Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1888-10-01

calization, roared with laughter.
"Give it to her, Tom,'' some of
them cried approvingly; ''she de-
serves it."
Every time the girl tried to sing
after that she ran against the same
torrent of rebuke from the negro mu-
sician. She tried desperately to sing
him into silence, but failed to stop
the stream of angered criticism.
His method of complimenting good
musicians is as iattering as this re-
buke of discord is severe and mad
dened. There are some cultivated
vocalists and pianists in the Ninth
street flats whose rear windows look
out on this porch, and he stands and
listens, smiling whenever the trained
voices practice or the pianists, who in
this instance, are young women,play.
TfS4 lie dives into his parlor and
plays the music of the song or repeats
the piano air on his own grand piano.
1t is a mighty popular way of show
ing his appreciation.
For several days last week work
men were busy painting the railing
and partition of the porch, and put
ting down a carpet on the worn floor.
During all this time Tom himself was
invisible, and the neighbors, who en-
joyed his capers and his piano-play-
ing, began to comment anxiously on
his continued absence.
81 wonder where Tom can have
gone to- said one of the tenants of
the Ninth-street flats, as he sat in the
sunshine.
''Give me that piccolo," exclaimed
a fellow-tenant, "and I'll fetch him
out"
The last speaker raised the piccolo
to his lips and sent the notes of the
pretty ballad, "My Nelly's blue
eyes," floating over the porch. He
played cleverly for several minutes
without effect. Then there was a
commotion in the parlor, the bolts of
the big window were suddenly un-
locked with a clang and Blind Tom
plunged out among the paint-pots
that Uttered the porch, laid his black
hands on the freshly-painted railing,
and leaned over with a smile lighting
up his dusky face, to catch the picco-
10 notes.
When the ballad was finished he
groped his way back to the piano,
and, pressing his paint-smeared fin
gers 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 mu-
sic from the piccolo player.
A bird flew into the garden while
he waited, and, perching upon a
branch that nodded near Tom, swell
ed its little throat in q sweet anthem
to the sunshine and the balmy breez-
es. The negroes blind eyes again
turned heavenward, and the black
face lighted up with joy. Tom turn
ed heavenward, and the black face
lighted up with joy. Tom turned his
ear so that he could catch every note
of the feathered songster's melody
and he drank it in as one would take
a draught of delicious wine. When
the song ceased he went back to his
piano and reproduced the notes
with fidelity that was marvellous.
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 tuneful throat of the little
bird.
Day by day passes thus in the old
fashioned house, with the afflicted
blind musician awaiting the new de-
lights that come from unexpected
harmonies of sound. Watched by
guardian, freed from all care, and
giving himself up to the whims and
of an eccentric personality,
this strangely-inspired black genius
lives for all the world like some pet
ted child in playhouse. Alternate
Iy petulant and cheerful like a child,
he plays when the inspiration moves
him with his captivating toy, the
sweet-toned grand piano, or gropes
in blind chase after the beautiful
but unseen sunbeams or drinks in
with all the enthusiasm of a genius
the varied melodies of singing birds
or tintinnabulating chimes, or the
harmonies of the human voice. There
fore, despite his Affections, Blind Tom
can not but be intensely happy.-N.
Y. San.