of art in the present ecclesiastical remains of the city. St. Vivien is the second of these two former.  It is a fine open church, with a large organ, having a very curious wooden screen in front, elaborately carved, and, as I conceive, of the very earliest part of the sixteenth century.  I ascended the organ-loft; and the door happening to be open, I examined this screen (which has luckily escaped the yellow-ochre edict) very minutely, and was much gratified by the examination.  Such pieces of art, so situated, are of rare occurrence.  For the first time, within a parish church, I stepped upon the pavement of the choir:  walked gently forwards, to the echo of my own footsteps, (for not a creature was in the church) and, “with no unhallowed hand” I would hope, ventured to open the choral or service book, resting upon its stand.  It was wide, thick, and ponderous:  upon vellum:  beautifully written and well executed in every respect, with the exception of the illuminations which were extremely indifferent.  I ought to tell you that the doors of the churches, abroad, are open at all times of the day:  the ancient or more massive door, or portal, is secured from shutting; but a temporary, small, shabby wooden door, covered with dirty green baize, opening and shutting upon circular hinges, just covers the vacuum left by the absence of the larger one.

Of the two ancient churches, above alluded to, that of St. Gervais, is situated considerably to the north of where the Boulevards Cauchoise and Bouvreuil meet.  It was hard by this favourite spot, say the Norman historians, that the ancient Dukes of Normandy built their country-houses:  considering it as a lieu de plaisance. Here too it was that the Conqueror came to breathe his last—­desiring to be conveyed thither, from his palace in the city, for the benefit of the pure air.[58] I walked with M. Le Prevost to this curious church:  having before twice seen it.  But the Crypt is the only thing worth talking about, on the score of antiquity.  The same accomplished guide bade me remark the extraordinary formation of the capitals of the pillars:  which, admitting some perversity of taste in a rude, Norman, imitative artist, are decidedly of Roman character.  “Perhaps,” said M. Le Prevost, “the last efforts of Roman art previous to the relinquishment of the Romans.”  Among these capitals there is one of the perfect Doric order; while in another you discover the remains of two Roman eagles.  The columns are all of the same height; and totally unlike every thing of the kind which I have seen or heard of.