if not affection, from his countrymen, for his brilliant creations and his solid services to American literature; and he knew it.  But, as we all know,—­for it was patent,—­when he returned from Europe, after sending his “Letter to his Countrymen,” and gave us “Home as Found,” his reception was much less marked with warmth and enthusiasm than Mr. Irving’s was; and while he professed indifference to all such whims of popular regard, yet he evidently brooded a little over the relative amount of public attention extended to his brother-author.  At any rate, he persistently kept aloof from Mr. Irving for many years; and not unfrequently discoursed, in his rather authoritative manner, about the humbuggery of success in this country, as exhibited in some shining instances of popular and official favor.  With great admiration for Cooper, whose national services were never recognized as they deserved to be, I trust no injustice is involved in the above suggestion, which I make somewhat presumptuously,—­especially as Mr. Irving more than once spoke to me in terms of strong admiration of the works and genius of Cooper, and regretted that the great novelist seemed to cherish some unpleasant feeling towards him.  One day, some time after I had commenced a library edition of Cooper’s best works, and while Irving’s were in course of publication in companionship, Mr. Irving was sitting at my desk, with his back to the door, when Mr. Cooper came in, (a little bustlingly, as usual,) and stood at the office-entrance, talking.  Mr. Irving did not turn, (for obvious reasons,) and Cooper did not see him.  Remembering his “Mr. Sharp, Mr. Blunt,—­Mr. Blunt, Mr. Sharp,” I had acquired caution as to introductions without mutual consent; but with a brief thought of how matters stood, (they had not met for several years,) and a sort of instinct that reduced the real difference between the parties to a baseless fabric of misapprehension, I stoutly obeyed the impulse of the moment, and simply said,—­“Mr. Cooper, here is Mr. Irving.”  The latter turned,—­Cooper held out his hand cordially, dashed at once into an animated conversation, took a chair, and, to my surprise and delight, the two authors sat for an hour, chatting in their best manner about almost every topic of the day and some of former days.  They parted with cordial good wishes, and Mr. Irving afterwards frequently alluded to the incident as being a very great gratification to him.  He may have recalled it with new satisfaction, when, not many months afterwards, he sat on the platform at the “Cooper Commemoration,” and joined in Bryant’s tribute to the genius of the departed novelist.