The San Francisco call., 1898-12-11
jfow San T1unc1sco .5ul G1xed 1o 5ee Me Tauz

modern ideas, but be it known that as far as modes are concerned, the lament is entirely superf1uous The garments that 1 eXcayated in the stores of the Eternal City" must have been left over from the time of the Middle Ages. I should have been quite content with a relic of the classical period. some thing in the tunic order, for example, with arm holes and a girdle, and I searched among the grim old piles with all the ardor of hoary archeaologist. But a clearance sale had probably oc- cured about the time of Constantine. l found nothing to reward my labor and in sheer desperation 1 pulled out a weird confection and tried 1t on. Who- ever invented the tall American woman never intended her to wear store" clothes-that is certain. The skirt was a mile too short, it hitched in the back. it sagged in the sides. It was every thing that 1t shouldn't have been. and the corsage I shall never undertake to describe.
 Bella, signorina," exclaimed the saleswoman,, as she gaZed upon me in quite transport of joy and admira- ton, and then murmured something about a bella roba."
 .'Yes, this bella roba' I want to get off just as quick as I cant" l reiterated in matter of fact English. For good ness sake, find me black silk shirt waist, let out the hem of this beautiful skirt as far as it will go. put ruff1e on it, do anything to it, and send the whole thing to my address"
 The shirt waist idea was not sud- den one. Blessed be he who devised this omnipresent affair! It had really been my first notion, but had seemed a little neglige for the august presence of Leo XIII. However, never emerging from the Vatican the Pope was prob ably not an authority on styles. and hoped would not recognize the inele- gance of my costume. The black dress off from the list I proceeded to select a veil and here my joy knew no bounds. The veils were Spanish mantillas those lovely, fetching things that would make beauties of any woman on earth.
 You arrange your hair very high with a tortoise shell comb" said the saleslady, "drape your veil like this. illustrating over her own wavy locks, land there you are!" It was ravishing! Now my anxiety to visit the Vatican was doubled. The becomingness of this adorable veil would more than Till late that night I continued to eX- pect the missive from Father O'Con- nell, but, to employ the language of that pathetic classic, "the letter that longed for never came" Like bride who had awaited when the bridegroom cometh not, silently laid aside my veil and packed away my ruffled dress skirt, feeling unutterable disappoint- ment. The dress-skirt still possesses a certain sort of interest, an archaeolog- ical interest, I might say. Whenever look at it hanging somberly from it's peg, 1t suggests a new chapter on An cient Rome in the Light of Recent Ex- cavations."
 You will come again." said my sym- pathizing landlady, endeavoring to al- leviate my disappointment. and there will always be Pope."
 Wisely said! No sane person could doubt that there will always be a Pope, but there will not always be a Leo XIII, and my interest, I must con- fess, had been more direct than gen. eral.
 That refined, perfectly intellectual face, keen with wisdom, yet soft with spirituality, has always interested me as thoroughly as the face of Julius Cae- sar, of Napoleon and of Gladstone. But now know that shall never behold 1t for he, the peerless statesman of Ca tholicism, is passing away. Already al Rome there are whispered speculations about a successor and the voices are quite in tune for the fickle refrain Of