Indeed, it is very much more alive than it has ever been. Still the
sneerers sneer on, and the false prophets continue to prophesy its
certain end.

To the unsympathetic, the ignoramus, the lethargic, the brainless,
everything that savours of enthusiasm is a craze. The politician who
throws himself heart and soul into a political contest is "off his
head," is seized with a craze. The philanthropist who builds and
endows hospitals and churches is "a crank," following a mere craze.
The earnest student of social problems is "off the track," on a craze.
The man who seeks relaxation by any change of employment is certain to
be classed by some idiot as one who goes off on a craze. You cannot,
in fact, step off the beaten track tramped by the common herd without
exciting some remark, some sneer, perchance, at your singularity.

The most ignorant are the most positive that stamp collecting is only
a passing fancy of which its votaries will tire, sooner or later; and
yet for the last forty years, with a brief exception, due to an
abnormal depression in trade, it has always been on the increase.
Indeed, it has never in all those years been more popular with the
cultured classes than it is to-day. The Philatelic Society of London
has an unbroken record of regular meetings of its members extending
over a quarter of a century. The literature devoted to stamp
collecting is more abundant than that of any other hobby. Its votaries
are to be found in every city and town of the habitable globe.

"All very fine," say our bogey men, our prophets of impending evil;
"but blue china has gone to the wall, autographs are losing caste, old
books and first editions are on the downgrade, pipes are relegated to
the lumber-room, metallurgical cabinets are coated with dust, and even