THE HAND-ORGAN BALL

When Twilight her soft robe of shadow spreads down.
And hushed is the roar and the din,
When Evening is cooling the sweltering town,
'Tis then that the frolics begin;
And up in dim "Finnegan's Court," on the pavement,
Shut in by the loom of the tenement's wall,
'Neath the swinging arc-light, on a warm summer's night,
They gather to dance at the hand-organ ball.

'Tis not a society function, you see,
But quite an informal affair;
The costumes are varied, yet simple and free,
And gems are exceedingly rare;
The ladies are gowned in their calicoes, fetching,
And coatless and cool are the gentlemen, all.
In a jacket, they say, one's not rated _au fait_
By the finicky guests at the hand-organ ball.

There's "Ikey," the newsboy, and "Muggsy" who "shines";
There's Beppo who peddles "banan'";
There's A. Lincoln Johnson, whose "Pa" kalsomines--
His skin has a very deep tan;
There's Rosy, the cash-girl, and Mame, who ties bundles,
And Maggie, who works in the factory, tall;
She's much in demand, for she "pivots so grand,"
She's really the belle of the hand-organ ball.