This was the kind of work which I performed in my early days, and upon which has been built up that wonderful fabric of money transactions associated with my name in this the nineteenth century. I am afraid the very relation of my day’s work two hundred years ago has wearied you; if so, forgive me. I felt it necessary to my character to show you that the work undertaken by me from the very first was good and honourable, conscientious and helpful, and that wherever my household did a good stroke of business for itself it was not at the expense of others’ ruin; on the contrary, we could not help ourselves to riches without extending the benefit all round. (_To be continued._) FOOTNOTES: [2] He kept his money-chests in old Temple Bar. [3] The revenue was often anticipated by tallies. [4] Madox: “History of the Exchequer.” CHRISTMAS IN ITALY. We were spending a winter on the Riviera, and, after trying various hotels in town and country, had finally established ourselves in a pretty little Italian villa, _palazzino_, as the peasants called it, not many miles from Genoa. From the terraced garden there was a wide and splendid view. On our left, as we looked seawards, was the city herself, her marble palaces and churches rising crescent-wise behind the bay, which on the eastern side is bounded by the headland of Porto Fino. Facing us was the shining sweep of the Mediterranean; while to the right hand the Alpes Maritimes trended away into the far distance, their giant peaks and hollows an ever-present, ever-changing feast of colour—whether seen at early dawn, a glory of rose and gold; or at sunset, a gorgeous vision of amber and crimson, and softest, tenderest violet; or under the southern moonlight, a study in oxydised silver. For me mountains have always had a peculiar fascination, and no landscape ever seems complete without them. I could spend, and, indeed, did spend, when in Italy, many an hour in watching their changing hues. But to-day none of our party had time for indulging in mere sentiment. Throughout the week we had been rambling among the hills and valleys in quest of mosses, ferns, and other greenery wherewith to decorate the house; for this was Christmas week, and the day after to-morrow would be Christmas Day itself. How difficult it was, even as we worked at the familiar mottoes and rejoiced over the holly, which, after a seemingly hopeless search, we had at last found in a remote corner of the Doria woods—how difficult it was, I say, to realise the fact that this was the 23rd of December. Why, the garden was full of roses, camellias, and heliotrope; the air was as soft as upon a summer’s day in England; and we were out of doors in thin woollen dresses and large, shady hats, rejoicing in the brilliant sunshine.