kidney gravy atones for three speeches by Senator Sherman! And then when Rosa brings on the tall pot of marmalade, which another devotee and I keep there for dessert, and we light up our cigarettes and watch the restaurant cat sprawling in Oriental luxury by the steam pipes—then we come somewhere near the throne of human felicity mentioned by Doctor Johnson.
Veranda's is an outpost of Little Italy, which does not really begin until you get south of Lombard. And the other day, after lowering the level of the marmalade by several inches, it occurred to me to renew my acquaintance with Little Italy proper.
Ninth street is the best channel of approach to Philadelphia's Mediterranean colony. There is a good deal to distract attention before you cross the Alps of South street. If you have a taste for alleys you will be likely to take a side tour of a few versts in the quaint section of stables and little brick houses that lies just below Locust street and between Ninth and Tenth. Just now you will find that region liberally placarded with small neat notices announcing the loss (on January 8) of a large yellow and white Angora cat, having white face, breast and feet and answering to the name of Taffy. This struck at my heart, for I once owned a yellow Angora of the same name, which I smuggled home from Boston one Christmas Eve in a Pullman sleeper, against all railway rules, and I hope and trust that by this time Taffy has re-
