[Illustration]

As you pass along this animated scene, by the side of the rapid Seine, and its Bridge of Boats, you cannot help glancing now and then down the narrow old-fashioned streets, which run at right angles with the quays—­with the innumerable small tile-fashioned pieces of wood, like scales, upon the roofs—­which seem as if they would be demolished by every blast.  The narrowness and gloom of these streets, together with the bold and overwhelming projections of the upper stories and roofs, afford a striking contrast to the animated scene upon the quays:—­where the sun shines with full freedom, as it were; and where the glittering streamers, at innumerable mast-heads, denote the wealth and prosperity of the town.  If the day happen to be fine, you may devote half a morning in contemplating, and mingling with, so interesting a scene.

We have had frequent thunder-storms of late; and the other Sunday evening, happening to be sauntering at a considerable height above the north-west Boulevards, towards the Faubourg Cauchoise, I gained a summit, upon the edge of a gravel pit, whence I looked down unexpectedly and precipitously upon the town below.  A magnificent and immense cloud was rolling over the whole city.  The Seine was however visible on the other side of it, shining like a broad silver chord:  while the barren, ascending plains, through which the road to Caen passes, were gradually becoming dusk with the overshadowing cloud, and drenched with rain which seemed to be rushing down in one immense torrent.  The tops of the Cathedral and of the abbey of St. Ouen were almost veiled in darkness, by the passing storm; but the lower part of the tower, and the whole of the nave of each building, were in one stream of golden light—­from the last powerful rays of the setting sun.  In ten minutes this magically-varied scene settled into the sober, uniform tint of evening; but I can never forget the rich bed of purple and pink, fringed with burnished gold, in which the sun of that evening set!  I descended—­absorbed in the recollection of the lovely objects which I had just contemplated—­and regaled by the sounds of a thousand little gurgling streamlets, created by the passing tempest, and hastening to precipitate themselves into the Seine.

Of the different trades, especially retail, which are carried on in Rouen with the greatest success, those connected with the cotton manufactories cannot fail to claim your attention; and I fancied I saw, in some of the shop-windows, shawls and gowns which might presume to vie with our Manchester and Norwich productions.  Nevertheless, I learnt that the French were extremely partial to British manufactures:  and cotton stockings, coloured muslins, and what are called ginghams, are coveted by them with the same fondness as we prize their cambric and their lace.  Their best articles in watches, clocks, silver ornaments, and trinkets, are obtained from Paris.  But in