respect to upholstery, I must do the Rouennois the justice to say, that I never saw any thing to compare with their escrutoires and other articles of furniture made of the walnut tree.  These upright escrutoires, or writing desks, are in almost every bed-room of the more respectable hotels:  but of course their polish is gone when they become stationary furniture in an inn—­for the art of rubbing, or what is called elbow-grease with us—­is almost unknown on either side of the Seine.  You would be charmed to have a fine specimen of a side board, or an escrutoire, (the latter five or six feet high) made by one of their best cabinet-makers from choice walnut wood.  The polish and tone of colour are equally gratifying; and resemble somewhat that of rose wood, but of a gayer aspect.  The or-molu ornaments are tastefully put on; but the general shape, or contour, of the several pieces of furniture, struck me as being in bad taste.

He who wishes to be astonished by the singularity of a scene, connected with trade, should walk leisurely down the RUE DE ROBEC.  It is surely the oddest, and as some may think, the most repulsive scene imaginable:  But who that has a rational curiosity could resist such a walk?  Here live the dyers of clothes—­and in the middle of the street rushes the precipitous stream, called L’Eau de Robec[67]—­receiving colours of all hues.  To-day it is nearly jet black:  to-morrow it is bright scarlet:  a third day it is blue, and a fourth day it is yellow!  Meanwhile it is partially concealed by little bridges, communicating with the manufactories, or with that side of the street where the work-people live:  and the whole has a dismal and disagreeable aspect—­especially in dirty weather:  but if you go to one end of it (I think to the east—­as it runs east and west) and look down upon the descending street, with the overhanging upper stories and roofs—­the foreshortened, numerous bridges—­the differently-coloured dyed clothes, suspended from the windows, or from poles—­the constant motion of men, women, and children, running across the bridges—­with the rapid, camelion stream beneath—­you cannot fail to acknowledge that this is one of the most singular, grotesque, and uncommon sights in the wonder-working city of Rouen.  I ought to tell you that the first famous Cardinal d’Amboise (of whom the preceding pages have made such frequent honourable mention) caused the Eau de Robec to be directed through the streets of Rouen, from its original channel or source in a little valley near St. Martin du Vivien.  Formerly there was a much more numerous clan of these “teinturiers” in the Rue de Robec—­but they have of late sought more capacious premises in the fauxbourgs de St. Hilaire and de Martainville.  The neighbouring sister-stream, l’Eau d’Aubette, is destined to the same purposes as that of which I have been just discoursing; but I do not at this