n in
any wise diminished on a nearer approach, when, through a long avenue,
formed by four rows of lofty elms, you advance by the side of a stream,
at once majestic from its width and eminently beautiful from its winding
course.

Rouen is now unfortified; its walls, its castles, are level with the
ground. But, if I may borrow the pun of which old Peter Heylin is guilty
when, describing Paris, Rouen is still a _strong_ city, "for it taketh
you by the nose." The filth is extreme; villainous smells overcome you
in every quarter, and from every quarter. The streets are gloomy,
narrow, and crooked, and the houses at once mean and lofty. Even on the
quay, where all the activity of commerce is visible, and where the
outward signs of opulence might be expected, there is nothing to fulfil
the expectation. Here is width and space, but no _trottoir_; and the
buildings are as incongruous as can well be imagined, whether as to
height, color, projection, or material. Most of them, and indeed most in
the city, are merely of lath and plaster, the timbers uncovered and
painted red or black, the plaster frequently coated with small grey
slates laid one over another, like the weather-tiles in Sussex. Their
general form is very tall and very narrow, which adds to the singularity
of their appearance; but mixed with these are others of white brick or
stone, and really handsome, or, it might be said, elegant. The contrast,
however, which they form only makes their neighbors look the more
shabby, while they themselves derive from the association an air of
meanness. The merchants usually meet upon a small open plot, situated
opposite to the quay, inclosed with palisades and fronted with trees.
This is their exchange in fine weather; but adjoining is a handsome
building, called _La Bourse a couvert_, or _Le Consulte_, to which
recourse is always had in case of rain. It was here that Napoleon and
Maria Louisa, a very short time previous to their deposition, received
from the inhabitants of Rouen the oath of allegiance, which so soon
afterwards found a ready transfer to another sovereign.

About the middle of the quay is placed the bridge of boats, an object of
attraction to all strangers, but more so from the novelty and
singularity of its construction than from its beauty. Utility rather
than elegance was consulted by the builder. This far-famed structure is
ugly and cumbrous, and a passenger feels a very unpleasing sensation if
he happens to