A little more personal notice may not be out of place here as significant of the man. In January, 1898, I received a letter from Doctor Coues desiring me to send him a copy of the _River of the West_, "with any erroneous passages it may possibly contain corrected in your (my) own hand," and asking me to give him information on some subjects which he named, and among them, the origin of the name "Lawyer," as applied to a Nez Perce chief; also asking the meaning of the word "Lo-Lo," whether it was a personal name, etc.[23] He understood that an author is pretty sure to find "erroneous passages" in books that an honest writer must be willing to correct; besides, he wished to avoid quoting others' errors. From that date to his death we were in frequent correspondence, and when the Oregon Historical Society was formed, he was made acquainted with the fact, on which he expressed a desire to be made a member. It is not too late to thus honor the man who has given the state a chapter of its history hitherto unrevealed. Mrs. Coues, in a letter replying to one of mine, says: "His home life and ways would hardly interest the public, they were so simple and quiet, with a wonderful appreciation of any little thing that was done for his comfort. I think the one characteristic that stands out the most prominently was, 'Now, I have finished that piece of writing. I have begun another.'" To finish a work was not an occasion for rest, but to put forth fresh energy for other effort. Francis P. Harper, his publisher, says: "He had a capacity for work that was almost beyond belief, and was always prompt and business-like. He was a firm and trustworthy friend, and an ideal author for a publisher to have business relations with." His printer (in the Osprey office, Washington), adds: "I have had years of experience with various authors and editors, and can truthfully say his genial friendship and appreciation stands out markedly beyond all others." "He never neglected a letter," says Mrs. Coues, "although from a total stranger, asking for assistance. He gave it if he could, most generously, and if unable, gave a courteous answer, and a reason. I myself have counted sixty letters he had written in about six hours—not merely a reply of a few lines. His one great desire in life was a search after truth, and kept his mind receptive to all that could give him a clue." Doctor Coues spent the summer of 1899 in New Mexico, making researches in his usual energetic fashion—"forgetful of his fifty-seven years" as he wrote me after returning home ill. It was not years, however, that bore so heavily upon him; but the crowding of five years' work into one. This it was that deprived the world of his incomparable services in the very fullness of his intellectual powers.