‘_Dec. 21._ Dull, overcast, bitterly cold wind; temp. 54°-55°.—_Dec. 22._ There has been a stormy night; sea tempestuous, has destroyed tramway on the beach; morning dull; the Promenade flooded with sea-water; temp. 53°-56°; snow on tops of the mountains.—_Dec. 23._ Fine; temp. 53°-65°; many people out looking at the havoc on the beach.—_Dec. 24._ Fine; temp. 52°-62°.—_Dec. 25._ Dull, cold; temp. 50°-56°; a dismal Christmas Day; few people out; attempted a walk to the Quai Bonaparte, but driven back by a cold stream of air down the street.—_Dec. 26._ Dull, overcast, very cold; temp. 43°-41°; could not venture out on account of the cold wind.—_Dec. 27._ Dull, overcast, very cold; temp. same as yesterday; did not go out.—_Dec. 28._ Clear but cold, with wind from south-east; mountain-tops white with snow; walked out, and saw ice half an inch thick on pools in the Borigo and Carei; temp. 40°–43°; am told that the temperature during the night has been down to 26°.—_Dec. 29._ Clear and fine, but a cold wind; temp. 40°–63°; children breaking the ice on the pools, and carrying pieces away.—_Dec. 30._ Cold but fine; ice still on pools; temp. 42°–43°.—_Dec. 31._ Clear and fine; sun melting the ice; temp. 45°–55°.—_Jan. 1, 1870._ Dull, cold, overcast, showers; temp. 39°–47°; minimum temp. by a registering thermometer, north side of house, said to have been 34°·5; a miserable _jour de l’an_ for the poor people; few out holiday-making; stalls of books and toys, and a show of a fat boy at east end of Promenade, shut up for want of customers; knife-grinder in disgust has left his wheel in the rain, and retired for consolation to a neighbouring Débit de Vin.’ The extracts need not be continued. For about a fortnight after New-year’s Day the weather was tolerable; then, it became cold and frequently wet, until we left Mentone, at the middle of February, to conclude the season at Nice. If we could have had proper fires, the cold would have been of no account, for I walked about almost daily, and sometimes made excursions; the torment consisted in keeping up a sufficient degree of warmth while confined to the house. The season was indisputably an impeachment of the reputed climate of Mentone. The natives, who consider the district a sort of earthly paradise, were much discomfited—the shopkeepers in despair. The carriages which used to be open were sometimes seen shut up as closely as if they had been driving up Regent Street. The keeper of our hotel (an aged Italian with ear-rings) vehemently declared that he had never known such bad weather in all his experience—‘_Jamais, jamais, jamais!_’