Bocherville and of Jumieges.--The accommodation afforded by the inns at
Bocherville and Jumieges, is but a poor substitute for the hospitality
of the suppressed abbeys; and, as even the antiquary must eat and
perhaps sleep, he who visits either St. George or the holy Virgin, will
do well to take his _fricandeau_ and his bed, at the place whence I am
writing.

At a period when the right bank of the Seine from Harfleur to Rouen
displayed an almost uninterrupted line or monastic buildings, Ducler
also boasted of a convent[1], which must have been of some importance,
as early as the middle of the seventh century.--King Childeric IInd,
granted the forest of Jumieges to the convent of the same name and that
of St. Vandrille; and St. Ouen was directed by the monarch to divide the
endowment between the two foundations. His award did not give
satisfaction to St. Philibert, the abbot of Jumieges, who maintained
that his house had not received a fair allotment. The proposition was
stoutly resisted by St. Lambert, abbot of St. Vandrille; and the dispute
was at length settled by the saints withdrawing their claims, and ceding
the surplus land to the abbey of Ducler. St. Denys was the patron of
this abbey; and to him also the present parochial church is dedicated:
it is of Norman architecture; the tower is surrounded by a row of
fantastic corbels; and a considerable quantity of painted glass yet
remains in the windows. The village itself (for it is nothing more than
a village, though honored by French geographers with the name of a
_bourg_), consists of a single row of houses, placed immediately under
the steep chalk cliff which borders the Seine. The face of the cliff is
also indented by excavations, in which the poorer inhabitants dwell,
almost like the Troglodytes of old. The situation of Ducler, and that of
the two neighboring abbeys, is delightful in summer and in fine weather.
In winter it must be cold and cheerless; for, besides being close to a
river of so great breadth, it looks upon a flat marshy shore, whence
exhalations copiously arise. The view from our chamber window this
morning presented volumes of mist rolling on with the stream. The tide
was setting in fast downwards; and the water glided along in silent
rapidity, involved in clouds.

The village of Bocherville, or, as it is more commonly called, of St.
Georges, the place borrowing its name from the patron saint of the
abbey, lies, at the distance of about two leag