From the whole of this interesting spot I retreated—­with mixed sensations of melancholy and surprise—­to the little auberge of the Three Moors, in the centre of the town.  It had begun to rain smartly as we took shelter in the kitchen; where, for the first time since leaving England, I saw a display of utensils which might have vied with our own, or even with a Dutch interior, for neatness and order of disposition.  Some of the dishes might have been as ancient as—­not the old round Tower—­but as the last English Duke of Normandy who might have banquetted there.  The whole was in high polish and full display.  On my complimenting the good Aubergiste upon so creditable a sight, she laughed, and replied briskly—­“Ce n’est rien, ceci:  Pentecote est tout pres, et donc vous verrez, Monsieur!”—­It should seem that Whitsuntide was the season for a general household purification.  Some of her furniture had once belonged to the Castle:  but she had bought it, in the scramble which took place at the dispersion and destruction of the movables there, during the Revolution.  I recommend all travellers to take a lunch, and enjoy a bottle of vin ordinaire, at Les Trois-Negres. I was obliged to summon up all my stock of knowledge in polite phraseology, in order to decline a plate of soup.  “It was delicious above every thing”—­“but I had postponed taking dinner till we got to Bolbec.”  “Bon—­vous y trouverez un hotel superbe.”  The French are easily pleased; and civility is so cheap and current a coin abroad, that I wish our countrymen would make use of it a little more frequently than they appear to do.  I started about two for Bolbec.

The rain continued during the whole of my route thither; but it did not prevent me from witnessing a land of plenty and of picturesque beauty on all sides.  Indeed it is scarcely possible to conceive a more rich and luxuriant state of culture.  To the left, about half a league from Lillebonne, I passed the domain of a once wealthy, and extremely extensive abbey.  They call it the Abbey of Valasse. A long rambling bare stone wall, and portions of a deserted ruin, kept in sight for full half an English mile.  The immediate approach to BOLBEC is that of the entrance to a modern and flourishing trading town, which seems to be beginning to recover from the effects of the Revolution.  After Rouen, and even Caudebec, it has a stiff modernized air.  I drove to the principal inn, opposite the church, and bespoke dinner and a bed.  The church is perfectly, modern, and equally heavy and large.  Crowds of people were issuing from Vespers, when, ascending a flight of steps, (for it is built on ground considerably above the ground-floor of the inn) I resolved to wait for the final departure of the congregation, and to take a leisurely survey of the interior, while dinner was getting ready.