Now, my good friend, if you ask me whether the interior of this library be superior to that of our dear BODLEIAN, I answer, at once, and without fear of contradiction—­it is very much inferior.  It represents an interminable range of homely and commodious apartments; but the Bodleian library, from beginning to end—­from floor to ceiling—­is grand, impressive, and entirely of a bookish appearance.  In that spacious and lofty receptacle—­of which the ceiling, in my humble opinion, is an unique and beautiful piece of workmanship—­all is solemn, and grave, and inviting to study:  yet echoing, as it were, to the footsteps of those who once meditated within its almost hallowed precincts—­the Bodleys, the Seldens, the Digbys, the Lauds and Tanners, of other times![20] But I am dreaming:  forgetting that, at this moment, you are impatient to enter the MS. Department of the Royal Library at Paris.  Be it so, therefore.  And yet the very approach to this invaluable collection is difficult of discovery.  Instead of a corresponding lofty stone stair-case, you cross a corner of the square, and enter a passage, with an iron gate at the extremity—­leading to the apartments of Messrs. Millin and Langles.  A narrow staircase, to the right, receives you:  and this stair-case would appear to lead rather to an old armoury, in a corner-tower of some baronial castle, than to a suite of large modern apartments, containing probably, upon the whole, the finest collection of Engravings and of Manuscripts, of all ages and characters, in Europe.  Nevertheless, as we cannot mount by any other means, we will e’en set footing upon this stair-case, humble and obscure as it may be.  You scarcely gain the height of some twenty steps, when you observe the magical inscription of CABINET DES ESTAMPES.  Your spirits dance, and your eyes sparkle, as you pull the little wire—­and hear the clink of a small corresponding bell.  The door is opened by one of the attendants in livery—­ arrayed in blue and silver and red—­very handsome, and rendered more attractive by the respectful behaviour of those who wear that royal costume.  I forgot to say that the same kind of attendants are found in all the apartments attached to this magnificent collection—­and, when not occupied in their particular vocation of carrying books to and fro, these attendants are engaged in reading, or sitting quietly with crossed legs, and peradventure dosing a little.  But nothing can exceed their civility; accompanied with a certain air of politeness, not altogether divested of a kind of gentlemanly deportment.