“February? I think this is the last day of the month. I know it is Sunday, but all days are alike and all go so quickly. I literally have no time for anything unless I steal it as I am doing now. I never felt so sorry for architects before. It seems to me I have made hundreds of drawings (of course I haven’t) and all of them have to be changed either by the prefect, the Capo Ingegnere, the captain, or the carpenters; but it’s all in the day’s work. One cannot make such a good showing, however, when one drawing after another is either altered or discarded. I am sitting down to write this--the first time I have sat down, except to eat, since I came aboard. The sailors squat on the deck and write letters, using their knees as a desk. It looks all right but, as the decks are made of iron, one’s feet will slip away from one. Letter day on board is a sight to be seen. Remember that post cards have a peculiar fascination for sailor men, who haven’t been home since Lord knows when, many of them; we shipped a lot, forty or so, who were on their way home from the Pacific cruise, and brought them here. It’s blowing great guns, and all the ships are strengthening their moorings to keep from being blown into their neighbors. Hugh has just looked in to bring me a letter from you. Captain Belknap is in a hurry to get the hotel design finished. Most of the changes that are made are to save wood, so as to have enough to build with; but if rafters, composts, floor-beams, studs, and even sills, are cut out continually, a day’s work soon disappears in respacing them. I hope you will carry out your plan of coming down to Taormina. The hotels are all closing for lack of business, sending their guests to one (‘The Timeo’), and even that is not half full. You ought to see Sicily, you ought to get some idea of the earthquake’s work, for no matter how wild your idea may be, it will be tame beside the real thing. Wood and Bowdoin are at Taormina, working like slaves to relieve the villages between here and there--they suffered fearfully--and you could see and do much. We have had quite a lively time since I began this. It is blowing a gale and things are happening. Our anchor lost its hold and dragged until we were not more than six metres from the bows of the steamer alongside of us. I didn’t know anything out of the way was happening till I heard quick commands and sailor men running; when I looked out and saw they had sent the steam launch over to an Italian man-of-war with a hawser, which was made fast on board of her and the other end was hauled in by the donkey engine, and we were pulled away just in time to prevent a collision--how they did it all without my assistance, I can’t quite make out! They are getting over another anchor now for safety’s sake, and they will probably need it as the wind seems little inclined to quiet down. It’s very warm here; I haven’t worn my overcoat since the first day. I doubt if you will be able to see much of