The first volume I opened, was one of the most beautiful copies imaginable—­utterly beyond all competition, for purity and primitiveness of condition—­of Schoiffher’s edition of St. Austin de Civitate Dei, with the Commentary of Trivetus, of the date of 1473.  That work is everywhere—­in all forms, types, and conditions—­upon the continent.  The worthy M. Hartenschneider seemed to be marvellously pleased with the delight I expressed on the view of this magnificent volume.  He then placed before me the Catholicon of 1469, by G. Zainer:  a cropt, but clean and desirable copy.  Upon my telling him that I had not long ago seen a copy of it UPON VELLUM, in the Public Library at Munich, he seemed to be mute and pensive... and to sigh somewhat inwardly.  Pausing awhile, he resumed, by telling me that the ONLY treasure they had possessed, in the shape of a VELLUM BOOK, was a copy of the same work of St. Austin, printed chiefly by John de Spira (but finished by his brother Vindelin) of the date of 1470; but with which, and many other book-curiosities, the French general Lecourbe chose to march away; in the year 1800.  That cruel act of spoliation was commemorated, or revenged, by an angry Latin distich.

I was also much gratified by a beautifully clean copy of the Durandi Rationale by I. Zeiner, of the date of 1474:  as well as with the same printer’s Aurea Biblia, of the same date, which is indeed almost every where upon the Continent.  But nothing came perfectly up to the copy of Schoiffher’s edition of the De Civ.  Dei. M. Hartenschneider added, that the Imperial Library at Vienna had possessed itself of their chief rarities in early typography:  but he seemed to exult exceedingly on mentioning the beautiful and perfect state of their DELPHIN CLASSICS.

“Do you by chance possess the Statius?—­” observed I.  “Come and see—­” replied my guide:  and forthwith he took me into a recess, or closet, where my eye was greeted with one of the most goodly book-sights imaginable.  There they all stood—­those Delphin Classics—­in fair array and comeliest condition.  I took down the Statius, and on returning it, exclaimed “Exemplar pulcherrimum et optime conservatum.”  “Pretiosissimumque,” rejoined my cicerone.  “And the Prudentius—­good M. Hartenschneider—­do you possess it?” “Etiam”—­replied he.  “And the Catullus, Tibullus, and Propertius?” They were there also:  but one of the volumes, containing the Tibullus, was with a brother monk.  That monk (thought I to myself) must have something of a tender heart.  “But tell me, worthy and learned Sir, (continued I) why so particular about the Statius?  Here are twenty golden pieces:”  (they were the napoleons, taken from the forementioned silken purse[91])—­“will these procure the copy in question?” “It is in vain you offer any thing:  (replied M. Hartenschneider) we have refused this very copy even to Princes and