If your visit means “money,” as it may, you pass directly through the portico to the Cash-Room, into which it opens. No other room in the world as magnificent is devoted to such a purpose. It is seventy-two feet long, thirty-two feet wide, and twenty-seven feet six inches high. Exclusive of the upper cornice, the walls are built entirely of marble. Seven varieties meet and merge into each other, to make the harmony of its blended hues. From the main floor it rises through two stories of the building. Thus it has upper and lower windows, between which a narrow bronze gallery runs, encircling the entire room. The base of the stylobate of the first story is black Vermont marble, the mouldings are Bardiglio Italian, the styles dove Vermont marble, the panels Sienna Italian, and the dies Tennessee. Above the stylobate, the styles are of Sienna marble. With these are contrasted the pale primrose tints of the Corinthian pilasters and a cornice of white-veined Italian marble. Opposite the windows, and in corresponding positions at the ends of the rooms, are panels of the dark-veined Bardiglio Italian marble, the exact size of the windows. The stylobate and the styles and pilasters of the second story show the same tints and variety of marbles which mark the first. But the panels are of Sarran Golum marble, from the Pyrenees. The latter is one of the rarest of marbles; at a distance, of a blood-red hue. Upon nearer inspection, it reveals undreamed-of beauties in veining and tint. The pilasters of the second story are not like those of the first story, pure—but complex. They support a cornice, not of wrought marble, as all the remainder of the room would promise, but of plaster of Paris, fantastically wrought and profusely gilded. This cornice is another blot of that meretricious ornamentation which in so many noble spaces disfigures the Capitol. Extending the length of the room is a costly counter, of various marbles, surmounted by a balustrade of mahogany and plate-glass. Within this are busy the clerks of the Cash-Room, and over this marble counter you, as one of its many proprietors, may receive, for the asking, ten “ones” for one “ten”—new money for old. From this superb room of the people we pass to that of the Treasurer,—“the watch-dog of the Treasury,”—the man who holds and guards the untold millions of the nation. It is a plain room, very. No thought of luxury, it is easy to see, has touched an article of its furniture, from his well-worn chair to the broken-nosed pitcher which holds the General’s ink; that ink, thick as mud and black as Egyptian night, out of which he constructs these marvellous hieroglyphics, which, on our legal-tender notes, has become one of the most baffling studies of the nation.