All were grateful, and wished the American admiral “a thousand years,”—­save one poor creature, who blundered into “a hundred,” upon which his angered fellows cudgeled him with blows and words into shouting, “A thousand years, and long ones.”  Donkeys and boats were taken for Amalfi with her convent-crowned cliffs above the sea.  Not until the chill tra montana and the snow-powdered mountain-tops reminded them that but one fire could be kindled in their vast Sorrento home did they leave it one morning, with ninety-six of their well-wisher beggars in the court to bid them good-speed on their way to the Eternal City.

[Illustration:  CASA TASSO AT SORRENTO.]

[Illustration:  CASA TASSO TERRACE-STUDY.]

In the autumn of 1830 Cooper and his family entered Rome through the gate of St. John, and drove across the city to the Hotel de Paris, just below the Pincio and near the Porta del Popolo.  After dinner, with still an hour of daylight, and eager to see what Rome was like, Cooper called a guide, and, holding Paul by the hand, sallied forth through the narrow, crooking streets over the bridge of the angels to St. Peters.  “Pushing aside the door, I found myself in the nave of the noblest temple in which any religious rites were ever celebrated.  To me there was no disappointment, and as I stood gazing at the glorious pile, the tears forced themselves from my eyes.  Even little Paul was oppressed with the vastness of the place, for he clung close to my side and kept murmuring, ‘What is this?  What is this?  Is this a church?’ I turned away impressed with the truth that if ever the hand of man had raised a structure to the Deity in the least worthy of His Majesty, it was this!”

[Illustration:  ST. PETER’S, EXTERIOR, ROME.]

[Illustration:  ST. PETERS, INTERIOR.]

[Illustration:  ADAM MICKIEOWICZ.]

The usual roof-tree was soon found in the via Ripetta, where their back windows overlooked the tawny Tiber and gave them views of Castle St. Angelo and St. Peter’s dome glorified by each day’s setting sun, and here was passed their winter in old Rome.  The Eternal City’s ruins were most interesting to Cooper; it was his special delight to ride for hours with some friend over the Campagna, lingering among fragments of structures or statues of ancient days.  Perhaps none who rode with him gave him more pleasure than the famous Polish poet, Adam Mickieowicz,—­a man full of originality, genius, and sadness for the fate of his lost country.  All of this won Cooper’s sympathy and help in zealous writing and speaking for the suffering Poles; and one, Count Truskalaskie Wuskalaskia, later on found a welcome at Otsego Hall.

[Illustration:  PORTA RIPETTA, WHERE COOPER LIVED IN ROME.]

Our author also saw something of social Rome, as is noted:  He “was at a grand ball—­faultless as to taste and style”—­given by a prince to a prince near to the royal family of England.  Of compatriots he writes:  “We have had a dinner, too, in honor of Washington, at which I had the honor to preside.  You will be surprised to hear that we sat down near seventy Yankees in the Eternal City!”