not answer in our own sterner climate. They are fastened by a bolt, the working of which the inhabitant requires to understand, as, if not properly fastened, a window may blow open, as it once did to us in a gale at Marseilles during the night; and in ignorance of the way of turning the bolt, much trouble will be occasioned in the dark. Nearly all rooms open into those adjoining, on both sides, by a door, sometimes two–leaved. The consequence is, especially when the partition walls are thin, that all that goes on in your neighbour’s apartment is overheard. To remedy this inconvenience, in part, as well as to add to the warmth of the chambers, the doors are in first–class houses double, for which a certain degree of thickness of walls is necessary. Terraces and balconies are common adjuncts, and enable the inhabitants in many cases to enjoy the air and the views without leaving their houses, or scarcely their rooms. The gardens attached to villas are usually planted with orange, lemon, and red pepper trees, with aloes, and the ever–green, and health–producing, rapid–growing Eucalyptus, besides other trees and plants, natives of a warm climate. At Cannes we were taken by a French gentleman through a large villa he had just built for his own occupation. Upon the first floor (what we would term the street floor), above the ground floor, or that occupied by the offices and servants’ accommodation, and opening out of a large hall, there was a suite of public rooms, consisting of dining–room and drawing–room, with intermediate ante–drawing–room—all looking to the sun, and of a library and another room upon the north or non–sunny side of the house. On the floor above, there were six bed–rooms, separate sleeping chambers being devoted to the husband and wife. The south windows opened out on each floor to a broad terrace, looking down upon a large garden, beyond which fine views were had of the sea and Estrelles. Every room was finished in the best style.