A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour in France and Germany Volume II Part 16

[150] ["How can M. Dibdin forget the respect due to his readers, to give them a recital of dinners, partaken of at the houses of private persons, as if he were describing those of a tavern? How comes it that he was never conscious of the want of good taste and propriety of conduct, to put the individuals, of whom he was speaking, into a sort of dramatic form, and even the MISTTRESSES OF THE HOUSE! c.r.a.pELET: Vol. iv. 106. I have given as unsparing a version as I could (against myself) in the preceding extract; but the _sting_ of the whole matter, as affecting M. c.r.a.pelet, may be drawn from the concluding words. And yet, where have I spoken ungraciously and uncourteously of Madame?]

[151] [_Bozerian undoubtedly had his merits_.]--Lesne has been singularly lively in describing the character of Bozerian's binding.

In the verse ...

Il dit, et secouant le joug de la manie....

he appears to have been emulous of rivalling the strains, of the Epic Muse; recalling, as it were, a sort of Homeric scene to our recollection: as thus--of Achilles rushing to fight, after having addressed his horses:

[Greek: E ra, kai en protois iachon eche monuchas hippos]

[152] Some account of French bookbinders may be also found in the _Bibliographical Decameron_, vol. ii. p. 496-8.

[153] Cependant Thouvenin est un de ces hommes extraordinaires qui, semblables a ces _corps lumineux_ que l'on est convenu d'appeler _cometes_, paraissent une fois en un siecle. Si, plus ambitieux de gloire que de fortune, il continue a, se surveiller; si, moins ouvrier qu'artiste, il s'occupe sans relache du perfectionnement de la reliure, il fera epoque dans son art comme ces grands hommes que nous admirons font epoque dans la litterature. p. 117.

[154] [In the year 1819, Lord Spencer sent over to the Marquis de Chateaugiron, a copy of the _Ovid De Tristilus, translated by Churchyard_, 1578, 4to. (his contribution to the Roxburghe Club) as a present from ONE President of Bibliophiles to ANOTHER. It was bound by Lewis, in his very best style, in morocco, with vellum linings, within a broad border of gold, and all other similar seductive adjuncts.

Lewis considered it as a CHALLENGE to the whole bibliopegistic fraternity at Paris:--a sort of book-gauntlet;--thrown down for the most resolute champion to pick up--if he dare! Thouvenin, Simier, Bozerian (as has been intimated to me) were convened on the occasion:--they looked at the gauntlet: admired and feared it: but no man durst pick it up!

Obstupuere animi:----

Ante omnes stupet ipse Dares[D]....

In other words, the Marquis de Chateaugiron avowed to me that it was considered to be the _ne plus ultra_ of the art. What say you to this, Messrs. Lesne and c.r.a.pelet?

[D] _Thouvenin_.

[155] This poem appeared early in the year 1820, under the following t.i.tle.

"_La Reliure, poeme didactique en six chants_; precede d'une idee a.n.a.lytique de cet art, suivi de notes historiques et critiques, et d'un Memoire soumis a la Societe d'Encouragement, ainsi qu'au Jury d'exposition de 1819, relatif a des moyens de perfectionnement, propres a r.e.t.a.r.der le renouvellement des reliures. PAR LESNe. Paris, 1820. 8vo. pp. 246. The motto is thus:

Hatez-vous lentement, et sans perdre courage, Vingt fois sur le metier remettez votre ouvrage; Polissez-le sans cesse et le repolissez.

_Boileau Art. Poet._ ch. 1.

This curious production is dedicated to the Author's Son: his first workman; seventeen years of age; and "as knowing, in his business at that early period of life as his father was at the age of twenty-seven." The dedication is followed by a preface, and an advertis.e.m.e.nt, or "Idee a.n.a.lytique de la Reliure." In the preface, the author deprecates both precipitate and severe criticism; "He is himself but a book-binder--and what can be expected from a muse so cultivated?"

He doubts whether it will be read all through; but his aim and object have been to fix, upon a solid basis, the fundamental principles of his art. The subject, as treated in the Dictionary of Arts and Trades by the French Academy, is equally scanty and inaccurate. The author wishes that all arts were described by artists, as the reader would gain in information what he would lose in style. "I here repeat (says he) what I have elsewhere said in bad verse. There are amateur collectors who know more about book-binding, than even certain good workmen; but there are also others, of a capricious taste, who are rather likely to lead half-instructed workmen astray, than to put them in the proper road." In the poetical epistle which concludes the preface, he tells us that he had almost observed the Horatian precept: his poem having cost eight years labour. The opening of it may probably be quite sufficient to give the reader a proper notion of its character and merits.

