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?

Little kitten, nothin' more,
When we found him at the door.
In the cold,
And the baby, half undressed,
Picked him up, and he was jest
All she'd hold.

Put him up fer me to see,
And she says, so 'cute, says she,
"Baby's cat."
And we never had the heart
Fer to keep them two apart
After that.

Seem's if _I must_ hear the beat
Of her toddlin' little feet
'Round about;
Seem to see her tucked in bed,
With the kitten's furry head
Peekin' out.

Seem's if I could hear her say,
In the cunnin' baby way
That she had:
"Say 'dood-night' to Jimmie, do,
'Coz if 'oo fordetted to
He'd feel bad."

Miss her dreadful, don't we, boy?
Day do'n't seem to bring no joy
With the dawn;
Look's if night was everywhere,--
But there's glory over there
Where she's gone.

Seems as if my heart would break,
But I love yer for her sake,
Don't I, Jim?
See him sit and purr and blink,
Don't yer bet he knows I think
Lots of him?

* * * * *

IN MOTHER'S ROOM

In Mother's room still stands the chair
Beside the sunny window, where
The flowers she loved now lightly stir
In April's breeze, as though they were
Forlorn without her loving care.

Her books, her work-box, all are there,
And still the snowy curtains bear
The soft, sweet scent of lavender
In Mother's room.

Oh, spot so cool, and fresh, and fair,
Where dwelt a soul so pure and rare,
On me your fragrant peace confer,
Make my life sweet with thoughts of her,
As lavender makes sweet the air
In Mother's room.

* * *