eriously warned by these warm friends: "By the shade of
Washington! and the memory of Jay! to be more prudent; not a syllable of
pavements or a word of lamps could be uttered." Because he thought the
bay of Naples of more classic interest than the bay of New York, he was
voted "devoid of taste and patriotism." So hurt was he by public
distrust that he thought seriously of writing no more; its injustice led
him to criticise harshly many changes which had occurred during his
absence. The Indian trail had made way for canal-boats, connecting the
ocean with the inland seas; the railroads had come, with other active
commercial interests, to stay.

[Illustration: THE BAY OF NAPLES.]

[Illustration: NEW YORK HARBOR.]

After their return from Europe Cooper and his family passed some winters
in New York City--those of 1833-34 and 1835-36 in Bleecker Street near
Thompson. There he "first erected his household gods, French gods these,
for the house throughout was equipped with furniture from France, and
ministered solely by French servitors," writes Doctor Wolfe. But love
for the old Hall on the shores of Otsego grew strong beyond resistance.
It was vacant and of forlorn appearance when the author returned to it
in 1834. From a simple, roomy, comfortable house it was made over into a
picturesque country-seat, from designs, English in style, drawn by
Professor Morse, who was at Cooperstown during alterations. Some of
these, without thought of the cold Otsego winters--ice and snow on the
battlemented roof--made leaks frequent and disturbing.

[Illustration: OTSEGO HALL AFTER THE RECONSTRUCTION OF 1834.]

In 1835 Cooper wrote of this home: "The Hall is composite enough, Heaven
knows, being a mongrel of the Grecian and Gothic orders; my hall,
however, is the admiration of all the mountaineers--nearly fifty feet
long, twenty-four wide, and fifteen feet high. I have raised the ceiling
three feet, and regret it had not been ten. I have aversion to a room
under jurymasts."

[Illustration: COOPER'S LIBRARY AT OTSEGO HALL.]

The library was a well-shaped room of twenty by twenty-four feet, the
ceiling twelve feet above. Its deep, dark oak windows opened on the
thick shade-trees of the quiet southwest; the walls, well-lined with
books of value, could show no complete set of his own. In one corner of
this room was a large folding screen on which were pasted print-pictures
of places they had visited during their seven years' tour of Eur