In 1874, at the age of eighty-three, Mr. Cooper said at a reception given in his honor:—

"When I was born, New York contained 27,000 inhabitants. The upper limits of the city were at Chambers Street. Not a single free school, either by day or night, existed. General Washington had just entered upon his first term as President of the United States, the whole annual expenditures of which did not exceed $2,500,000, being about sixty cents per head of the population. Not a single steam engine had yet been built or erected on the American continent; and the people were clad in homespun, and were characterized by the simple virtues and habits which are usually associated with that primitive garb. I need not tell you what the country now is, and what the habits and the garments of its people now are, or that the expenditure, per capita, of the general government has increased fifteen-fold. But I have witnessed and taken a deep interest in every step of the marvellous development and progress which have characterized this century beyond all the centuries which have gone before.

"Measured by the achievements of the years I have seen, I am one of the oldest men who have ever lived; but I do not feel old, and I propose to give you the receipt by which I have preserved my youth.

"I have always given a friendly welcome to new ideas, and I have endeavored not to feel too old to learn; and thus, though I stand here with the snows of so many winters upon my head, my faith in human nature, my belief in the progress of man to a better social condition, and especially my trust in the ability of men to establish and maintain self-government, are as fresh and as young as when I began to travel the path of life.

"While I have always recognized that the object of business is to make money in an honorable manner, I have endeavored to remember that the object of life is to do good. Hence I have been ready to engage in all new enterprises, and, without incurring debt, to risk in their promotion the means which I had acquired, provided they seemed to me calculated to advance the general good. This will account for my early attempt to perfect the steam engine, for my attempt to construct the first American locomotive, for my connection with the telegraph in a course of efforts to unite our country with the European world, and for my recent efforts to solve the problem of economical steam navigation on the canals; to all of which you have so kindly referred. It happens to but few men to change the current of human progress, as it did to Watt, to Fulton, to Stephenson, and to Morse; but most men may be ready to welcome laborers to a new field of usefulness, and to clear the road for their progress.

"This I have tried to do, as well in the perfecting and execution of their ideas as in making such provision as my means have permitted for the proper education of the young mechanics and citizens of my native city, in order to fit them for the reception of new ideas, social, mechanical, and scientific—hoping thus to economize and expand the intellectual as well as the physical forces, and provide a larger fund for distribution among the various classes which necessarily make up the total of society. If our lives shall be such that we shall receive the glad welcome of 'Well done, good and faithful servant,' we shall then know that we have not lived in vain."

For nine years after this utterance he continued the peaceful and happy life which it describes. When the end came, it was quiet and painless. Surrounded by his children and grandchildren, and whispering with almost his last breath the desire for an increase of his bequest to that other well-beloved child, the Cooper Union, he "fell on sleep," April 4, 1883.

On the day of his funeral New York city presented an almost unexampled spectacle. All Soul's Unitarian Church, in which his body was deposited, early in the morning was thronged with a mighty multitude, passing in procession to look upon the beloved face. Eighteen young men from the Cooper Union surrounded it, as a guard of honor. A body of 3500 students of that institution, of both sexes, marched by, casting flowers upon the coffin, and followed by delegations from all the municipal and charitable organizations of the city, and by uncounted multitudes, whose relation to the beloved philanthropist was not official or representative, but simply personal.

The busiest streets of New York, through which the funeral procession passed on its way to Greenwood Cemetery, beyond the East River, were closed to business and hung in black. The flags on all public buildings, and on the ships in the harbor, were at half-mast. The bells of all churches were tolled. The whole city mourned, as it had not done since, eighty years before, the funeral procession of George Washington moved through its streets.

If we seek, without affectionate prejudice, to discover the cause of this universal grief, affection, and admiration, we shall find, I think, that it lies chiefly in two circumstances; namely, the character of Peter Cooper as a lover of his kind, and the opportunity afforded him by his long life, not only to prove that character, but to become personally known to many thousands of those whom he sought unselfishly to serve. Few persons except military commanders have such an opportunity. The philanthropists who labor in secret, no matter with what noble motive, and do not come face to face with their beneficiaries, may win the applause of posterity, but cannot expect to receive the immediate and personal affection of their contemporaries. Least of all do posthumous gifts arouse this sentiment. Peter Cooper, above all other claims to renown and gratitude, identified himself with his philanthropy, and was known where he was loved.

[1] Many years after his wife's death, and shortly before his own, Mr. Cooper dictated the following passage, which is almost the last in his Reminiscences:—

"Not only do I think of my wife during my waking moments; she often comes to me in my dreams, sometimes once a week, sometimes once in two weeks, and sometimes at longer intervals. It is one of the greatest pleasures of my life that I can believe that she has been, and is now, my guardian angel, and it is one of my happiest hopes that I shall see that this our world is but the bud of a being that is to ripen and bear its choicest fruits in another and a better."