The record-union., 1893-01-07

OF Darby's nervous system having re-
ceIved too severe q shock were some
thing piteous indeed.
AS we alighted at Kings Cross Station,
after MILFORD. milady and Darby had
been tenderly bestowed in handsome
brougham, it transpired that the man and
Wlte's five children. two maids and the
othermiscellaneous luggage, all OF whom
and which had shared thirdclass COM
partment with as many uncouth York
shire yokels, were left behind to reach
home as best they could by way OF
raging London ''thripenny" bus.
There is a quaint little inn of Edin-
burgh, hard by St. Andrews Square, in
which l love to make my home when in
Aud Reekie," for while it is but few
steps from the city's peerless Princess
street, it is still within the precincts OF
fine old residence district, made famous
by The haunts OF score OF the great liter
airy Scotchmen of other days.
Much going and coming between this
inn and central city places brought to my
notice the fact that nearly every pleasant
summer night, when the hush of evening
had fallen upon the town, a marvellous
singer of the tenderest ballads of Scot
land came that way, stood for quarter of
an hour or so in the quiet entrance to st.
Andrews street, and at intervals, TO the
accompaniment OF an acCOrdlOn, sang
Sweetly for those who tarried.
AT chance glimpses of The singer and
his regular evening audience 1 noticed,
too, that the man never solicited aims.
ii stood quite still in the middle of the
street, and now and then some one of the
crowd, in the pause of his singing, would
step quietly up to him and place coin
within his hand. These were copper
coins always, and they nearly always
s.oy q T,nal-atG nT 1,anr,Ia
Finally, the songs and the scene touch
ing my own heart, l went and placed a
coin in his hand as others had done be-
fore me.
Then, for the first time, I saw that the
man was blind. | saw, besides. such a
face as will haunt me all my lifetime. l
cannot tell you what painter has put most
of hopeful patience, exalted resignation
and sublime faith into any one face upon
canvas. But here was a face that instantly
revealed them all. ! went back to him.
l told him | would like to know him,
asked him if l could come to his home,
or if he could find his way to my lodg-
ings, and i'll a moment more we had ar
ranged for a meeting at the little St. An
drew's street inn for the morrow.
When he came his first words put us
both as warmly i'll touch as though our
hearts had been open to each other for a
lifetime.
II knew by your voice." he said sadly,
you saw through my sightlessness. AM
we blind folk are mair canny at seein'
than ye think. You make rhymes. So
do l." This deprecatingly. God knows
my heart is sair Z sing wiz pen. too"'
So | knew he had already sung ''wi' his
pen," and made him there and then re-
peat his rhymes. Here was another
Burns in rags and obscUrity. Surely this
is so. Then l went with this blind poet
and singer, John Connell, to his home,
No. u Gibbs Entry second fat Nichol-
son street, Edinburgh, away up among
the densely inhabited wynds and closes
of old town. What was there? Just so
many children one could scarcely count
them or remember their names; a kindly
faced wife, loyal and true; a hearthside
as barren Of the comforts of this life as
the face of a tOrmbeaten crag, but
with faith, hope and unfaltering love
enough within it to seed for saving an
entire race.
The story of the man and his bitter
struggle is a short one, because of his vo-
cation, his poverty, his silent suffering.
He was a mechanic once, with boundlesS
hopes for education and advancement
perhaps with dreams of fame. The blind
ness came. That the wife and BARNS
might not starve he must sing upon the
streets. Then passing grand lady heard
him sing. She sent for him and gave him
an audience. The old hopes famed
anew. To make her husband presenta-
bic the soft-hearted wife gave all their
savings and pledged all their little be-
longings for clothing and a bran new ac-
Gordon. 1.-The puir body may find ia
vor," the fond wife prayed. He did
until he told the grand lady proudly of
his good wife and BARNS. Then she bid
him good-day, and her servant showed
him the door.
John ConneQ has been singing for aims
now for more than four years for this
miShap, that those dear TO HIM may barely
live, to relieve himself from the wolf
fangs of the usurer, and to retrieve him.
self from the favor of this grand Edin-
burgh lady. Many, silent. dreadful are
the tragedies of this LIE from the heed
lessness and the heartlessness of the rich
and great!
| added to his little store of books;
helped a little in other ways from my
own slender purse, but my heart aches
and my eyes mist in the longing for some
| good and powerful man-is there not such
Scotchman in Scotland or America
to place this blind singer where the songs
| of his tender heart may be made known
to all men. Wherever my Wanderings
may lead me l cannot but hear his thrill
ing voice in "Auld Reckless" pleasant
AorOughlares, or see him i'll the little
| Gibbs Entry home-cell, sitting in the
| silences OF his Sightless life, his faithful
wife reading over and over to him the
songs Of other men, or taking down the
! lines that crowd upon his trembling
| tongue-a tranScendent picture of some
modern Prometheus bound.
| When tramping upon the grand Scot
| tiSh highways and drawn from the road
to the fields by some vagarous fancy, a
/ thrilling sense OF eXultation comes in the
/ accidental discovery OF some old Roman
road. You have, perhaps, Ieaped a wall
and come upon ragged hollow. This can
4 be clearly traced, straight as an arrow, for
a long distance. There is a wondrous
! fascination in the bramble-covered swail
You pother about tor little and find it
! paved with huge stones. More digging
! discloses solid walls set beneath the rub
! bish of its sides.
! The sea itself hardly broke the line of
! this stout old artery along which once
surged the iron blood of Rome. Stern
/ past the very spot on which YOU are
standing. Almost ceaseless tides of war
! riors swept over the road to Mons Gram
/ pus, tnat ten thousand slain and stark
| Caledonians might form an impossible
/ wall before the mist-wreathed mountains
! beyond.
! Eighteen hundred years have passed
! since jealous Domitian recalled to Rome
/ this inyincible leader OF steel-mailed
| slaughterers, and the glowing pen of Ia
! citus told the surprising bravery of the
/ skin-clad Northmen who fell beneath his
onslaughts, but as you linger upon this
| old Roman way, dreaming until the sun
/ is almost level with the Iar mountain