stands in the office, and created solely for the advantage and
convenience of her travelling country-people.

When the continental banker happens to have no wife, in his own person
must be united the attributes I have described; and with a beaming
face, and frank shake of the hand, must he advance from his desk to
greet every visitor who breaks in upon his hours of business. Let us
take a peep, for instance, one July morning, into the bank.

Two or three old _habitués_ are reading the newspapers; before them is
a table on which are army and navy lists; notices of the arrivals and
departures of the French and Peninsular Steam-Navigation Company's
packets from Leghorn; itineraries of the baths; cards of professors of
various languages, &c. The banker is writing. Enter a lady; a boy,
with turn-down collar and very red ears; a little girl in a nice hat;
a Swiss _bonne_; and a baby, with a blue sash and feather.

_Banker._ (_Advancing cordially._) Ah, Mrs Worryemwell, how do you do?
(_Pats the boy on the head._) And how are you, my fine fellow? (_Gives
the baby an amicable poke in the ribs, whereat it laughs and crows
uproariously._) Take a seat on the sofa, will you, Mrs Worryemwell;
and now, tell me, when did you leave Florence?

_Mrs Worryemwell._ The day before yesterday. We should have been here
sooner, but we missed the train for Lucca, because one of the trunks
was left behind at the Pisa station, and I would not move till it was
found.

_Banker._ (_Anxiously._) But you recovered it, I trust?