Je celebre mon art; je dirai dans mes vers, Combien il eprouva de changemens divers; Je dirai ce que fut cet art en sa naissance; Je dirai ses progres, et, de sa decadence.

Je nommerai sans fard les ineptes auteurs: Oui, je vais derouler aux yeux des amateurs: Des mauvais procedes la deplorable liste.

Je nommerai le bon et le mauvais artiste;

_LETTER IX._

MEN OF LETTERS. DOM BRIAL. THE ABBe BeTENCOURT. MESSRS. GAIL, MILLIN, AND LANGeS. A ROXBURGHE BANQUET.

_Paris, June 20, 1818_.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

We have had of late the hottest weather in the memory of the oldest Parisian: but we have also had a few flying thunder showers, which have helped to cool the air, and to refresh both the earth and its inhabitants.

In consequence, I have made more frequent visits; and have followed up my morning occupations among BOOKS, by the evening society of those who are so capable, from their talents, of adding successfully to their number. Among the most eminent, as well as most venerable of historical antiquaries, is the celebrated Dom BRIAL, an ex-Benedictin. He lives in the _Rue Servandoni_, on the second-floor, in the very bosom, as it were, of his library, and of city solitude. My first visit to him, about three weeks ago, was fortified by an introductory letter from our friend * * *. The old gentleman (for he is about seventy four) was busily occupied at his dinner--about one o'clock; and wearing a silk night cap, and habited en rocquelaure, had his back turned as his servant announced me. He is very deaf; but on receiving the letter, and recognising the hand-writing of our friend, he made me heartily welcome, and begged that I would partake of his humble fare. This I declined; begging, on the other hand that he would pursue his present occupation, and allow me to examine his library. "With the greatest pleasure (replied he); but you will find it a very common-place one."

His books occupy each of the four rooms which form the suite of his dwelling. Of course I include the bed room. They are admirably selected: chiefly historical, and including a very considerable number in the ecclesiastical department. He has all the historians relating to our own country. In short, it is with tools like these, and from original MSS. lent him from the Royal Library--which his official situation authorizes--- that he carries on the herculean labour of the _Recueil des Historiens des Gaules, &c._ commenced by BOUQUET and other editors, and of which he shewed me a great portion of the XVIIth volume--as well as the commencement of the XVIIIth--already printed. Providence may be graciously pleased to prolong the life of this learned and excellent old man till the _latter_ volume be completed; but _beyond_ that period, it is hardly reasonable or desirable to wish it; for if he die, he will then have been gathered to his fathers in a good old age.[156] But the labours of Dom Brial are not confined to the "Recueil," just mentioned. They shine conspicuous in the "_Histoire Litteraire de la France_," of which fifteen goodly quarto volumes are already printed; and they may be also traced in the famous work ent.i.tled _L'Art de, Verifier les Dates_, in three large folio volumes, published in 1783, &c. "Quand il est mort, il n'a point son eleve"[157]--says his old and intimate friend the ABBe BeTENCOURT; an observation, which, when I heard it, filled me with mingled regret and surprise--for why is this valuable, and most _patriotic_ of all departments of literature, neglected _abroad_ as well as _at home_? It is worth all the _digamma_ disquisitions in the world; and France, as well as Italy, was once rich in historical Literati.

Dom Brial is very little above the mean height. He stoops somewhat from age; but, considering his years, and incessantly sedentary labours, it is rather marvellous that he does not exhibit more striking proofs of infirmity. His voice is full and strong; his memory is yet retentive, and his judgment sound. His hand-writing is extremely firm and legible. No man ever lived, or ever will, or can live, more completely devoted to his labours. They are his meat and drink--as much as his "bouilli et pet.i.tes poies:"--of which I saw him partaking on repeated visits. Occupied from morning till night in the prosecution of his studies--in a quarter of Paris extremely secluded--he appears to be almost unconscious of pa.s.sing occurrences without;[158] except it be of the sittings of the _Inst.i.tute_, which he constantly attends, on Fridays, as one of the Secretaries. I have twice dined with him; and, each time, in company with the Abbe Betencourt, his brother Secretary at the Inst.i.tute; and his old, long-tried, and most intimate friend.

