Omaha daily bee., 1888-09-28

tedd1ing along in frocks dangling TO
their ankles, and ornameuted with yell
low earrings, babies a foot long held in
maternalarms, babies in soap boxes and
pulling at nursery bottles, children
ranged along the curbstone, on door
sleeps, in doorways, under peanut stands,
babies and children and children and
babies without number, the writer saw
yeste rday on Mott street, between Chat
ham square and Bayard street. On
doorstep sat an Italian putting n paper
cigarette and holding a bald-headed
baby in an old stove-pipe hat. Beneath
truck on "a mattress were three
toddlers playing house and eating bread
and molasses. Later on the mattress
was set on fire by the police. Down
the street comes a thin little girl with
sugar-bowl full OF liquid tea in one
hand and pail Of beer in the other. a
young woman with face as white as
death, and her lips stained yellow with
snuff or opium, staggcrs along and
makes lunge for the pail, but misses it
and falls against the schOolhouse fence.
The little girls hurries on, aud the
woman shouts curses after her. Propped
up against telegraph post is man
with leg and II half. The drunken
woman staggers up to him and asks for
''the loan Of a nickel" He pushes her
away, whereat she swears some more,
and stubs her way down into a base
ment. Crowds of people, all neatly
dressed, and most of them carrying
prayer-boolls, are entering the Church
of the TRANSPORTATION near by. In
front of the church half a score of boys
are PLAYING sort Of shinnie called
"pussey cat" and some twenty
Cinnamon in Sunday smocks
are watching the game and
smoking cigarettes. On the stoop
| of Quong, Ching, Hing & Co.'S grocery
| store opposite sits an old Chinaman,
whose queue and mustache are gray,
and plump little white girl in soled d
pinafore, with slice of watermelon in
| her hand. She pushes the dimpled lit
tie fist holding the fruit up to him. But
he shakes his head and says something
| in Chinese, and the little one takes it
| for granted that he doesn't want any
| watermelon. Down the street II brace
of soggy-faced fellows come ambling
along. A wreck of u woman in
misfit dress, sli2shod shoes and wilted
| hat passes them. Down little further,
near Chatham square, is Wong Hee
Lungs restaurant. 1t is in the second
story, and from the balcony in front
hang three red and yellow Chinese Lam
| terms anu IL pefpcnuluular green sigh
| gilded down the micdle with Chinese
characters. Within the restaurant sill
eight Cinnamon eating rice and chicken.
The chicken is cut up into small
pieces, and the yellow men pick them
up with chopsticks, as a white man
picks up piece of coal with tongs, and
give them little toss into their mouths.
The rice is served in wide bowls. Each
Chinaman raises the bowl close to his
chin, and hurries the rice into his
mouth with a clumsy wooden spoon. In
the whole neighborhood not a yellow
baby was to be seen, nor Il black one
either. But as the stroller made his
way back to Bayard street, he found
the streets swarming, as before, with
white youngsters, and ali of them now
interested in policeman No. A45, wag
ging his club Mt an Italian and inquir
ing into the ownership of pair of new
shoes which the Italian had in his
hand. Some one three stories up in
the air then began squeezing ''Sweet
Violets' out of an accordion, and seven
pairs of barefooted little ones tried tC
waltz to the tune; and the stroller
strolled away, hearing Sweet vi-o-lets
| swee-tah than all the roses"