the garden, notwithstanding its unfavourable situation, affords a great
quantity of good fruit. The ooze, impregnated with sea salt, produces,
on this side of the harbour, an incredible quantity of the finest
samphire I ever saw. The French call it passe-pierre; and I suspect its
English name is a corruption of sang-pierre. It is generally found on
the faces of bare rocks that overhang the sea, by the spray of which it
is nourished. As it grew upon a naked rock, without any appearance of
soil, it might be naturally enough called sang du pierre, or
sangpierre, blood of the rock; and hence the name samphire. On the same
side of the harbour there is another new house, neatly built, belonging
to a gentleman who has obtained a grant from the king of some ground
which was always overflowed at high water. He has raised dykes at a
considerable expence, to exclude the tide, and if he can bring his
project to bear, he will not only gain a good estate for himself, but
also improve the harbour, by increasing the depth at high-water.

In the Lower Town of Boulogne there are several religious houses,
particularly a seminary, a convent of Cordeliers, and another of
Capuchins. This last, having fallen to decay, was some years ago
repaired, chiefly by the charity of British travellers, collected by
father Graeme, a native of North-Britain, who had been an officer in
the army of king James II. and is said to have turned monk of this
mendicant order, by way of voluntary penance, for having killed his
friend in a duel. Be that as it may, he was a well-bred, sensible man,
of a very exemplary life and conversation; and his memory is much
revered in this place. Being superior of the convent, he caused the
British arms to be put up in the church, as a mark of gratitude for the
benefactions received from our nation. I often walk in the garden of
the convent, the walls of which are washed by the sea at high-water. At
the bottom of the garden is a little private grove, separated from it
by a high wall, with a door of communication; and hither the Capuchins
retire, when they are disposed for contemplation. About two years ago,
this place was said to be converted to a very different use. There was
among the monks one pere Charles, a lusty friar, of whom the people
tell strange stories. Some young women of the town were seen mounting
over the wall, by a ladder of ropes, in the dusk of the evening; and
there was an unusual crop of bastards that season