. &c. 
THE END.