ay week, in the great cathedral of that city.

In consequence of the restoration of religion, the beggars, who have in
general considerable cleverness, and know how to turn new circumstances
to advantage, had just learnt a fresh mode of soliciting money, by
repeating the Lord's Prayer in French and Latin. We were treated with
this sort of importunate piety for near a mile, after we left Ivetot.

I have before mentioned, that the barbarous jargon of the revolution is
rapidly passing away. It is only here and there, that its slimy track
remains. The time is not very distant when Frenchmen wished to be known
by the name of Jacobins; it is now become an appellation of reproach,
even amongst the surviving aborigines of the revolution. As an instance
of it, a naval officer of rank and intelligence, who joined us at
Ivetot, informed us, that he had occasion, upon some matters of
business, to meet Santerre a few days before; that inhuman and vulgar
revolutionist, who commanded the national guards when they surrounded
the scaffold during the execution of their monarch. In the course of
their conversation, Santerre, speaking of a third person, exclaimed, "I
cannot bear that man; he is a Jacobin." Let all true revolutionary
republicans cry out, Bravo! at this.

This miscreant lives unnoticed, in a little village near Paris, upon a
slender income, which he has made in trade, not in the _trade of blood_;
for it appears that Robespierre was not a very liberal patron of his
servants. He kept his blood-hounds lean, and keen, and poorly fed them
with the rankest offal.

After a dusty journey, through a very rich and picturesque country, of
near eighty miles, we entered the beautiful boulevards[3] of Rouen,
about seven o'clock in the evening, which embowered us from the sun.
Their shade was delicious. I think them finer than those of Paris. The
noble elms, which compose them in four stately rows, are all nearly of
the same height. Judge of my surprise--Upon our rapidly turning the
corner of a street, as we entered the city, I suddenly found coach,
horses and all, in the aisle of an ancient catholic church. The gates
were closed upon us, and in a moment from the busy buzzing of the
streets, we were translated into the silence of shattered tombs, and the
gloom of cloisters: the only light which shone upon us, issued through
fragments of stained glass, and the apertures which were formerly filled
with it.

[3] Environs of a town, plant