The Abbe BeTENCOURT was not unknown to me during his late residence in England, as an Emigre: but he is still-better known to our common friend * * *, who gave me the letter of introduction to Dom Brial. That mutual knowledge brought us quickly together, and made us as quickly intimate. The Abbe is above the middle height; wears his own grey hair; has an expressive countenance, talks much; and well, and at times drolly. Yet his wit or mirth is well attempered to his years. His manner of _rallying_ his venerable friend is very amusing; for Dom Brial, from his deafness, (like most deaf men) drops at times into silence and abstraction. On each of my dinner-visits, it was difficult to say which was the hotter day. But Dom Brial's residence, at the hour of dinner, (which was four--for my own accommodation) happened luckily to be in the _shade_. We sat down, three, to a small circular table, (in the further or fourth room) on the tiled floor of which was some very ancient wine, within the immediate grasp of the right hand of the host. An elderly female servant attended in the neighbouring room. The dinner was equally simple, relishing, and abundant; and the virtues of the "old wine" were quickly put into circulation by the Benedictin founder of the feast.

At six we rose from table, and walked in the Luxembourg gardens, hard by.

The air had become somewhat cooler. The sun was partially concealed by thin, speckled clouds: a gentle wind was rising; and the fragrance of innumerable flowers, from terraces crowded with rose-trees, was altogether so genial and refreshing, that my venerable companions--between whom I walked arm in arm--declared that "they hardly knew when the gardens had smelt so sweetly." We went straight onward--towards the _Observatoire_, the residence of the Astronomer Royal. In our way thither we could not avoid crossing the _Rue d' Enfer_, where Marshal Ney was shot. The spot, which had been stained with his blood, was at this moment covered by skittles, and groups of stout lads were enjoying themselves in all directions. It should seem that nothing but youthful sports and pastimes had ever prevailed there: so insensibly do succeeding occupations wear away all traces of the past. I paused for half a minute, casting a thoughtful eye towards the spot. The Abbe Betencourt moralised aloud, and Dom Brial seemed inwardly to meditate. We now reached the Observatory. The Sub-Princ.i.p.al was at home, and was overjoyed to receive his venerable visitors. He was a fellow-townsman of Dom Brial, and we were shewn every thing deserving of notice. It was nearly night-fall, when, on reaching the Rue Servandoni, I wished my amiable companions adieu, till we met again.

I have before mentioned the name of M. GAIL. Let me devote a little more time and attention to him. He is, as you have been also previously told, the curator of the Greek and Latin MSS. in the Royal Library, and a Greek Professor in the College Royale. There is no man, at all alive to a generous and kind feeling, who can deny M. Gail the merit of a frank, benevolent, and hearty disposition. His Greek and Latin studies, for the last thirty-five years, have neither given a severe bias to his judgment, nor repressed the ebullitions of an ardent and active imagination. His heart is yet all warmth and kindness. His fulfilment of the duties of his chair has been exemplary and beneficial; and it is impossible for the most zealous and grateful of her sons, to have the prosperity of the College Royale more constantly in view, than my friend I.B. Gail has that of the University of Paris. His labours, as a scholar, have been rather useful than critical. He has edited _Anacreon_ more than once: and to the duodecimo edition of 1794, is prefixed a small portrait--medallion-wise--of the editor; which, from the costume of dress and juvenility of expression, does not much remind me of the Editor as he now is. M. Gail's great scholastic work is his Greek, Latin, and French, editions of _Xenophon_ and _Thucydides_, in twenty-four quarto volumes; but in the execution of this performance he suffered himself to be rather led astray by the attractions of the _Bibliomania_. In other words, he chose to indulge in membranaceous propensities; and nothing would serve M. Gail's turn but he must have a unique COPY UPON VELLUM! in a quarto form.[159] Twenty four quarto volumes upon vellum!.. enough to chill the ardour and drain the purse of the most resolute and opulent publisher.

When I dined with the Editor, the other day, I was shewn these superb volumes with all due form and solemnity: and I must say that they do very great credit to the press of the Elder Didot. Yet I fear that it will be a long time before the worthy M. Gail is remunerated for his enterprising and speculative spirit. In all the duties attached to his situation in the Royal Library, this worthy character is equally correct and commendable. He is never so fully occupied with old Greek and Latin MSS., but that he will immediately attend to your wants; and, as much as depends upon himself, will satisfy them most completely. Anacreon has left behind some little deposit of good humour and urbanity, which has continued to nourish the heart of his Translator; for M. Gail is yet jocose, and mirth-loving; fond of a lively repartee, whether in conversation or in writing. He may count some sixty-two years.

