s, no
sign of life, with the inhabitants standing idle along the quay,
shivering in the rain and snow, with for a background crumbling walls,
gaping cellars, and hills buried under acres of fallen masonry, the
picture was one of terrible desolation, of neglect and inefficiency. The
only structures that had obviously been erected since the earthquake
were the "ready-to-wear" shacks sent as a stop-gap from America. One
should not look critically at a gift-house, but they are certainly very
ugly. In Italy, where every spot is a "location" for moving-pictures,
where the street corners are backgrounds for lovers' trysts and
assassinations, where even poverty is picturesque, and each landscape
"composes" into a beautiful and wondrous painting, the zinc shacks, in
rigid lines, like the barracks of a mining-camp, came as a shock.

Sympathetic Americans sent them as only a temporary shelter until
Messina rose again. But it was explained, as there is no rent to pay,
the Italians, instead of rebuilding, prefer to inhabit the ready-to-wear
houses. How many tourists the mere view of them will drive away no one
can guess.

People who linger in Naples, and by train to Reggio join the boat at
Messina, never admit that they followed that route to avoid being
seasick. Seasickness is an illness of which no one ever boasts. He may
take pride in saying: "I've an awful cold!" or "I've such a headache I
can't see!" and will expect you to feel sorry. But he knows, no matter
how horribly he suffers from mal de mer, he will receive no sympathy. In
a _Puck_ and _Punch_ way he will be merely comic. So, the passengers who
come over the side at Messina always have an excuse other than that they
were dodging the sea. It is usually that they lost their luggage at
Naples and had to search for it. As the Italian railroads, which are
operated by the government, always lose your luggage, it is an admirable
excuse. So, also, is the one that you delayed in order to visit the
ruins of Pompeii. The number of people who have visited Pompeii solely
because the Bay of Naples was in an ugly mood will never be counted.

Among those who joined at Messina were the French princess, who talked
American much too well to be French, and French far too well to be an
American, two military attaches, the King's messenger, and the Armenian,
who was by profession an olive merchant, and by choice a manufacturer
and purveyor of rumors. He was at once given an opportunity to e