King John over my seat at dinner, to mention that volume, of almost unparalleled rarity, ycleped the Fables of Pfister, printed at Bamberg in 1461:—­which they had recently RESTORED to the Wolfenbuttel Library!  It was “more than enough” for the acute feelings of the devoted head-librarian.  M. Van Praet talked with legs and arms, as well as with tongue, in reply to my observations upon the extraordinary worth and singular rarity of that singular volume.  “Alas, Sir, nothing pained me more.  Truly—­“Here a smart flash of lightning came across us—­which illumined our countenances with due effect:  for it had been sometime past almost wholly dark, and we had been talking to each other without perceiving a feature in our respective faces.  M. Langles joined in M. Van Praet’s lamentation; and the Baron Denon, who (as I learnt) had been the means of obtaining that identical precious volume, united his tones of commiseration with those of his brethren.

The lightning now became more frequent, and in larger flashes—­but neither sharp nor very dazzling.  Meanwhile the notes of a skilfully touched harp were heard from one of the windows of a neighbouring house, with a mingled effect which it was difficult to describe. Pfister, books, busts, and music, now wholly engrossed our attention—­and we were absolutely enveloped in blue lightning.  We had continued our discourse till towards midnight, had not the rain come down in a manner equally sudden and severe.  It was one of the heaviest showers which I remember to have witnessed.  The storm was directly in the centre of Paris, and over our heads.  We retreated precipitately to the deserted banqueting room; and had a reinforcement of coffee.  After such a series of melting hot weather, I shall not easily forget the refreshing sweetness emitted from every shrub upon the lawn.  About ten o’clock, we thought of our respective homes.[163] I went into another room to pay the reckoning; liberated King John from his second confinement; shook hands very heartily with my guests—­and returned to my lodgings by no means out of humour or out of heart with the day’s entertainment.  Whether they have been more rational, or more economical, in the celebration of the same festival, AT HOME, is a point, which I have some curiosity, but no right, to discuss.  Certainly they could not have been happier.

Having come to the conclusion of my account of the ROXBURGHE BANQUET, and it being just now hard upon the hour of midnight, I must relinquish my correspondent for my pillow.  A good night.

[156] He died on the 24th of May, 1828; on the completion of his 85th year. 
    See the next note but one.

[157] The reader may be amused with the following testy note of my vigilant
    translator, M. Crapelet:  the very Sir Fretful Plagiary of the minor
    tribe of French critics!  “Cette phrase, qui n’est pas Francaise, est
    ainsi rapportee par l’auteur.