; but there are others whose
tastes are singularly eccentric: of these I may mention the snuff-box
collector, the cane-fancier, the ring-taker, the play-bill gatherer, to
say nothing of one illustrious personage, whose passion for collecting a
library of Bibles is generally known. But there is another individual of
the species that I have not yet mentioned, whose morbid pleasure in
collecting relics and memorials of the most revolting deeds of blood and
crime is too well authenticated to be discredited. I believe that this
variety, which I term "The Criminal Curiosity Hunter," is unknown to every
country in the world, except England.
How such a horrible taste should have been engendered here, is a question
not easily solved. Physiologists are inclined to attribute it to our heavy
atmosphere, which induces gloomy thoughts and fancies; while moralists
assign as its cause, the sanguinary spirit of our laws, our brutal
exhibitions of hanging, drawing and quartering, of gibbettings, whippings,
brandings, and torturings, which degrade men's natures, and give them a
relish for scenes of blood and cruelty.
It happened that I had occasion to call on one of those "Criminal
Curiosity Hunters" lately. He received me with extreme urbanity, and
pointing to an old-fashioned-looking arm-chair, requested me to be
seated.
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