ters, M. Veesenmeyer made his
appearance at the top of a short stair case, arrayed in a sort of woollen,
quilted jacket, with a green cloth cap on, and a pipe in his mouth--which
latter seemed to be full as tall as himself. I should think that the
Professor could not be taller than his pipe, which might be somewhere about
five feet in length. His figure had an exceedingly droll appearance. His
mode of pronouncing French was somewhat germanized; but I strained every
nerve to understand him, as my valet was not with me, and as there would
have been no alternative but to have talked Latin. I was desirous of seeing
the library, attached to the cathedral. "Could the Professor facilitate
that object?" "Most willingly--" was his reply--"I will write a note to * *
the librarian: carry it to him, and he will shew you the library directly,
if he be at home." I did as he desired me; but found the number of the
house very difficult to discover--as the houses are numbered,
consecutively, throughout the town--down one street and up another: so
that, without knowing the order of the _streets_ through which the numbers
run, it is hardly possible for a stranger to proceed.

Having sauntered round and round, and returned almost to the very spot
whence I had set out, I at last found the residence of the librarian.--On
being admitted, I was introduced to a tall, sharp-visaged, and
melancholy-complexioned gentleman, who seemed to rise six feet from the
ground on receiving me. He read the Professor's note: but alas! could not
speak one word of French. "Placetne tibi, Domine, sermone latino uti?" I
answered in the affirmative; but confessed that I was totally out of the
habit of speaking it in England: and besides, that our _mode of
pronunciation_ was very different from that of other countries. The man of
dark vestments and sombre countenance relaxed into a gentle smile, as I
added the latter part of this remark: and I accompanied him quickly, but
silently, to the library in question. Its situation is surely among the
most whimsical in existence. It is placed up one pair of stairs, to the
left of the choir; and you ascend up to it through a gloomy and narrow
stone staircase. If I remember rightly, the outward door, connecting with
the stairs, is in the cathedral yard. The library itself is very small; and
a print, being a portrait of its Donor, hangs up against the
shelves--facing as you enter. I had never seen this print before. It was an
in