Added to her other infirmities, an affection of the eyes gradually darkened her vision until she became totally blind. In a condition of helplessness which would seem to make existence unendurable, Miss Cooper found much to make her happy, and life was sweet to her to the end. She enjoyed the society of friends, and it gave her keen pleasure, blind and crippled as she was, to be seated in state at large social functions. Such was her habitual solemnity of manner that few gave her credit for the sense of humor which lightened many of her dark days. She uttered her jests with so much gravity that they were often taken in earnest. Now and again she made sport of her own infirmities. Meeting her one day in her wheel-chair, after her eyesight had begun to fail, a neighbor inquired for her health. "Quite comfortable," replied Miss Cooper, in solemn tones, "except for my eyes. They tell me it is a fine day, with beautiful blue sky. The sky is blue, but to my eyes it is shrunk to the size of a bachelor's-button!" Miss Cooper was very reluctant in consenting to the amputation which prolonged her life for several years. Even after the surgeons stood ready in the operating-room she for a time declined to submit to the ordeal. There was a prolonged discussion which resulted at last, on the advice of friends, in obtaining her consent. The chief surgeon entering the room approached the bedside rubbing his hands and, grasping at something to say to reassure the patient, remarked in silken tones, "Well, Miss Cooper, I'm glad to hear that you prefer to have the amputation." The situation seemed desperate, and nerves were at a high tension among Miss Cooper's friends. "Well, doctor," was her tart rejoinder, "I must say that 'prefer' is hardly the word that I should use!" With this she gave a chuckle that proved her spirit undaunted, and relieved the strain. Miss Cooper had great respect for the clergy, and for a bishop her reverence was unbounded. When Bishop Potter dedicated the monument at the grave of Leslie Pell-Clarke, in Lakewood Cemetery, a terrific thunderstorm arose during the ceremonies, and Miss Cooper was taken home in the carriage with the distinguished prelate to escape the deluge. The various conveyances plunged down the hillside post-haste, with lightning crashing on every side. Some of the ladies in the party became hysterical. Miss Cooper alone was perfectly calm. "With a bishop by my side," she exclaimed, "I am not in the least afraid to die!" [Illustration: THE CLARK ESTATE OFFICE]