An early pupil, Dr. William Roots, however, gives a very different account of Cooper’s “consequence to mankind.” “From the period of Astley’s appointment to Guy’s until the moment of his latest breath, he was everything and all to the suffering and afflicted; his name was a host, but his presence brought confidence and comfort; and I have often observed that on an operating day, should anything occur of an untoward character in the theatre, the moment Astley Cooper entered, and the instrument was in his hand, every difficulty was overcome, and safety generally ensued.” No doubt reference is here made to the fact recorded by Sir Astley himself as follows: “I was always of opinion that Mr. Cline and I gained more reputation at the hospitals by assisting our colleagues than by our own operations, for they were always in scrapes, and we were obliged to help them out of them.” Mr. Travers, who became Astley Cooper’s articled pupil in 1800, says at that time he was the handsomest, most intelligent-looking and finely formed man he ever saw. According to the custom of his time, he wore his hair powdered, with a queue, and had always a glow of colour in his cheeks. In his daily ride he wore a blue coat and yellow buckskin breeches and top-boots. He was remarkably upright, and moved with grace, vigour, and elasticity, and would not unfrequently throw his well-shaped leg upon the table at lecture, to illustrate some injury or operation on the lower extremity. Cheerfulness of temper amounting to vivacity, and a relish for the ludicrous, never deserted him, and his chuckling laugh, scarce smothered while he told his story, his mirthful look and manner, and his punning habit, were well known. His personal habits were very simple; he drank water at dinner, and took two glasses of port after. A good digestion never forsook him; as he said, “he could digest anything but sawdust.” He was remarkable for requiring little amusement or company beyond what he found in his professional pursuits; and he read comparatively little medical literature. It has often been alleged that Astley Cooper was somewhat unfeeling in nature; and it must be admitted that he had not a deep sympathy with bodily pain, for his own insusceptibility was equalled by his physical endurance. Yet he always sympathised deeply with mental suffering, and Mr. Travers, who saw him read a posthumous letter from a favourite pupil who had committed suicide, relates that his utterance was choked with sobs, and he wept as for the loss of an only child. That his affection was not restricted to his own immediate family is shown by the fact that on the deeply regretted death of his little daughter he adopted into his family a little girl who was no relative, but whose mother died early; and subsequently he himself brought from Yarmouth in the coach, a twenty hours’ journey, his little nephew, Astley, then two years old, who subsequently became his successor in the baronetcy.