Professor Spaghetti the music supplies,
From his hurdy-gurdy the waltz is sublime;
His fair daughter Rosa, whose tambourine flies,
Is merrily thumping the rollicking time;
The Widow McCann pats the tune with her slipper,
The peanut-man hums as he peers from his stall,
And Officer Quinn for a moment looks in
To see the new steps at the hand-organ ball.

The concert-hall tune echoes down the dark street,
The mothers lean out from the windows to see,
While soft sounds the pat of the dancers' bare feet,
And tenement babies crow loud in their glee;
And labor-worn fathers are laughing and chatting,--
Forgot for an hour is grim poverty's thrall;--
There's joy here to-night, 'neath the swinging arc-light,
In "Finnegan's Court," at the hand-organ ball.

* * * * *

[Illustration]

"JIM"

Want to see me, hey, old chap?
Want to curl up in my lap,
Do yer, Jim?
See him sit and purr and blink--
Don't yer bet he knows I think
Lots of him?