But with an expense of thirty thousand livres in looking-glasses, there is no table in the house better than an oak board, nor a carpet belonging to the house.  The floors I abhor, made of red tiles in the shape of Mrs. Quincy’s floor-cloth tiles.  These floors will by no means bear water, so that the method of cleaning them is to have them waxed, and then a manservant with foot brushes drives round your room, dancing here and there like a Merry Andrew.  This is calculated to take from your foot every atom of dirt, and leave the room in a few moments as he found it.  The house must be exceedingly cold in winter.  The dining-rooms, of which you make no other use, are laid with small stones, like the red tiles for shape and size.  The servants’ apartments are generally upon the first floor, and the stairs which you commonly have to ascend to get into the family apartments are so dirty that I have been obliged to hold up my clothes as though I was passing through a cow-yard.

I have been but little abroad.  It is customary in this country for strangers to make the first visit.  As I cannot speak the language, I think I should make rather an awkward figure.  I have dined abroad several times with Mr. Adams’s particular friends, the Abbes, who are very polite and civil,—­three sensible and worthy men.  The Abbe de Mably has lately published a book, which he has dedicated to Mr. Adams.  This gentleman is nearly eighty years old; the Abbe Chalut, seventy-five; and Arnoux about fifty, a fine sprightly man, who takes great pleasure in obliging his friends.  Their apartments were really nice.  I have dined once at Dr. Franklin’s, and once at Mr. Barclay’s, our consul, who has a very agreeable woman for his wife, and where I feel like being with a friend.  Mrs. Barclay has assisted me in my purchases, gone with me to different shops, etc.  To-morrow I am to dine at Monsieur Grand’s; but I have really felt so happy within doors, and am so pleasingly situated, that I have had little inclination to change the scene.  I have not been to one public amusement as yet, not even the opera, though we have one very near us.

You may easily suppose I have been fully employed, beginning housekeeping anew, and arranging my family to our no small expenses and trouble; for I have had bed-linen and table-linen to purchase and make, spoons and forks to get made of silver,—­three dozen of each,—­besides tea furniture, china for the table, servants to procure, etc.  The expense of living abroad I always supposed to be high, but my ideas were nowise adequate to the thing.  I could have furnished myself in the town of Boston with everything I have, twenty or thirty per cent, cheaper than I have been able to do it here.  Everything which will bear the name of elegant is imported from England, and if you will have it, you must pay for it, duties and all.  I cannot get a dozen handsome wineglasses under three guineas, nor a pair of small decanters for less than a guinea