But it is high time to introduce you to another of these "Confreres" at the Bibliotheque du Roi; of whom indeed, hitherto, I have made but a slight mention. You will readily guess that this must be the well-known AUBIN LOUIS MILLIN--the Head of the department of Antiquities; or the princ.i.p.al _Archaeologist_ of the establishment. My friend Mr. Dawson Turner having furnished me with introductory credentials, I called upon M. Millin within twenty-four hours of my arrival at Paris. In consequence, from that time to this, I have had frequent intercourse with him. Indeed I am willing to hope that our acquaintance has well nigh mellowed into friendship. He is a short, spare, man; with a countenance lighted up by intelligence rather than moulded by beauty. But he is evidently just now (and indeed, as I learn, has been for some time past) labouring under severe indisposition.

He is the thorough Frenchman both in figure and manners: light, cheerful, active, diligent, and exceedingly good natured and communicative. His apartments are admirably furnished: and his LIBRARY does him infinite honour--considering the limited means by which it has been got together.

His abode is the constant resort of foreigners, from all countries, and of all denominations; and the library is the common property of his friends, and even of strangers--when they are well recommended to him.

Millin has been a great traveller; but, if the reports which have reached me prove true, his second voyage to Italy, recently accomplished, have sown the seeds of incurable disease in his const.i.tution. Indeed: when I look at him, at times, I fancy that I discover _that_ in his countenance ... which I wish were not so palpable ... to my observation. His collection of drawings, of fac-similes of all descriptions--of prints and of atla.s.ses--is immense. They are freely laid open to the inspection of any curious observer: and I have already told you how heartily M. Millin begged that Mr. Lewis would consider his house as his _home_--for the prosecution of his drawings from the illuminated MSS. in the Royal Library, when the regular time of attendance in that place was closed. The other day, we had a superb dejeune a la fourchette at M. Millin's--about three o'clock. It was attended by two Marchionesses, of the _bas bleu_ order; and by the whole corps of the confreres bibliographiques of the Royal Library. Several other literary _distingues_ were of the party: and we sat down, a very agreeable melange, both to gossip and to eat and drink. M. Langles was all animation and all intelligence; and M. Van Praet seemed for a time to have forgotten VELLUM ARISTOTLES and VIRGILS in alternate libations of champagne and noyeau. Meanwhile, the worthy Gail, by his playful sallies and repartees, afforded a striking contrast to the balanced att.i.tude and grave remarks of the respectable Caperonnier, the senior Librarian. Poor Millin himself had no appet.i.te, but picked a little here and there. We sat down about fourteen; rose at six--to coffee and conversazione; and retired shortly after: some to the theatre, and others to their country houses.

This is pretty nearly a correct picture of the bettermost society of Paris at this time of the year.

In regard to the literary reputation of MILLIN, I well know that, in England, it is rather the fashion to sneer at him; but this sneer may proceed as often from ignorance, as from superiority of information. The truth is, M. Millin does _too much_ to do every thing _well_. At one moment, he is busied with a dyptych: at another, he is examining a coin or a medal: during the third, he is lost in admiration over a drawing of a tomb or statue:--his attendant enters with a proof-sheet to engage his fourth moment--and so it goes on--from sunrise to sunset; with pen in hand, or blank or printed paper before him, he is constantly occupied in the pursuit of some archaeological enquiry or other. THIS praise, however--and no mean or unperishable praise it is--most indisputably belongs to him. He was almost the ONLY ONE in France; who, during the reign of terror, bloodshed, and despotism--cherished and kept alive a taste for NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES. But for _his_ perseverance, and the artists employed by _him_, we should not now have had those _graphic_ representations of many buildings, and relics of art, which have since perished irretrievably.

Another praise also belongs to him; of no very insignificant description.

He is among the most obliging and communicative of literary Parisians; and does not suffer his good nature to be soured, or his activity to abate, from the influence of _national_ prejudice. He has a large acquaintance among foreigners; and I really think that he loves the English next best to his own countrymen. But whoever applies to him with civility, is sure to be as civilly received. So much for MILLIN.[160]

This group of literary _whole lengths_ would however be imperfect without the introduction of Monsieur LANGLeS. The _forte_ of M. Langles consists in his cultivation of, and enthusiastic ardor for, _oriental literature_. He presides, in fact, over the Persian, Arabic, and other Oriental MSS. and he performs the duties of his office, as a public librarian, with equal punctuality and credit. He has also published much upon the languages of the East, but is considered less profound than DE SACY: although both his conversation and his library attest his predilection for his particular studies. M. Langles is eclipsed by no one for that "gaiete de coeur" which, when joined with good manners and honourable principles, renders a well-bred Frenchman an exceedingly desirable companion. He loves also the arts; as well of sculpture as of painting and of engraving. His further room affords unquestionable evidence of his attachment to _English Prints_.

