but it was Wales that he loved and understood best; it was Wales that drew from him his deepest notes of poetry, his noblest sympathy with his kind. He is the greatest interpreter of her scenery and her life. At the Royal Oak at Bettws he put up for some weeks every autumn. In 1847 he repainted its signboard, a subject since of litigation. He also painted a plastered-up door of the inn with a copy of Redgrave's cartoon of Catherine Douglas securing the door with her arm. It was there in 1849 that he sallied forth in the night and washed off from the church porch the drawings of some irreverent young artists. It was there that he saw the touching scene which he afterwards wrought into his noble drawing of the ‘Welsh Funeral.’ It was there he sketched the church, the mill, the ‘big’ meadow, and the peasants gathering peat—all subjects immortalised by his art.
At home he worked as hard as ever. He writes to his son in 1849: ‘In an evening I go to oil painting (small pictures). I wish I could finish them by lamplight as well as I can make a beginning, for I find when I paint in oil and water colours by lamplight my picture is always broader in effect and more brilliant, and often better and more pure in the colour of the tints.’ Now when his power was developing to its greatest, when he was attaining that breadth and brilliancy and that purity of tint in which he has no rival, when he was grasping more firmly than ever the greater truths of nature, its light and air and colour, when he could inspire his work with that large spirit of humanity and that solemn deep feeling which may almost be called biblical, when his hand was trained to express the highest thought of which his nature was capable, just at this time some of his brother-artists, the committee of the society, thought his drawings too rough. ‘They forget,’ wrote Cox with a self-assertion rare to his humble nature, ‘they forget they are the work of the mind, which I consider very far before portraits of places (views).’ This was in 1853, the year of ‘The Challenge’ and ‘The Summit of a Mountain,’ two of the finest of his later works. The former was, however, hung in the place of honour, and the latter found admirers at Harborne, for Cox wrote to his son: ‘Perhaps I am made vain by some here who think my “Summit of a Mountain” worth—I am almost afraid to say—100l., and if I could paint it in oil, I shall some day, with D.V., get that sum.’
This year Cox had a severe attack of bronchitis, and this was followed in June by a rush of blood to the head as he stooped to cut some asparagus in his garden. The effect of the seizure was something like paralysis. He was soon sketching again, but his eyesight was affected and one lid drooped. Nevertheless in 1854 and 1855 he was able to execute some fine drawings and pictures, and in the latter year he went to Edinburgh with his son and Mr. William Hall, an artist, his intimate friend and biographer, to have his portrait painted by Sir John Watson Gordon. The cost of the portrait was subscribed by a committee of his friends and admirers, and it was completed and presented to him in November at Metchley Abbey, Harborne, the residence of Mr. Charles Birch, the chairman. It now belongs to the Birmingham and Midland Institute. Next year it was exhibited at the Royal Academy, and Mr. (afterwards Sir William Boxall [q. v.] painted another portrait of him. This year also (1856) Rosa Bonheur came to Birmingham and paid a visit to Cox. Thus, though his full greatness was not recognised, it cannot be said that he was without honour or fame, and his drawings of 1857, ‘rougher’ though they were than ever, are said to have ‘made a great impression on the public. It was known that the state of his health prevented his bestowing the same amount of labour as formerly on the ‘finishing’ of his works, and they were regarded as the last expressions of a great mind in harmony with nature and at rest with itself.’ He went to London again that year, but he was taken unwell at the beginning of June, and though he recovered sufficiently to enjoy painting again, and exhibited drawings in 1858 and 1859, he did not leave Harborne any more. He died on 7 June 1859. He was buried in Harborne churchyard on the 15th, and the funeral was marked by the genuine emotion of all that were present, including the poor of the neighbourhood, to whom he was constant in his charity. A stained glass window to his memory has been placed in Harborne Church, and a bust, by Peter Hollis, is in the Public Art Gallery of Birmingham.
The character of Cox was one of singular nobleness and simplicity, and he was beloved by all who came in contact with him. Of book learning he had little, and his life was devoted to his art, which reflects his deep love of nature, his sympathy with his fellow-men, his faithfulness, his industry, and his imagination. No man appreciated more highly the work of his most gifted contemporaries. He was one of the earliest subscribers to Turner's ‘Liber Studiorum,’ and this at a time when he could ill afford it. He painted, from memory, pictures by Turner, Martin, and Cattermole. He copied from Bonington, and has left records of his appreciation of Cotman and others. Of his art,
