ehind. Upon entering the vestibule of the
council chamber, formerly the refectory, I thought I was going behind
the scenes of a theatre. It was nearly filled with allegorical banners,
pasteboard and canvas arches of triumph, altars, emblems of liberty, and
despotism, and all the scenic decorations suitable to the frenzied
orgies of a republican fete. Thank God! they appeared to be tolerably
well covered with dust and cobwebs. At the end of this noble room,
seated upon a high pedestal, was the goddess of liberty, beautifully
executed in marble. "Look at that sanguinary prostitute," cried Mons.
G----, to me, pointing to the statue, "for years have we had liberty and
bloodshed, _thank Heaven!_ we are now no longer _free_." Upon which, he
wrote his name in the first consul's book, which was here lying open,
upon a table, for the purpose of receiving the suffrages of the
department.

The laconic irony, and manner of the speaker, afforded me a tolerably
good display of the nature of the blessings conferred upon the french,
by their late political philosophy.

From this place I proceeded to the ci-devant convent of the jesuits,
built by one of the munificent dukes de Bourbon. It is a magnificent
oblong stone building. In the centre of the court was a tree of liberty,
which, like almost all the other trees, dedicated to that goddess, which
I saw, looked blighted, and sickly. I mention it as a fact, without
alluding to any political sentiment whatever. It is a remark in frequent
use in France, that the caps of liberty are without heads, and the trees
of liberty without root. The poplar has been selected from all the other
trees of the forest, for this distinguished honour, from a whimsical
synonymy of its name with that of the people. In french, the poplar is
called peuplier, and the word peuple signifies people. This fine
building is now converted into an university of learning, and the fine
arts. From the number of the students, I should suppose the fashionable
fervour of study had not as yet reached Rouen.

The professor of philosophy, with great politeness sent a young man to
show me the museum of pictures, for which purpose the church of the
jesuits, is at present used. There are several paintings in it, the only
fine one, was a dying Jesus by Vandyke, which was exquisite. Upon my
expressing my admiration, a young student near me said "oui monsieur
c'est tres jolie." This misapplied remark, from an easy and natural
combi