The impression too is very limited.  You know, Sir, that the book was published here—­and—­” “Then I begin to be confident about obtaining it”—­replied I.  “Gently, Sir;—­” resumed Monsieur Adam—­“it is not to be bought, even here.  But do you know no one...?” “Not a creature.”  “Well, Sir, take courage.  You are an Englishman.  One of its principal editors—­a very gallant Bibliomaniac—­who is a great collector and lover of the literature of your country—­(here I picked up courage and gaiety of heart) lives in this town.  He is President of the Tribunal.  Go to him.”  Seeing me hesitate, in consequence of not having a letter of introduction—­“Ce n’est rien (said he) allez tout-droit.  Il aime vos compatriotes; et soyez persuade de l’accueil le plus favorable.”  Methought Monsieur Adam spake more eloquently than I had yet heard a Norman speak.[161]

In two seconds I quitted his shop, (promising to return with an account of my reception) and five minutes brought me into the presence of Monsieur Lanon de Larenaudiere, President du Tribunal, &c.  It is not possible for me to convey to you a notion of the warmth, cordiality, and joyousness of heart, that marked the reception which this gentleman instantly gave me:  and I will frankly own that I was as much “abashed” as ever our ancient friend Caxton had been—­in the presence of his patroness the Duchess of Burgundy.  I followed my new bibliomaniacal acquaintance rapidly up stairs; and witnessed, with extreme pleasure, a few bundles of books (some of them English) lying upon the window seats of the first landing-place; much after the fashion followed in a certain long, rambling, and antique residence, not quite three quarters of a mile from the towers of Westminster Abbey.

On gaining the first floor, mine host turned the keys of the doors of two contiguous rooms, and exclaimed, “VOILA MA BIBLIOTHEQUE!” The air of conscious triumph with which these words were uttered, delighted me infinitely; but my delight was much increased on a leisurely survey of one of the prettiest, most useful, and commendable collections of books, chiefly in the department of the Belles-Lettres, which I had ever witnessed.  Monsieur de Larenaudiere has a library of about 9000 volumes, of which eight hundred are English.  But the owner is especially fond of poetical archaeology; in other words, of collecting every work which displays the progress of French and English poetry in the middle and immediately following ages; and talks of Trouveurs and Troubadours with an enthusiasm approaching to extacy.  Meanwhile he points his finger to our Warton, Ellis, Ritson, and Southey; tells you how dearly he loves them; but yet leads you to conclude that he rather prefers Le Grand, Ginguene, Sismondi, and Raynouard.  Of the venerable living oracle in these matters, the Abbe de la Rue, he said he considered him as “un peu trop systematique.”  In short, M. de Larenaudiere has almost a complete critical collection,