railway traverses the picturesque and rocky valley of Quincampoix to
Martinvast, whose little Romanesque church stands close to the station,
and at a short distance is the chateau of Martinvast, where its late
proprietor, M. du Moncel, established a model farm. A monument has been
erected to his memory in the church by the commune of Martinvast.

[Illustration: 4. Castle of Bricquebec.]

At Sottevast we took the omnibus for Bricquebec, which lies nearly five
miles from the station. Its ruined castle, dating from the end of the
fourteenth century, with its lofty octagonal donjon, nearly a hundred feet
high, standing on a high "motte" or artificial mound, has a most imposing
appearance. Bricquebec, the most considerable demesne of the Cotentins,
was taken by King Henry V. from the Sire d'Estouteville, who had so
gallantly defended Mont St. Michel against him. Henry gave Bricquebec to
William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, the ill-fated favourite of Queen
Margaret of Anjou, and he, on being taken prisoner by the French, sold it,
to raise the money for his ransom, to Sir Bertie Entwistle, who fought at
Agincourt, and who held it till the battle of Formigny expelled the
English from Normandy, and Sir Bertie fell at St. Albans in the
Lancastrian cause. The inn, "Hotel du Vieux Chateau," is within the
enclosure of the ruins--a most dilapidated old place; our dirty
ill-furnished room next to a hayloft, the horses passing through the house
to the stable, and every kind of litter and rubbish accumulated under the
windows. Yet in the room we occupied had once slept our gracious Sovereign
Queen Victoria. On a placard is inscribed, "Chambre de la famille royale
d'Angleterre, 18 Aout 1857;" and below stairs is another, setting forth,
"S. M. la Reine d'Angleterre, le Prince Albert, les Princesses Royale et
Alice, le Prince Alfred, sont descendus a l'hotel du Vieux Chateau le 10
Aout 1857." About a mile from Bricquebec is a Trappist convent; but we
were not allowed admission beyond the parlour, where is sold a quantity of
cutlery, not made--as we were given to understand when offered for sale--by
the monks.

Regaining the railroad, we went on to Valognes, which has been styled the
St. Germain of Normandy; a dull town, with worn-out houses, occupied by
worn-out aristocratic families. The grass grows in the streets.

Here we left the rail and proceeded to Saint Sauveur-le-Vicomte. On
entering the town, the castle is on the right of the