Luckless Messina! For eight francs the Palermitans can make a trip to see the wreck of the proud city once Palermo’s rival! “Poor devils--to be made a spectacle of!” sighed Patsy. “Still it helps to have anybody make money! The railroad will get something out of these special trips; any movement is better than none.” Outside a large dry-goods shop an immense placard called our attention. “Bazar Messinesi. Bankrupt stock from Messina, to be sold out below cost.” In the Via Marquada, a fine bustling modern street, I found my friend Palladia the milliner. She welcomed me cordially though I saw she looked ill and care-worn. When the serious business of choosing straw, shape, and flowers for a new hat was over, we spoke of other things. “How are thy affairs going, Palladia?” “Badly, Signora. It is a dreadful season. No one buys anything new. See that mass of old hats my customers have brought me to make over! It is a miracle the Signora should come today; she can perhaps help me? I have had an idea. The ladies of Taormina have always served themselves at Messina (there is no serious milliner at Taormina). Now that the milliners of Messina are no more,--how if I went to Taormina with hats for Easter? Mostly mourning hats of course--but a little lighter, _via_, second mourning for the young ladies at least!” “What a good notion!” “If the Signora would give me two lines to one who might assist me?” Introductions were written on the spot. Palladia, the valorous, had come from Rome to Palermo, a stranger, with only her old mother to help her, had set up her shop, and so far had “made good.” Surely she deserved what help an old customer could afford her! Next day Patsy, insatiate sightseer, went off to Segesta and Selinus. Left alone I hunted up our friends Dr. Parlato Hopkins and his wife. Thanks to them I was translated from a lone traveler’s solitude to a cordial circle of old and new friends. It all began with the tea-party in the doctor’s study, where I met Mrs. Bishop, the wife of our Consul (an old friend), and Canon and Mrs. Skeggs of the English Church. “What a tempting cake!” one of the party exclaimed, as we drew up to the table. “I hope it’s good as it looks;” said Mrs. Parlato Hopkins; “for I made it.” “Did I help?” asked the doctor. “Could you have baked that cake if I had not made the baking powder?” Voted that it was “both of their cake,” and that the Canon should cut it. He began by “counting noses.” “You’re too extravagant,” his wife exclaimed as the Canon cut the first slice. His triumph came when every one of us asked for a second piece. “A little marmalade?” urged the doctor; “home-made also. My wife is a good housewife in spite of being a good doctor.” “I can recommend that marmalade,” said the Canon’s wife; “the oranges came from our garden.”