At this time Messina presented a strange and sorrowful picture. In the midst of some of the most beautiful scenery in the world the city lay a center of horror and desolation. All the world is familiar, through descriptions and photographs, with the appearance of the ruins of the city. These ruins had not been cleared away at the time of which I write. Certain winding paths had been cleared through a few important streets. San Martino, a street extending straight back from the harbor through the city, was so wide that the heaps of debris on either side left a considerable clear area in the center. Along San Martino all the life and business of the city had gathered. Tiny, shapeless huts of fragments of lumber, sheet iron, blankets, tin and scraps of cloth were crowded into this open space and swarmed with huddling people. Microscopic stocks of food and clothing were on sale in some of these huts. A temporary postoffice occupied a wooden shack in the center of the street and more cabs than one would have supposed could have been saved from the disaster drove madly back and forth through the clutter of huts and throngs of people. The most conspicuous business was the sale of postcards, picturing the results of the earthquake. At midday San Martino was crowded with probably ten thousand persons; at dark the unlighted street was empty. The disappearance of the people at night was a mystery which aroused much comment. The available shelter seemed to be absurdly inadequate to the need. The people in fact slept under the broken arches and in doorways and behind or beneath any projections or rude contrivances which gave protection from the almost incessant rains. [Illustration: DISCOVERING A BODY IN THE RUINS OF MESSINA.] Oppressed by the sense of the tragedy of the city a visitor was at first shocked to see the crowds in San Martino engaged in business, haggling and bargaining, quarrelling and jesting in quite a natural manner.