Rouen, 18th May.

My dear Oldfield,—As we always travel slowly, in order not to fatigue my mother, and went round by Dieppe, we arrived here only this forenoon. I found no glass at Abbeville—at Eu, the pet church of Louis Philippe has some modern glass, of the worst kind; as bad as Ward's in design, and worse in colour, but in the private chapel there were some good heads after Perugino. No glass at Dieppe. But when I got into the Cathedral here this evening, I was grievously vexed with all that I had done, and rendered almost hopeless by the dazzling beauty of form of the windows of the choir, and, to make the matter worse, I came upon some bits of restoration, which, though apparently adhering in all points to the original design, had utterly lost its effect, so that I find we are entirely in Ward's power, and however good the design we give him may be, he can altogether spoil it in execution. I set myself to consider the difference between the ancient and modern work, which I find chiefly to consist in these points (the design, size, etc., being in all points the same).

First, the modern glass admits much more light, producing a glaring and painful impression on the eye, so that I could not look at it long—the old glass soothed, attracted, and comforted the eye, not dazzling it, but admitting of long contemplation without the least pain.