The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1902-08-08

It was a short one, consisting of
grimy, stunted houses and one large,
handsome building at the farther end.
The front of each house was decorated
with it's inmates underwear, and ON
each doorstep sat a small, dirty child,
holding a baby. The king had never
seen so many children before. He was
reminded of a swarm of flies. In
shady corner sat knot of laborers,
drinking from tin pals, devouring i'm
mense sandwiches and smoking clay
pipes, while on the housetops were
stretched dizzy labyrinths Of clothes
line and more underwear. Every one
seemed to be on the most intimate
terms, and the exact season might
have been ascertained by careful
study of the refuse vegetable matter.
Disguised with the prospect, the king
closed his eyes and ruminated over
certain stocks, but presently a shrill
chatter broke the monday lull, and,
looking abroad once more, he beheld
coming down the street, led by little
ten-year-old slattern, his friend the
blackmailer, pulling his organ after
him, waving his hand playfully at the
children and wearing the same joyous
smile, which, it appears, was chronic.
The king clutched his knees, gasped
and nearly broke blood vessel. Twen-
ty yards off the blackmailer halted,
and it seems almost like a sly joke on
the part of fate that the first sounds
should have been:
Most every one knows.
And when we are married
How happy well be!
love sweet Rosie O'Gra-a-ady,
And Rosie O'Grady loves me-e-ei
By this time the babies had been for
gotten, the doorsteps deserted, and a
score of frowzy heads had appeared at
the upper windows. The blackmailer,
smiling upon the circle of upturned
faces, adjusted a lever and started off
again on an Irish jig.
Then two of the children entered the
ring. A lean, ragged little pair they
were not over eight years old, but
with what zest, what sense of rhythm
and even a sort of rough grace they
danced there under the scorching sun!
Face to face, back to back, side Sy
side, with quick steps, outkicked feet,
swaying bodies, arms akimbo, heads
aslant, and now clutching fast to each
other, they circled about in jaunty
little east side waltz. And how their
faces frightened, and how the rest
watched and beat time on the cobbles,
eager for their turns! And when the
two fell out, exhausted, another couple
took their places, then another and an
other, until they had all danced and
the hlackmailer's repertory was ex-
hausted.
At length, when "Sweet Rosie
O'Grady' was reached again, the little
one who had brought him executed
solo, i'll humble imitation of some CO.'S
tuned performer seen from the gallery
of Bowery music hall, lingering her
ragged skirts as though they were
beautiful tinsel and gauze, waving her
thin, grimy arms as though they were
white and fair to look upon, pirouetting
about on tiptoe as though her shoes
were gilded and dainty instead of three
times too large, buttonless, down at
the heel and broken at the sides-in
fact, very miniature Of the heavenly,
fairylike original in the old clothes of
poverty and the clumsy graces of, the
slums.
But how the rest cheered, and how
the frowZy heads at the windows called
$50 it, Rosie" "Shure, it's foine, it isp'
"Do it ag' in, Roster while even a few
of the big, rough laborers strolled across
to watch and said she was "a purity