eois. At the
village of Chaillot, in the neighbourhood of Paris, they make beautiful
carpets and screen-work; and this is the more extraordinary, as there
are hardly any carpets used in this kingdom. In almost all the
lodging-houses, the floors are of brick, and have no other kind of
cleaning, than that of being sprinkled with water, and swept once a
day. These brick floors, the stone stairs, the want of wainscotting in
the rooms, and the thick party-walls of stone, are, however, good
preservatives against fire, which seldom does any damage in this city.
Instead of wainscotting, the walls are covered with tapestry or damask.
The beds in general are very good, and well ornamented, with testers
and curtains.

Twenty years ago the river Seine, within a mile of Paris, was as
solitary as if it had run through a desert. At present the banks of it
are adorned with a number of elegant houses and plantations, as far as
Marli. I need not mention the machine at this place for raising water,
because I know you are well acquainted with its construction; nor shall
I say any thing more of the city of Paris, but that there is a new
square, built upon an elegant plan, at the end of the garden of the
Thuilleries: it is called Place de Louis XV. and, in the middle of it,
there is a good equestrian statue of the reigning king.

You have often heard that Louis XIV. frequently regretted, that his
country did not afford gravel for the walks of his gardens, which are
covered with a white, loose sand, very disagreeable both to the eyes
and feet of those who walk upon it; but this is a vulgar mistake. There
is plenty of gravel on the road between Paris and Versailles, as well
as in many other parts of this kingdom; but the French, who are all for
glare and glitter, think the other is more gay and agreeable: one would
imagine they did not feel the burning reflexion from the white sand,
which in summer is almost intolerable.

In the character of the French, considered as a people, there are
undoubtedly many circumstances truly ridiculous. You know the
fashionable people, who go a hunting, are equipped with their jack
boots, bag wigs, swords and pistols: but I saw the other day a scene
still more grotesque. On the road to Choissi, a fiacre, or
hackney-coach, stopped, and out came five or six men, armed with
musquets, who took post, each behind a separate tree. I asked our
servant who they were imagining they might be archers, or footpads of
jus