The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1888-09-27

ly. A railing that reaches above his
waist completely cuts off egress to. the
little garden patch that blooms in the
back yards, and he runs his hand along
il as if he were trying to find a stairway
to the garden.
How are you, TomP What's the
matter" some one who has been lis
tening is sure to say when the musician
makes such sudden appearances on the
porch. Their greeting is always CHEEKY,
for all the listeners know well that
the big-chested negro is none other
than blind Tom, the famous Ethiopian
pianist. Tom never appears in public.
He is suffering from some nervous com
plant that renders a repetition Of his
stage performances impossible.
For hours daily he tramps up and
down the porch in his slippered feet,
clad in blue trousers and dark flannel
yachting shirt, bare-headed and uneasy.
He behaves like an imprisoned bear,
at times crOuching on all fours or dane
ing up and down in mysterious delir-
ium. He has worn ridge in the floor
ing of the porch near the hand rail by
his restless promenade two and fro.
Music or harmonious sounds seems to
be the only influences that ever di-
vert him from these capers on the
porch.
One Sunday recently the chimes in
Grace church steeple on Broadway be-
gan to ring, and the echoes, softened
by the distance they had traversed,
struck Toms ear with sweet tintin-
nabulation that Reproduced, note by
note, the beautiful hymn, Nearer, my
God, to Thee In an instant the
blinded giant ceased his tramp on the
porch, and, resting his hand on the
railing, raised his sightless eyes to the
sky, and, turning his head in the direc-
ton of the chimes, stood like statue,
listening with rapt attention to the
melody. The echoes died away finally,
and, waiting some minutes to hear il
they would continue, he CROPPED his way
through the open window into the par
lor, and, seating himself at the piano.
den inspiration. What he played was
an imitation, as perfect as the piano
would allow, of the musis ofthe chimes.
Tom repeated the same stirring imita-
ton when little later the chimes again
rang out upon the June breeze.
Then he rose from the piano, went
out on the porch, and listened in curl
ously intent way to the noise made by
the Mapping wings of a flock of pig
cons, whose cote is built against the
wall of an adjoining house.
The sun meantime rose so that its hot
rays broke past the shade of n tree in
the garden and beat against the side
partition Of the porch. The big negro
leaned on his hand against the parti-
ton. He withdrew it the moment he
felt the heat. The sensation seemed to
puzzle him. for he placed his hand on
the partition again, withdrew it sec
ond time and began to stroke it and TO
ponder. He stood in this way stroking
his hand for many moments. Then he
looked up and smiled. 1t had dawned
upon him at last that what he had felt
was sunshine. He held both hands
aloft and CROPPED in the air until he dis
covered by his sense of feeling that he
was standing in the rays of the sun.
He remained on the spot motionless,
with his sightless orbs opened wide to
the golden rays, and laughed with the
glee of child who had found new
plaything.
One day last week when he had found
the sunlight in the same cropping way,
a servant girl, with high-keyed, dis
cordant voice, began to sing white
Wings" as loudly as she could. She
was at work in dwelling some dis
lance frym Toms house, but he heard
her voice distinctly. 1t appeared to
crate upon his nerves terribly, and he
dashed up and down the porch in a
rage, and finally turning his face in the
direction of the singer he let loose the
vocal batteries of his wrath full upon
her.
Shut up, can't you?" he screamed.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself
to make such frightful noise"
He poured out rebuke in this frantic
style for many minutes, while tenants
Of surrounding houses, who had a
strongly grounded prejudice themselves
against the servant girls vocalization,
roared with laughter.
Give it to her, Tom" some of them
cried approvingly; "she deserves it,
Every time the girl tried to sing after
that she ran against the same torrent of
rebuke from the negro musician. She
tried desperately to sing him into ST.
lence, but failed to stop the stream OF
angered criticism.
His method of complimenting good
musicians is as flattering as this rebuke
of discord is severe and maddenpd
There are some cultivated Vocalists and
pianists in the Ninth street flats whose
rear windows look out on his porch,
and he stands and listens, smiling
whenever the trained voices practice or
the pianists, who in this instance are
young women, play. Then he dives in
to his parOr and plays the music Of the
song or repeats the piano air on his
own grand piano. 1t is a mighty popu-
lar way of showing his appreciation.
For several days last week workmen
were busy painting the railing and
partitions of the porch, and putting
down carpet on the worn floor, Dur
ing all this time Tom himself was invis-
ible, and the neighbors, who enjoyed
his capers and his piano-playing, began
to comment anXiously upon his contin-
ued absence.
81 wonder where Tom can have gone
to-" said one of the tenants of the
Ninth-street-ilats, as he sat in the sun
shine.
Give me that piccolo," exclaimed
fellow-tenant, and I'll fetch him
out.n
The last speaker raised the piccolo to
his lips and sent the notes Of the pretty
ballad, "My Nellie's Blue Eyes" float
ing over to the porch. lie played cev-
erly for several minutes without effect.
Then there was a commotion in the
parlor, the bolts of the big window
were suddenly unlocked with clang
and Blind Tom plunged out among the
paint-pots that Uttered the porch, laid
his black hands upon the freshly-paint-
ed railing, and leaned over with smile
lighting up his dusky face, to catch the
piccolo notes.
When the ballad was finished he
CROPPED his way back to the piano, and
pressing his paint-smeared fingers to
the keys, played the ballad himself and
the high notes. Then he dived out on
the porch again and waited anxiously
for some more music from the piccolo-
player.
A bird. flew into the garden while he
waited, and, perching upon a branch
that nodded near Tom, swelled its little
throat in a sweet anthem to the sun
shine and the balmy breezes. The ne
gro's blind eyes again turned heaven
ward, and the black face lighted up
with joy. Tom turned his ear so that
he could catch every note of the feath-
cred songster's melody and he drank it
in as one would take draught of de-
licious wine. When the song ceased he
went back to his piano and reproduced
the notes with fidelity that was mar
velOus.
Then he shut the windows and was
seen no more that day on the porch.
He had made up his mind that he would
not hear any sweeter harmony than the
unwritten music that poured from the