The LIBRARY OF STE. GENEVIEVE exhibits a local of a very imposing, as well as extensive, appearance.  From its extreme length,—­which cannot be less than two hundred and thirty feet, as I should conjecture—­it looks rather low.  Yet the ceiling being arched, and tolerably well ornamented, the whole has a very harmonious appearance.  In the centre is a cupola:  of which the elder Restout, about ninety years ago, painted the ceiling.  They talk much of this painting, but I was not disposed to look at it a second time.  The charm of the whole arises, first, from the mellow tone of light which is admitted from the glazed top of this cupola; and, secondly, from the numerous busts, arranged along the sides, which recal to your remembrance some of the most illustrious characters of France—­for arts, for arms, for learning, and for public spirit.  These busts are at the hither end, as you enter.  Busts of foreigners continue the suite towards the other extremities.  A good deal of white carved ornament presents itself, but not unpleasantly:  the principal ground colour being of a sombre tint, harmonising with that of the books.  The floor is of glazed tile.  It was one of the hottest of days when I first put my foot within this interior; and my very heart seemed to be refreshed by the coolness—­the tranquillity—­the congeniality of character—­of every thing around me!  In such a place, “hours” (as Cowper somewhere expresses it) may be “thought down to moments.”  A sort of soft, gently-stealing, echo accompanies every tread of the foot.  You long to take your place among the studious, who come every day to read in the right compartment of the cross; and which compartment they as regularly fill.  Meanwhile, scarcely a whisper escapes them.  The whole is, indeed, singularly inviting to contemplation, research, and instruction.  But it was to the left of the cupola—­and therefore opposite the studious corps just mentioned—­that M. Le Chevalier consigned me to my bibliographical attendant.  I am ignorant of his name, but cannot be forgetful of his kind offices.  The MS. Catalogue (they have no printed one) was placed before me, and I was requested to cater for myself.  Among the Libri Desiderati of the fifteenth century, I smiled to observe the Naples Horace of 1474 ... but you wish to be informed of the acquired, and not of the desiderated, treasures.  Prepare, therefore, for a treat—­ of its kind.

LACTANTIUS. Printed in the Soubiaco Monastery. 1465.  Folio.  This was Pope Pius the Sixth’s copy.  Indeed the greater number of the more valuable early books belonged to that amiable Pontiff; upon whom Audiffredi (as you may well remember) has passed so warm and so well merited an eulogium[92].  The papal copy, however, has its margins scribbled upon, and is defective in the leaf which contains the errata.

AUGUSTINUS DE CIVITATE DEI. Printed in the same Monastery. 1467.  Folio.  The margins are broad, but occasionally much stained.  The copy is also short.  From the same papal collection.