The average autograph hunter, with his purposeless insistence,
reminds one of the queen in Stockton's story whose fad was "the
buttonholes of all nations."
In our population of eighty millions and upward there are probably two
hundred thousand persons interested more or less in what is termed the
literary world. This estimate is absurdly low, but it serves to cast
a sufficient side-light upon the situation. Now, any unit of these two
hundred thousand is likely at any moment to indite a letter to some
favorite novelist, historian, poet, or what not. It will be seen, then,
that the autograph hunter is no inconsiderable person. He has made it
embarrassing work for the author fortunate or unfortunate enough to
be regarded as worth while. Every mail adds to his reproachful pile
of unanswered letters. If he have a conscience, and no amanuensis,
he quickly finds himself tangled in the meshes of endless and futile
correspondence. Through policy, good nature, or vanity he is apt to
become facile prey.
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