s me from making any remarks upon the other five
"symptoms," none of which are of any special interest, except to
collectors to whose eccentricities they particularly relate.

As to "Autograph Editions," the craze for these continues without
abatement. To me, this has always been one of the unsolved mysteries
of the book-mania. I can readily appreciate how a collector would
prize an author's inscribed copy of some choice edition, but why
intelligent people should be allured into the belief that an author's
stereotyped autograph displayed upon a front page gives any added
value to a set of subscription books, will to me, I fear, forever
remain a disentangled enigma. I was once applied to by an agent
representing a $6000 "Autograph Edition" of Jean Jacques Rousseau.
Having never seen Rousseau's autograph, I asked that it be shown me.
"Oh," said the agent, "Rousseau himself don't sign the copies, but the
set will be signed by the publishers." Would not a much less expensive
and more expeditious way of obtaining publishers' autographs be found
in writing a postal card of inquiry for the "prices and terms" on
their publications?

Gilpin has left the following quaint account of the eccentric old
bibliomaniac, Henry Hastings, the uncompanionable neighbor of Anthony
Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury. The accompanying pen-and-ink sketch
represents Louis Maynelle's idealization of this interesting
character; it was made especially for this volume:--

"Mr. Hastings was low of stature, but strong and active, of a ruddy
complexion, with flaxen hair. His clothes were always of green cloth.
His house was of the old fashion; in the midst of a large park, well
stocked with deer, rabbits, and fish-ponds. He had a long narrow
bowling green in it, and used to play with round sand bowls. Here too
he had a banqueting room built, like a stand in a large tree.

[Illustration]

"He kept all sorts of hounds that ran buck, fox, hare, otter, and
badger; and had hawks of all kinds, both long and short winged. His
great hall was commonly strewed with marrow-bones, and full of
hawk-perches, hounds, spaniels, and terriers. The upper end of it was
hung with fox-skins of this and the last year's killing. Here and
there a polecat was intermixed and hunter's poles in great abundance.
The parlour was a large room, completely furnished in the same style.
On a broad hearth, paved with brick, lay some of the choicest
terriers, hounds and spaniels. One or two