We dined as expeditiously as ever the Trojans or Grecians did, on expecting a sally from the foe.  The red wine was, I think, the most delicious I had then drank in Germany.  A little before six, we left Freysing for Moosburg:  a ten mile stage; but we had not got a quarter of a league upon our journey, when we discovered, to the right, somewhat in our rear, a more complete view of the Tyrolese mountains than we had yet seen.  They appeared to be as huge monsters, with overtopping heads, disporting themselves in an element of their own—­many thousand feet in the air!  It was dusk when we changed horses at Moosburg:  and the moon, then pretty far advanced towards the full, began to supply the light of which we stood so much in need. Landshut was our next and final stage; but it was unlucky for the first view of a church, of which the tower is considered to be the highest in Bavaria, that we were to see it at such a moment.  The air of the evening was mild, and the sky was almost entirely covered by thin flaky clouds, as we pushed on for Landshut.  On our immediate approach to it, the valet told us that he well remembered the entrance of the French into Landshut, on Bonaparte’s advance to Munich and Vienna.  He was himself in the rear of the assault—­attending upon his master, one of the French generals.  He said, that the French entered the further end of the town from that where we should make our entrance; and that, having gained a considerable eminence, by a circuitous route, above the river, unobserved, they rushed forward—­bursting open the barriers—­and charging the Austrians at the point of the bayonet.  The contest was neither long nor sanguinary.  A prudent surrender saved the town from pillage, and the inhabitants from slaughter.

On entering Landshut, without having caught any thing like a determined view of the principal church, we found the centre of the principal street entirely occupied by booths and stalls, for an approaching fair—­to take place within a few following days.  The line of wooden buildings could scarcely extend less than half a mile.  We drove to the principal inn, which was spacious and tolerably clean; bespoke good beds, and found every appearance of comfort.  I was resolved to devote the next day entirely to the PUBLIC LIBRARY—­attached to the University, brought hither from Ingoldstadt.  Of course I had been long acquainted with the general character of the early-printed books, from the valuable work of Seemiller;[78] and was resolved to make especial enquiry, in the first place, for the Aldine duodecimo of the Greek Hours, of which you have already heard so much.  I carried with me a letter to Professor SIEBENKEES, the Head Librarian.  In short, I anticipated a day of bibliographical “joyaunce.”