to have abundance of room. The
garden terminates in a terrace that overhangs the river, and, from this
point, the eye ranges over a wide extent of beautiful plain, that is
bounded by fine bold hills which are teeming with gray villages and
_bourgs_.

The house is of stone, and not without elegance. It may be ninety feet
in length, by some forty in width. The entrance is into a vestibule,
which has the offices on the right, and the great staircase on the left.
The principal _salon_ is in front. This is a good room, near thirty feet
long, fifteen or sixteen high, and has three good windows, that open on
the garden. The billiard-room communicates on one side, and the _salle a
manger_ on the other; next the latter come the offices again, and next
the billiard-room is a very pretty little boudoir. Up stairs, are suites
of bed-rooms and dressing-rooms; every thing is neat, and the house is
in excellent order, and well furnished for a country residence. Now, all
this I get at a hundred dollars a month, for the five summer months.
There are also a carriage-house, and stabling for three horses. The
gardener and porter are paid by the proprietor. The village, however, is
not in much request, and the rent is thought to be low.

Among the great advantages enjoyed by a residence in Europe, are the
facilities of this nature. Furnished apartments, or furnished houses,
can be had in almost every town of any size; and, owning your own linen
and plate, nearly every other necessary is found you. It is true, that
one sometimes misses comforts to which he has been accustomed in his own
house; but, in France, many little things are found, it is not usual to
meet with elsewhere. Thus, no principal bedroom is considered properly
furnished in a good house, without a handsome secretary, and a bureau.
These two articles are as much matters of course, as are the eternal two
rooms and folding doors, in New York.

This, then, has been our Tusculum since June. M. Ternaux enlivens the
scene, occasionally, by a dinner; and he has politely granted us
permission to walk in his grounds, which are extensive and well laid
out, for the old French style. We have a neighbour on our left, name
unknown, who gives suppers in his garden, and concerts that really are
worthy of the grand opera. Occasionally, we get a song, in a female
voice, that rivals the best of Madame Malibran's. On our right lives a
staid widow, whose establishment is as tranquil as our own.