Wilson, West, and Wilkie--from the burins of Woollett, Raimbach, and Burnet--struck my eye very forcibly and pleasingly. M. Langles admires and speaks our language. "Your charming Wilkie (says he) pleases me more and more. Why does he not visit us? He will at least find here some _good proofs_ of my respect for his talents." Of course he could not mean to pun.

I was then told to admire his impression of Woollett's _Battle of La Hogue_; and indeed I must allow that it is one of the very best which I have seen. He who possesses _that_, need not distress himself about any of the impressions of the _Death of Wolfe_; which is also in the collection of Langles.

His library is probably less extensive than Millin's; but it is not less choice and valuable. His collection of books (in which are a great number of our best Voyages and Travels) relating to Asia--and particularly his philological volumes, as connected with the different languages of that country, cannot be too much commended. I saw Sir John Malcolm's _History of Persia_ lying upon his table. "How do you like that work, M. Langles?" "Sir (replied he) I more than like it--I love it: because I love the author." In fact, I knew that Sir John and he were well acquainted with each other, and I believe that the copy in question bore the distinctive mark of being "ex dono auctoris." I have had a good deal of interesting conversation with M.

Langles about the history of books during the Revolution; or rather about that of the ROYAL LIBRARY. He told me he was appointed one of the commissioners to attend to the distribution of those countless volumes which were piled up in different warehouses, as the produce of the _ransacked monasteries_. I am not sure, whether, within the immediate neighbourhood of the Royal Library, he did not say that there were at least _half a million of books_. At that time, every public meeting of Parisians--whatever might be the professed object--was agitated, and often furious. One of the red-hot demagogues got up in the a.s.sembly, and advised "mangling, maiming, or burning the books: they were only fit for cartridges, wadding, or fuel: they were replete with marks of feudalism and royalty--for they had arms or embellishments on them, which denoted them to belong to Aristocrats." This speech made some impression: his comrades were for carrying the motion immediately into execution, by sword and f.a.ggot....

But M. Langles rose ... calm, collected, and actuated by feelings a little more accordant with the true spirit of patrotism. "Citizens," said the Orientalist, "we must not do mischief, in the desire of doing good. Let the books remain where they are. If you set fire to them, can you say how far the flames shall extend? Our own great national library, so renowned and celebrated throughout Europe! may become the prey of the devouring element, and _then_ how will you be reproached by posterity! Again--if you convert them to _other_ purposes of destruction, how can you hope to prevent the same example from being followed in other places? The madness of the mult.i.tude will make no distinction; and as many pikes and swords may be carried within the great library, as within the various depositories of the monastic books. Pause awhile. Respect those collections of books, and you will both respect yourselves and preserve the great national library. In due time, we shall make a proper selection from them, and enrich the book stores of the capital!" So spake M. Langles; and the a.s.sembly a.s.sented to his contre-projet--luckily for Paris and themselves.[161]

But nearly all these worthy characters, of whom I have just made mention, had an opportunity of exhibiting their social qualities, of whatever description, at a sort of FESTIVAL which I gave the other day (last Wednesday) in honour of the _Roxburghe Club_--which met on that same day, I presume, at the Clarendon Hotel. This Parisian Roxburghe Banquet went off upon the whole with flying colours. You shall know as much about it as is likely to interest you. Having secured my guests, (Messrs. DENON, GAIL, LANGLeS, VAN PRAET and MILLIN) and fixed both the place and hour of repast, I endeavoured to dress out a little bill of fare of a _bibliomaniacal_ description--to rival, in its way, that of _Mons. Grignon_, in the _Rue Neuve des Pet.i.ts Champs_, (within two minutes walk of the Royal Library,) where we were to a.s.semble, at five o'clock. I knew that Millin would put my toasts or sentiments into good French, and so I took courage against the hour of meeting. I had secured a ground-floor apartment, looking upon a lawn, with which it communicated by open doors. The day was unusually hot and oppressive. After finishing my labours at the Royal Library, I returned to my hotel, arranged my little matters connected with the by-play of the festival--dressed--and resorted to Grignon's. Every thing looked well and auspiciously. Our room was in the shade; and a few lingering breezes seemed to play beneath the branches of an acacia. The dark green bottles, of various tapering shapes, were embedded in pails of ice, upon the table: and napkins and other goodly garniture graced the curiously woven cloth. I hung up, in the simplicity of my heart--over the seat which I was to occupy,-- the portrait of _John King of France_, which M. Coeure had just finished;-- not considering that this said John had been beaten and taken prisoner, at the battle of Poictiers by our Black Prince! Never was a step more injudicious, or an ornament more unappropriate. However, there it hung throughout the day. A dinner of the very best description, exclusively of the wine, was to be served up for _twelve francs_ a head. I make no doubt but the Club paid a _little_ more where they a.s.sembled in London!

