CHAPTER XXXVII.
AUTOGRAPHS AND ADVERTISEMENTS.
A word or two about autographs, surely a topic suitable to this book: in fact, I have sometimes preferred to spell it authorgraphs: most public men are troubled nowadays with this sort of petty homage, and I more than suspect that some collectors make merchandise of them; "my valuable collection" being often the form in which strangers solicit the flattering boon.

Once I had a queer proof as to the money value of my own,--as thus: I went quite casually into an auctioneer's in Piccadilly, to a book-sale; a lot of some half-dozen volumes were just being knocked down for next to nothing (such is our deterioration in these newspaper days) when the wielder of Thor's fateful hammer, dissatisfied at the price, asked for the lot to look at,--and coming amongst others to a certain book with handwriting in it, said, "Why, here's one with Martin Tupper's autograph,"-- on which a buyer called out, "I'll give you eighteenpence more for that,"-- suggestive to me of my auction value,--as I have sometimes said.

If, however, the more than hundreds (thousands) I have been giving for these fifty years, really have so easily gratified friends known or unknown, I am glad to be in that way so much a gainer.
Americans in particular ask frequently, and sometimes with wisely enclosed stamped and addressed envelopes, which is a thing both considerate and praiseworthy; but a very different sort and not easily to be excused are those who send registered albums by post for one's handwriting, expecting to have them returned similarly at no small cost.
Longfellow told me of this kind of young lady taxation, and mentioned that he once had to pay twelve shillings for a registered return quarto.
I dare say that our popular Laureate has had similar experiences.
The most "wholesale order" for my signature was at New York in 1851, when at a party there my perhaps too exacting hostess put a large pack of plain cards into my hand, posted me at a corner table with pen and ink, and flatteringly requested an autograph for each of her 100 guests! of course, even this was graciously conceded,--though rather too much of a good thing, I thought.
There is wisdom (some have hinted to me) in preferring a card to a sheet of paper; not only because "I promise to pay" might possibly be written _ab extra_ over one's signature, but also because (and far more probably) any special "fad," political, social, or religious, might be added above--to all seeming--your written approbation: _e.g._, I was told in America that my autographed opinion in favour of Unitarianism had been so seen at Boston.

Some zealots for a "cause" even go so far as that.

My safe course is to write "the handwriting of so-and-so," where from total ignorance of my correspondent I cannot honestly say "I am truly yours." Other forms of authorial homage are to be met with in the way of complimentary photographs, and oil or water-colour portraits.