other less, but we were still friendly. I went up to
town to scribble; Allen stayed on at Oxford. One day I chanced to go
into Blocksby's rooms; it was a Friday, I remember--there was to be a
great sale on the Monday. There I met Allen in ecstasies over one of the
books displayed in the little side room on the right hand of the sale-
room. He had taken out of a glass case and was gloating over a book
which, it seems, had long been the Blue Rose of his fancy as a collector.
He was crazed about Longepierre, the old French amateur, whose volumes,
you may remember, were always bound in blue morocco, and tooled, on the
centre and at the corners, with his badge, the Golden Fleece. Now the
tome which so fascinated Allen was a Theocritus, published at Rome by
Caliergus--a Theocritus on blue paper, if you please, bound in
Longepierre's morocco livery, _double_ with red morocco, and, oh ecstasy!
with a copy of Longepierre's version of one Idyll on the flyleaf, signed
with the translator's initials, and headed "_a Mon Roy_." It is known to
the curious that Louis XIV. particularly admired and praised this little
poem, calling it "a model of honourable gallantry." Clearly the grateful
author had presented his own copy to the king; and here it was, when king
and crown had gone down into dust.

Allen showed me the book; he could hardly let it leave his hands.

"Here is a pearl," he had said, "a gem beyond price!"

"I'm afraid you'll find it so," I said; "that is for a Paillet or
Rothschild, not for you, my boy."

"I fear so," he had answered; "if I were to sell my whole library
to-morrow, I could hardly raise the money;" for he was poor, and it was
rumoured that his mania had already made him acquainted with the Jews.

We parted. I went home to chambers; Allen stayed adoring the unexampled
Longepierre. That night I dined out, and happened to sit next a young
lady who possessed a great deal of taste, though that was the least of
her charms. The fashion for book-collecting was among her innocent
pleasures; she had seen Allen's books at Oxford, and I told her of his
longings for the Theocritus. Miss Breton at once was eager to see the
book, and the other books, and I obtained leave to go with her and Mrs.
Breton to the auction-rooms next day. The little side-room where the
treasures were displayed was empty, except for an attendant, when we went
in; we looked at the things and made learned remarks, but I admit that I
was