creased upon us; and every thing announced
that we were approaching a _great and populous city_.

The approach to ROUEN is indeed magnificent. I speak of the immediate
approach; after you reach the top of a considerable rise, and are stopped
by the barriers. You then look down a strait, broad, and strongly paved
road, lined with a double row of trees on each side. As the foliage was not
thickly set, we could discern, through the delicately-clothed branches, the
tapering spire of the CATHEDRAL, and the more picturesque tower of the
ABBAYE ST. OUEN--with hanging gardens, and white houses, to the
left--covering a richly cultivated ridge of hills, which sink as it were
into the _Boulevards_, and which is called the _Faubourg Cauchoise_. To the
right, through the trees, you see the river SEINE (here of no despicable
depth or breadth) covered with boats and vessels in motion: the voice of
commerce, and the stir of industry, cheering and animating you as you
approach the town. I was told that almost every vessel which I saw (some of
them of two hundred, and even of three hundred tons burthen) was filled
with brandy and wine. The lamps are suspended from the centre of long
ropes, across the road; and the whole scene is of a truly novel and
imposing character. But how shall I convey to you an idea of what I
experienced, as, turning to the left, and leaving the broader streets which
flank the quay, I began to enter the _penetralia_ of this truly antiquated
town? What narrow streets, what overhanging houses, what bizarre,
capricious ornaments! What a mixture of modern with ancient art! What
fragments, or rather ruins, of old delicately-built Gothic churches! What
signs of former and of modern devastation! What fountains, gutters, groups
of never-ceasing men, women, and children, all gay, all occupied, and all
apparently happy! The _Rue de la Grosse Horloge_ (so called from a huge,
clumsy, antiquated clock which goes across it) struck me as being not among
the least singular streets of Rouen. In five minutes I was within the
court-yard of the _Hotel Vatel_, the favourite residence of the English.

It was evening when I arrived, in company with three Englishmen. We were
soon saluted by the _laquais de place_--the leech-like hangers-on of every
hotel--who begged to know if we would walk upon the Boulevards. We
consented; turned to the right; and, gradually rising, gained a
considerable eminence. Again we turned to the right, walking u