were occupied—­chiefly by females—­to witness, it should seem, so novel and interesting a sight as an Englishman holding familiar discourse with a poor wandering Savoyard!  My friend the sexton was among the spectators, and from his voice and action, appeared especially interested.  “Que le bon Dieu vous benisse!” exclaimed the Savoyard, as I bade him farewell.  On pursuing my route for a stroll upon the heights near the town, I had occasion to pass these benches of spectators.  The women, almost without any exception, inclined their heads by way of a gracious salute; and Monsieur le Sacristain pulled off his enormous cock’d hat with the consequence of a drum-major.  He appeared not to have forgotten the donation which he had received in the church.  Continuing my pursuit, I gained an elevated situation:  whence, looking down upon the spot where I had left the Savoyard, I observed him surrounded by the females—­each and every one of them apparently convulsed with laughter!  Even the little musician appeared to have forgotten his “orphan state.”

The environs of Bolbec, especially in the upper part, are sufficiently picturesque.  At least they are sufficiently fruitful:  orchards, corn and pasture land—­intermixed with meadows, upon which cotton was spread for bleaching—­produced altogether a very interesting effect.  The little hanging gardens, attached to labourer’s huts, contributed to the beauty of the scene.  A warm crimson sun-set seemed to envelope the coppice wood in a flame of gold.  The road was yet reeking with moisture—­and I retraced my steps, through devious and slippery paths, to the hotel.  Evening had set in:  the sound of the Savoyard’s voice was no longer heard:  I ordered tea and candles, and added considerably to my journal before I went to bed.  I rose at five; and before six the horses were harnessed to the cabriolet.  Having obtained the necessary instructions for reaching Tancarville, (the ancient and proud seat of the MONTMORENCIS) I paid my reckoning, and left Bolbec.  As I ascended a long and rather steep hill, and, looking to the right and left, saw every thing in a state of verdure and promise, I did all I could to persuade myself that the journey would be agreeable, and that the castle of Montmorenci could not fail to command admiration.  I was now in the high and broad “route royale” to Havre le Grace; but had scarcely been a league upon it, when, looking at my instructions, we struck out of the high road, to the left, and followed a private one through flat and uninteresting arable land.  I cannot tell how many turns were taken, or how many pretty little villages were passed—­till, after a long and gradual ascent, we came upon a height, flanked the greater part by coppice wood, through one portion of which—­purposely kept open for the view—­was seen at a distance a marvellously fine group of perpendicular rocks (whose grey and battered sides were lighted up with a pink colour from