Jersey Street and Jersey Lane | Page 7

goes on.
In the centre of it all stands the organ-grinder, swarthy and black-haired.
He has a small, clear space so that he can move the one leg of his organ
about, as he turns from side to side, gazing up at the windows of the
brick building where the great wrought-iron griffins stare back at him
from their lofty perches. His anxious black eyes rove from window to
window. The poor he has always with him, but what will the folk who
mould public opinion in great griffin-decorated buildings do for him?
I think we will throw him down a few nickels. Let us tear off a scrap of
newspaper. Here is a bit from the society column of the Evening ----.
That will do excellently well. We will screw the money up in that, and
there it goes, chink! on the pavement below. There, look at that grin!
Wasn't it cheap at the price?
I wish he might have had a monkey to come up and get the nickels. We
shall never see the organ-grinder's monkey in the streets of New York
again. I see him, though. He comes out and visits me where I live
among the trees, whenever the weather is not too cold to permit him to
travel with his master. Sometimes he comes in a bag, on chilly days;
and my own babies, who seem to be born with the fellow-feeling of
vulgarity with the mob, invite him in and show him how to warm his
cold little black hands in front of the kitchen range.
I do not suppose, even if it were possible to get our good old maiden
lady to come down to Mulberry Street and sit at my window when the
organ-grinder comes along, she could ever learn to look at the mob

with friendly, or at least kindly, eyes; but I think she would learn--and
she is cordially invited to come--that it is not a mob that rejoices in
"outrageous behavior," as some other mobs that we read of have
rejoiced--notably one that gave a great deal of trouble to some very
"decent people" in Paris toward the end of the last century. And I think
that she even might be induced to see that the organ-grinder is
following an honest trade, pitiful as it be, and not exercising a "fearful
beggary." He cannot be called a beggar who gives something that to
him, and to thousands of others, is something valuable, in return for the
money he asks of you. Our organ-grinder is no more a beggar than is
my good friend Mr. Henry Abbey, the honestest and best of operatic
impresarios. Mr. Abbey can take the American opera house and hire Mr.
Seidl and Mr. ---- to conduct grand opera for your delight and mine,
and when we can afford it we go and listen to his perfect music, and, as
our poor contributions cannot pay for it all, the rich of the land meet the
deficit. But this poor, foot-sore child of fortune has only his heavy box
of tunes and a human being's easement in the public highway. Let us
not shut him out of that poor right because once in a while he wanders
in front of our doors and offers wares that offend our finer taste. It is
easy enough to get him to betake himself elsewhere, and, if it costs us a
few cents, let us not ransack our law-books and our moral philosophies
to find out if we cannot indict him for constructive blackmail, but
consider the nickel or the dime a little tribute to the uncounted weary
souls who love his strains and welcome his coming.
For the editor of the Evening ---- was wrong when he said that the
Board of Aldermen and the Mayor consented to the licensing of the
organ-grinder "in the face of a popular protest." There was a protest,
but it was not a popular protest, and it came face to face with a demand
that was popular. And the Mayor and the Board of Aldermen did
rightly, and did as should be done in this American land of ours, when
they granted the demand of the majority of the people, and refused to
heed the protest of a minority. For the people who said YEA on this
question were as scores of thousands or hundreds of thousands to the
thousands of people who said NAY; and the vexation of the few hangs
light in the balance against even the poor scrap of joy which was spared
to innumerable barren lives.

And so permit me to renew my invitation to the old lady.

TIEMANN'S TO TUBBY HOOK
If you ever were a decent, healthy boy, or if you can make believe that
you once were such