A grave point is the choice of a house; and who shall direct you as to that? No one. You must see for yourself; you must observe all the particulars on the spot. You will learn little from persons who have visited or even lived there. They praise or condemn this or that place not on account of its real merit, but according to the pleasure they have enjoyed or the friends they have made there. They recommend you to some of those friends who receive you admirably; at first you are delighted, but in a short time you discover many inconveniences, and sometimes the house is even dangerously unhealthy. Yet you do not like to leave it, lest you should mortify both those who recommended you and the kind and amiable family who so hospitably received you. "Well, then," you say, "I will ask no recommendation, but on reaching the place I will consult an honest and skilful doctor who will be able to enlighten me." Honest! that is not enough, he must also be very intrepid to tell you frankly any of the bad qualities of the place, for he would be a ruined man, he would take leave of the whole place, would live as solitary as a wolf; and, indeed, would be lucky if some personal injury were not done to him. I have a perfect horror of the absurdly flimsy houses which speculators build in our variable climate. These pasteboard erections are so many dangerous traps. In the full heats of Summer such bivouacs are all well enough, but often one has to remain in September and October amid the high winds and the torrents of rain. For themselves the landlords build good substantial houses, but for poor patients they build chalets of wood, ill closed, and not even moss-covered, like the Swiss chalets. It really is treating us quite too ill. In those villas, apparently luxurious, but in reality wretched, no provision is made for comfort. Drawing-rooms for show,--and commanding a view of the sea, they have, but no provision is made to gratify that feeling of home comfort, so dear to the sick, and more especially so to woman. She feels unsheltered, as though constantly exposed to half a gale of wind, and constantly passing from one temperature to another. On the other hand, the solidly built house of the Fisherman is often low, damp, and inconveniently arranged in its interior. Often, it has not even a double ceiling, but mere planks, which admit cold draughts into the upper rooms, inflicting coughs, rheumatism, and a score of other diseases.