You have often, I make no doubt, my dear friend, started upon something like a similar expedition:—­when the morning has been fair, the sun bright, the breeze gentle, and the atmosphere clear.  In such moments how the ardour of hope takes possession of one!—­How the heart warms, and the conversation flows!  The barriers are approached; we turn to the left, and commence our journey in good earnest.  Previously to gaining the first considerable height, you pass the village of Bapeaume.  This village is exceedingly picturesque.  It is studded with water-mills, and is enlivened by a rapid rivulet, which empties itself, in a serpentine direction, into the Seine.  You now begin to ascend a very commanding eminence; at the top of which are scattered some of those country houses which are seen from Mont Ste. Catharine.  The road is of a noble breadth.  The day warmed; and dismounting, we let our steeds breathe freely, as we continued to ascend leisurely.  Our first halting-place, according to the instructions of M. Le Prevost, was St. George de Boscherville; an ancient abbey established in the twelfth century, This abbey is situated about three French leagues from Rouen.  Our route thither, from the summit of the hill which we had just ascended, lay along a road skirted by interminable orchards now in full bloom.  The air was perfumed to excess by the fragrance of these blossoms.  The apple and pear were beautifully conspicuous; and as the sky became still more serene, and the temperature yet more mild by the unobstructed sun beam, it is impossible to conceive any thing more balmy and genial than was this lovely day.  The minutes seemed to fly away too quickly—­when we reached the village of Boscherville; where stands the CHURCH; the chief remaining relic of this once beautiful abbey.  We surveyed the west front very leisurely, and thought it an extremely beautiful specimen of the architecture of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries; for certainly there are some portions more ancient than others.  A survey of the chapter-house filled me with mingled sorrow and delight:  sorrow, that the Revolution and a modern cotton manufactory had metamorphosed it from its original character; and delight, that the portions which remained were of such beautiful forms, and in such fine preservation.  The stone, being of a very close-grained quality, is absolutely as white and sound as if it had been just cut from the quarry.  The room, where a parcel of bare-legged girls and boys were working the respective machineries, had a roof of the most delicate construction.[79]

The very sound of a Monastery made me curious to examine the disposition of the building.  Accordingly, I followed my guide through suites of apartments, up divers stone stair-cases, and along sundry corridors.  I noticed the dormitories with due attention, and of course inquired eagerly for the LIBRARY:—­but the shelves only remained—­either the fear or the fury of the Revolution having long ago dispossessed