der would
gain in information what he would lose in style. "I here repeat (says
he) what I have elsewhere said in bad verse. There are amateur
collectors who know more about book-binding, than even certain good
workmen; but there are also others, of a capricious taste, who are
rather likely to lead half-instructed workmen astray, than to put them
in the proper road." In the poetical epistle which concludes the
preface, he tells us that he had almost observed the Horatian precept:
his poem having cost eight years labour. The opening of it may
probably be quite sufficient to give the reader a proper notion of its
character and merits.

Je celebre mon art; je dirai dans mes vers,
Combien il eprouva de changemens divers;
Je dirai ce que fut cet art en sa naissance;
Je dirai ses progres, et, de sa decadence.
Je nommerai sans fard les ineptes auteurs:
Oui, je vais derouler aux yeux des amateurs:
Des mauvais procedes la deplorable liste.
Je nommerai le bon et le mauvais artiste;

_LETTER IX._

MEN OF LETTERS. DOM BRIAL. THE ABBE BETENCOURT. MESSRS. GAIL, MILLIN, AND
LANGES. A ROXBURGHE BANQUET.

_Paris, June 20, 1818_.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

We have had of late the hottest weather in the memory of the oldest
Parisian: but we have also had a few flying thunder showers, which have
helped to cool the air, and to refresh both the earth and its inhabitants.
In consequence, I have made more frequent visits; and have followed up my
morning occupations among BOOKS, by the evening society of those who are so
capable, from their talents, of adding successfully to their number. Among
the most eminent, as well as most venerable of historical antiquaries, is
the celebrated Dom BRIAL, an ex-Benedictin. He lives in the _Rue
Servandoni_, on the second-floor, in the very bosom, as it were, of his
library, and of city solitude. My first visit to him, about three weeks
ago, was fortified by an introductory letter from our friend * * *. The old
gentleman (for he is about seventy four) was busily occupied at his
dinner--about one o'clock; and wearing a silk night cap, and habited en
rocquelaure, had his back turned as his servant announced me. He is very
deaf; but on receiving the letter, and recognising the hand-writing of our
friend, he made me heartily welcome, and begged that I would partake of his
humble fare. This I declined; begging, on the o