Lord Carnarvon has a fine collection of these, amongst them being an _Almanach des Muses_ bearing the arms of Marie Antoinette. Another of his treasures is _Les bienfaits du sommeil_, an exceptionally scarce and practically unknown almanack, embellished with four plates engraved by Delaunay after Moreau. He also possesses a perfect copy of the very rare _Suite d’estampes pour servir à la mode_—a reduction of the _Monument de costume_ of Moreau le jeune. This, by great good fortune, he found whilst looking through a vast assortment of rubbish at a shop in Constantinople, one Turkish pound only being asked for two perfect copies. Other rarities in this most careful collection of scarce and beautiful books are the tallest known copy of that rarest of Elzevirs, _Le pastissier François_, and a first edition of the _Art of Cookery_, with H. Glasse, the autograph of Mrs. Glasse, written upon the title-page. The well-known remark, “First catch your hare,” does not occur in the first edition. Lord Carnarvon also has many splendid bindings, as well as an ancient morocco box, covered with gold tooling and made to hold prayer-books, which once belonged to Gabrielle d’Estrées. A collection of books of this kind, many of them containing sketches by great artists such as Fragonard and Moreau, is exceedingly difficult to get together—taste and knowledge being indispensable requisites as well as the possession of a well-filled purse. At one time massive folio volumes were the delight of the bibliophile, but that day has long since passed: small and beautifully bound and illustrated volumes are now the collectors especial delight. Fashion, indeed, exercises her sway here as in other forms of art. I remember, for instance, a regular craze which was originated by Sir Francis Grant, a fashionable painter of other days, who was a great favourite in society. A portrait painted by him of his daughter (a singularly good-looking girl), wearing a red cloak, created a great sensation, and in consequence of the happy effect produced by the brilliant colouring of this picture, every one, old or young, ugly or beautiful, rushed to have their portrait painted in a similar costume. The result in most cases, however, was far from being as successful as in the case of Miss Grant. She afterwards became Lady Annesley. Sir Francis painted a picture of my sister and myself which now hangs at Methley. This, in my opinion, was a great failure, for my sister looks like a murderess, whilst I am represented as apparently suffering from the effects of a narcotic which she has just administered. Nevertheless, many people said it was not at all a bad picture, but I never liked it. Sir Francis was an agreeable man, and we often used to go to his house in Regent’s Park to sit to him in the evenings. He was the only painter I ever heard of who painted by gas-light, a feat which has always lingered in my memory as a somewhat remarkable thing.