[30 March 1910] Wed. On the boat. Dearest Mother. After I wrote to you last night, I went on board and at once to bed. The boat is the veriest cockle shell, but fortunately the weather has been perfection and the sea like glass. When I went on deck at 9 o'clock, the snowy hills of Dalmatia were in sight and we are now entering the mouth of the Spalato [Split] bay, between bare rocky slopes and rocky islands - a different world from that which I left last night. There is only one other passenger; he and the Captain and I have just lunched together. The first part of the conversation was carried on in English by the Captain, because, as he explained, he had so few opportunites of talking the language. I don't think he can have had many, but I'm glad he embraced this one. He advised me to seek for antiquities near Pesaro, his native town. There are, it seems, remarkable ruins there, "You tak [sic] a carriage" said the captain "You run two years." G.L.B. !!! He. "Ow you say? two hhours [sic]." G.L.B. "Ah yes, two hours." The talk then turned on the American nation. "They are not kind" said the Captain "the ledies [sic], they are not kind" (I do not think, however, that he intended the epithet to be taken in a 17th century sense.) "The English, they are more hopen [sic]: the character is hopen." To my lasting regret the rest of the conversation was conducted in Italian.