every thing else out of my recollection.  The floor is of red and white marble, diamond-wise.  I walked along it, with M. Bartsch on my right hand and M. Kopitar on my left, as if fearful to scratch its polished surface:—­first gazing upon the paintings of the vaulted roof, and then upon the statues and globes, alternately, below—­while it seemed as if the power of expressing the extent of my admiration, had been taken from me.  At length I reached the central compartment of this wonderful room, which is crowned with a sort of oval and very lofty cupola, covered with a profusion of fresco paintings.  In the centre, below, stands a whole-length statue, in white marble, of CHARLES VI., under whose truly imperial patronage this library was built.  Around him are sixteen whole length statues of certain Austrian Marshals, also in white marble; while the books, or rather folios, (almost wholly bound in red morocco) which line the sides of the whole of this transept division of the room, were pointed out to me as having belonged to the celebrated hero, PRINCE EUGENE.  Illustrious man!—­thought I to myself—­it is a taste like THIS which will perpetuate thy name, and extol thy virtues, even when the memory of thy prowess in arms shall have faded away!  “See yonder”—­observed M. Bartsch—­“there are, I know not how many, atlas folios of that Prince’s collection of PRINTS.  It is thought to be unrivalled.”

“But where (replied I) is the statue of this heroic collector, to whom your library is probably indebted for its choicest treasures?  Tell me, who are these marshals that seem to have no business in such a sanctuary of the Muses—­while I look in vain for the illustrious Eugene?” There was more force in this remark than I could have possibly imagined—­for my guide was silent as to the names of these Austrian marshals, and seemed to admit, that PRINCE EUGENE... ought to have been there.  “But is it too late to erect his statue?  Cannot he displace one of these nameless marshals, who are in attitude as if practising the third step of the Minuet de la Cour?” “Doucement, doucement, mon ami ... (replied M.B.) il faut considerer un peu....”  “Well, well—­be it so:  let me now continue my general observation of the locale of this magical collection.”  M.B. readily allowed me; and seemed silently to enjoy the gratification which I felt and expressed.

I then walked leisurely to the very extremity of the room; continuing to throw a rapid, but not uninterested glance upon all the accessories of gilding, carved work, paintings, and statuary, with which the whole seemed to be in a perfect blaze.  I paced the library in various directions; and found, at every turn or fresh point of view, a new subject of surprise and admiration.  There is a noble gallery, made of walnut tree, ornamented with gilding and constructed in a manner at once light and substantial, which runs from one extremity of the interior to the other.  It is a master-piece of art in its way.  Upon