On quitting these highly interesting treasures, M. H. and myself walked up and down the library for a few minutes, (the rain descending in torrents the whole time) and discoursed upon the great men of my own country.  He mentioned his acquaintance with the works of Bacon, Locke, Swift, and Newton—­and pronounced the name of the last ... with an effervescence of feeling and solemnity of utterance amounting to a sort of adoration.  “Next to Newton,” said he, “is your Bacon:  nor is the interval between them very great:  but, in my estimation, Newton is more an angel than a mortal.  He seemed to have been always communing with the Deity.”  “All this is excellent, Sir,—­replied I:  but you say not one word about our divine Shakspeare.”  “Follow me—­rejoined he—­and you shall see that I am not ignorant of that wonderful genius—­and that I do not talk without book.”  Whereupon M.H. walked, or rather ran, rapidly to the other end of the library, and put into my hands Baskerville’s Edition of that poet,[94] of the date of 1768—­which I frankly told him I had never before seen.  This amused him a good deal; but he added, that the greater part of Shakspeare was incomprehensible to him, although he thoroughly understood Swift, and read him frequently.

It was now high time to break off the conversation, interesting as it might be, and to think of our departure:  for the afternoon was fast wearing away, and a starless, if not a tempestuous, night threatened to succeed.  Charles Rohfritsch was despatched to the inn below—­to order the horses, settle the reckoning, and to bring the carriage as near to the monastery as possible.  Meanwhile Mr. L. and myself descended with M. Hartenschneider to his own room—­where I saw, for the first time, the long-sought after work of the Annales Hirsaugienses of Trithemius, printed in the Monastery of St. Gall in 1690, 2 vols., folio, lying upon the Professor’s table.  M.H. told me that the copy belonged to the library we had just quitted.  I had indeed written to Kransfelder, a bookseller at Augsbourg, just before leaving Munich, for two copies of that rare and estimable work—­which were inserted in his sale catalogue; and I hope to be lucky enough to secure both—­for scarcely ten shillings of our money.[95] It now only remained to bid farewell to the most kind, active, and well-informed M. Hartenschneider—­and to quit (probably for ever) the MONASTERY OF CHREMSMINSTER.  Like the worthy Professor Veesenmeyer at Ulm, he “committed me to God’s especial good providence—­” and insisted upon accompanying me, uncovered, to the very outer gates of the monastery:  promising, all the way, that, on receiving my proposals in writing, respecting the Statius, he would promote that object with all the influence he might possess.[96] Just as he had reached the further limits of the quadrangle, he met the librarian himself—­and introduced me to him:  but there was now only time to say “Vale!” We shook hands—­for the first ... and in all probability ... the last time.