We had hardly retreated from the church—­lost in the variety of reflections excited by the novelty of every surrounding object—­when I perceived a Benedictin, with his black cap upon his head, walking with a hurried step towards us ... along the cloisters.  As he approached, he pulled off his cap, and saluted us very graciously:  pouring forth a number of sentences, in the Latin language, (for he could not speak a word of French) with a fluency and rapidity of utterance, of which, I could have no conception; and of which, necessarily, I could not comprehend one half.  Assuming a more leisurely method of address, he asked me, what kind of books I was more particularly anxious to see:  and on replying “those more especially which were printed in the fifteenth century—­the “Incunabula”—­he answered, “come with me; and, although the librarian be absent, I will do my utmost to assist you.”  So saying, we followed him into his cell, a mere cabin of a room:  where I observed some respectably-looking vellum-clad folios, and where his bed occupied the farther part.  He then retired for the key:  returned in five seconds, and requested that we would follow him up stairs.  We mounted two flights of a noble staircase; the landing-place of the first of which communicated with a lofty and magnificent, arched corridor:—­running along the whole side of the quadrangle.  The library is situated at the very top of the building, and occupies (as I should apprehend) one half of the side of the quadrangle.  It is a remarkably handsome and cheerful room, divided into three slightly indicated compartments; and the colour, both of the wainscot and of the backs of the books, is chiefly white.

The first thing that struck me was, the almost unbounded and diversified view from thence.  I ran to the windows—­but the afternoon had become black and dismal, and the rain was descending fast on all sides; yet, in the haze of distance, I thought I could discern the chain of huge mountains near the lake of Gmunden.  Their purple sides and craggy summits yet seemed to rise above the clouds, which were resting upon the intermediate country, and deluging it with rain.  The Benedictin confirmed my suspicions as to the identity of the country before us, and then bade me follow, him quickly.  I followed M. HARTENSCHNEIDER (for so the worthy Benedictin wrote his name) to the further division, or compartment of the library; and turning to the left, began an attack upon the Fifteeners—­which were placed there, on the two lowest shelves.  My guide would not allow of my taking down the books ... from sheer politeness.  “They might prove burdensome”—­as if any thing, in the shape of a book, could be considered a BURDEN!