Our only resource in the cold weather were the wood fires, feebly supplemented by bits of coal. By all our expedients we could not raise the temperature of our salon above 63°; the _sensation_ of cold being several degrees below that point. My fingers were at times too cold to write, and we were fain to sit with hands and feet close to the imperfect fire, which it required some dexterity to manage; for any awkwardness with the tongs, which are mechanically on the sugar-tongs principle, might have laid the whole in ruin. Yet from these brushes of cold we suffered no ill effects. There was inconvenience, but not injury. Cold days now and then, even to the extent of benumbing the fingers, do no great harm. What kills in England is protracted cold, accompanied with damp and a thick atmosphere. We experienced no fogs; the air was comparatively light and dry—so dry as to have a visible effect on the skin, and to suggest that there was a more than usual exhalation from the system. The snow and mists never descended below the tops of the distant mountains. The hills and gardens remained green. The only damage to vegetation was the blight of exposed exterior branches of some of the lemon, orange, and other trees. At Nice, as I afterwards observed, there were similar marks of injury. The frost had not been general. The low temperature of 32°, or under, occurred principally in the openings of the valleys, where the pools were operated on by currents of cold air. Had the frost been severe and extended over the district, the lemon and citron trees, which are peculiarly delicate, must have perished. Mingled with the troublesomely cold and wet weather there were fine June-like days, when all was joyous, as befitted the ordinary character of a southern winter. What we endured from the intermittent cold of the season of 1869–70 was not for a moment to be compared to what was experienced at home. And this is the way to estimate a wintering at Mentone. We have to think not so much of what we have enjoyed, as what we have escaped. Visitors are apt to make mistakes regarding the climate of Mentone. Expecting too much from it, they neglect the precautions which are necessary. Dr J. H. Bennet, the principal authority on the climate, says: ‘It should never be forgotten that in winter the heat is sun-heat, and that the air, barring its influence, is usually cold. Warm clothes and woollen outer garments should be used.’ Dr Siordet says on the same subject: ‘Too much stress has, perhaps, been laid on the excellence of the climate of Mentone, and the expectations of visitors have thereby been unduly raised. No greater mistake could be made than to expect here perpetual sunshine and a perfectly equable temperature; a certain number of rainy days do occur, as my weather-table shews; a moderate amount of cold must be anticipated and provided for.’