At length came the hour of dinner, and with the hour the guests. I requested Brother Van Praet to be deputy chairman; and taking my seat beneath the unfortunate John King of France, gave the signal for a general attack--upon whatever was placed before the guests. Monsieur Denon, however, did not arrive till after the first course. He had been detained by a visit from the Duke of Bedford. M. Millin sat at my right hand, and M.

Gail at my left. The first course consisted chiefly of fruit, and slices of anchovy, crossed. A large paper copy of a _melon_ cut a magnificent appearance in the centre; but all this quickly gave way to fish, flesh, and fowl of a various but substantial description. Poor Millin had no appet.i.te, and would only carve. He looked particularly ill. The rest ate, drank, and were merry. The desert was of the very best quality: and this was succeeded by the introduction of a little of English fashion and manners. We drank toasts, connected with the object of the day's festival; and never were a set of guests more disposed to relish both the wine and the sentiment which accompanied each gla.s.s. They even insisted upon a "three times three" for "Lord Spencer and the Club!" But if we were merry, we were wise. Shortly after dinner, M. Gail rose, as if in a moment of inspiration, from his seat--and recited the Latin verses which are here enclosed.[162] They will at least make you admire the good humour of the poet. He afterwards chanted a song: his own literal version of the XIXth ode of Anacreon, beginning [Greek: He ge melaina pinei]. The guests declared that they had never sat so long at table, or were more happy. I proposed a stroll or a seat upon the lawn. Chairs and benches were at hand; and we requested that the coffee might be brought to us out of doors. It was now after sun-set; and a lurid sky was above our head. Our conversation was desultory as to topics, but animated as to manner. I had never witnessed M. Van Praet more alive to social disquisition. We talked of books, of pictures, and of antiquities...

and I happened, with the same witless simplicity which had pinned the portrait of King John over my seat at dinner, to mention that volume, of almost unparalleled rarity, ycleped _the Fables of Pfister, printed at Bamberg_ in 1461:--which they had recently RESTORED to the Wolfenb.u.t.tel Library! It was "more than enough" for the acute feelings of the devoted head-librarian. M. Van Praet talked with legs and arms, as well as with tongue, in reply to my observations upon the extraordinary worth and singular rarity of that singular volume. "Alas, Sir, nothing pained me more. Truly--"Here a smart flash of lightning came across us--which illumined our countenances with due effect: for it had been sometime past almost wholly dark, and we had been talking to each other without perceiving a feature in our respective faces. M. Langles joined in M. Van Praet's lamentation; and the Baron Denon, who (as I learnt) had been the means of obtaining that identical precious volume, united his tones of commiseration with those of his brethren.

The lightning now became more frequent, and in larger flashes--but neither sharp nor very dazzling. Meanwhile the notes of a skilfully touched harp were heard from one of the windows of a neighbouring house, with a mingled effect which it was difficult to describe. _Pfister_, books, busts, and music, now wholly engrossed our attention--and we were absolutely enveloped in blue lightning. We had continued our discourse till towards midnight, had not the rain come down in a manner equally sudden and severe. It was one of the heaviest showers which I remember to have witnessed. The storm was directly in the centre of Paris, and over our heads. We retreated precipitately to the deserted banqueting room; and had a reinforcement of coffee. After such a series of melting hot weather, I shall not easily forget the refreshing sweetness emitted from every shrub upon the lawn.

About ten o'clock, we thought of our respective homes.[163] I went into another room to pay the reckoning; liberated King John from his second confinement; shook hands very heartily with my guests--and returned to my lodgings by no means out of humour or out of heart with the day's entertainment. Whether they have been more rational, or more _economical_, in the celebration of the same festival, AT HOME, is a point, which I have some curiosity, but no right, to discuss. Certainly they could not have been happier.

Having come to the conclusion of my account of the ROXBURGHE BANQUET, and it being just now hard upon the hour of midnight, I must relinquish my correspondent for my pillow. A good night.