never butter their victuals sufficiently; and it would have produced a spasmodic affection in a thoroughly bilious spectator, could he have seen the enormous piece of butter which this active young cuisiniere thought necessary to put into the pot in which the ‘Alose’ was to be boiled.  She laughed at the surprise I expressed; and added “qu’on ne peut rien faire dans la cuisine sans le beurre.”  You ought to know, by the by, that the Alose, something like our mackerel in flavour, is a large and delicious fish; and that we were always anxious to bespeak it at the table-d’hote at Rouen.  Extricated from the lake of butter in which it floats, when brought upon table, it forms not only a rich, but a very substantial dish.

I took a chair and sat in the open air, by the side of the door—­enjoying the breeze, and much disposed to gossip with the master of the place.  Perceiving this, the landlord approached, and addressed me with a pleasant degree of familiarity.  “You are from London, then, Sir?” “I am.”  “Ah Sir, I never think of London but with the most painful sensations.”  “How so?” “Sir, I am the sole heir of a rich banker who died in that city before the Revolution.  He was in partnership with an English gentleman.  Can you possibly advise and assist me upon the subject?” I told him that my advice and assistance were literally not worth a sous; but that, such as they were, he was perfectly welcome to both.  “Your daughter Sir, is not married?”—­“Non, Monsieur, elle n’est pas encore epousee:  mais je lui dis qu’elle ne sera jamais heureuse avant qu’elle le soit.”  The daughter, who had overheard the conversation, came forward, and looking archly over her shoulder, replied—­“ou malheureuse, mon pere!” A sort of truism, expressed by her with singular epigrammatic force, to which there was no making any reply.

Do you remember, my dear friend; that exceedingly cold winter’s night, when, for lack of other book-entertainment, we took it into our heads to have a rummage among the Scriptores Historiae Normannorum of DUCHESNE?—­and finding therein many pages occupied by Gulielmus Gemeticensis, we bethought ourselves that we would have recourse to the valuable folio volume yeleped Neustria Pia:—­where we presently seemed to hold converse with the ancient founders and royal benefactors of certain venerable establishments!  I then little imagined that it would ever fall to my lot to be either walking or musing within the precincts of the Abbey of Jumieges;—­or rather, of the ruins of what was once not less distinguished, as a school of learning, than admired for its wealth and celebrity as a monastic establishment.  Yes, my friend, I have seen and visited the ruins of this Abbey; and I seem to live “mihi carior” in consequence.