“Essais Historiques et Critiques sur Richard III.  Roi d’Angleterre,” just printed in a handsome octavo volume by our Host.  Our conversation, upon the whole; was mixed; agreeable, and instructive.  Madame Crapelet, who is at this moment (as I should conjecture) perhaps pretty equally divided between her twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth year, and who may be classed among the prettier ladies of Paris, did the honours of the fete in a very agreeable manner:  nor can it be a matter of surprise that the choicest Chambertin and Champagne sparkled upon the table of one—­who, during the libations of his guests; had the tympans and friskets of twenty-two Presses in full play![148] We retired, after dinner, into a spacious drawing room to coffee and liqueurs:  and anon, to a further room, wherein was a BOOK-CASE filled by some of the choicest specimens of the press of its owner, as well as of other celebrated printers.  I have forgotten what we took down or what we especially admired:  but, to a question respecting the present state of business, as connected with literature and printing, at Paris, M. Crapelet replied (as indeed, if I remember rightly, M. Didot did also) that “matters never went on better.”  Reprints even of old authors were in agitation:  and two editions of Montaigne were at that moment going on in his own house.  I complimented M. Crapelet—­and with equal sincerity and justice—­upon the typographical execution of M. Brunet’s Manuel du Libraire.  No printer in our own country, could have executed it more perfectly.  “What might have been the charge per sheet?” My host received the compliment very soberly and properly; and gave me a general item about the expense of printing and paper, &c., which really surprised me; and returned it with a warm eulogy upon the paper and press-work of a recent publication from the Shakspeare press—­which, said he, “I despair of excelling.”  “And then (added he), your prettily executed vignettes, and larger prints!  In France this branch of the art is absolutely not understood[149]—­and besides, we cannot publish books at your prices!”

We must now bid adieu to the types of M. Crapelet below stairs, and to his “good cheer” above; and with him take our leave of Parisian booksellers and printers.[150] What then remains, in the book way, worthy of especial notice?  Do you ask this question?  I will answer it in a trice—­BOOK-BINDING.  Yes ... some few hours of my residence in this metropolis have been devoted to an examination of this seductive branch of book commerce.  And yet I have not seen—­nor am I likely to see—­one single binder:  either Thouvenin, or Simier, or Braidel, or Lesne.  I am not sure whether Courteval, or either of the Bozerians, be living:  but their handy works live and are lauded in every quarter of Paris.