Connecticut western news., 1896-01-30
hOW HE PRAcIlCEp.
A Little Brooklyn Boys Daily Piano Lee

some respects successful. His teacher, m engaging young woman recently gradu- ated from the conservatory, remarked that he had developed, almost from the moment he had taken his place at the instrument, unlocked for power for one so young and had given evidence of degree of clever ness in general exercise along the keyboard that made her more than hopeful of his future in music.
 "He must not seek to progress too fast," was the parting injunction to the boys mother.
 ''Then you really think he shows an aptitude for methodical praotice?"
 "Oh, yes, i" replied the teacher. But we will have to be patient with him and make him feel an interest In the lessons. Of course everything depends on practice, for practice, you know, makes perfect" She caught the youngsters eye at this juncture and addressed him in her most soothing tones:
 You will not forget what teacher said, will you, dear? Remember-one, two, threo, four, strong, firm touch every time." beside his mother, gracefully balancing himself on the outer edge of his well worn soles.
 The door opened and closed, and the young musician noted the departure of his tutor by yelling One, two, three sneakp" and by deftly dodging he got out of range and escaped being goose yoked by his mother, now her r3al self, who had sought to capture him about the mock with the crooked handle of "real wood" umbrella hastily snatohed from the rack in the hall.
 Now, Rand" said the mother, return ing the umbrella and assuming an injured tone, "do try to be good" She moved forward with ghostlike step as she spoke Don't cut up any more capers. Remenl- Der what your teacher said and go and practice, and I will not whip you"
 The advance of the mother was coinci- dent with the retreat of the son. Reach ing the piano, the lad tapped high C. tum, tum te tum, tum, tum-and in a frank outburst of confidence announced that he would accept his mothers condi- tions.
 "I'll be good, mommer, for a fact. Cross my heart. That's right"
 That satisfied the mother-mothers are easily satisfied with their own boys-and, mentally moralizing on the influence of a kindly nature in the training of Swear olds, she sighed and went to her sewing room, where she was soon dividing her time between pattern for a yoke collar of ecru guipure filled with kilted white chiffon. and an esoteric review of Svengali. With bound such as carries boy over the back of a mate In the entertaining game of foot and half Rand landed on the trembling top of the moth eaten fringed piano stool, and, without loss of time, be- gan his practice.
 'Now, this is the bass,' said the boy, sweeping all the keys from the center down to the last low octave, "and these squeakers are the trebles," running his right thumb nail along the white keys on the opposite side.
 This is the bass,
 And this is the treble.
 Ie I don be good
 I'll be licked like the debbil."
 He repeated this extemporized verse half dozen times with an accompaniment In three flats and two sharps and ended 1t with Wagnerian climax.
 Randi R-a-n-n-di Are you practic- ingi" r.
 The boy did not answer his mother. He saw no noed oS 1t.
 "Am practicingl" he said to himself "I 'spose she didn't hear me. Mebbe she thinks I've run out. P'raps she's got notion in her head that the Forty seventh ". That's always the way. They never think I'm doing aAything. I'll make her hear me this timel"
 Hitohing one toe back of the other leg and withdrawing his foot from his slipper, he poised the we'll futtened and i'll shaped article over his head.
 This will be the Grand Army coming down Bedford avenue. I'll whistle for the flies, and this," wabbling the slipper, twill be the bass drumstick, and this" placing his finger on the deepest toned key on what he called the here-comes-the- woolly -woolly-wolf side" of the instru- ment, twill be the drum. All ready For-r-r-rwar-r-r-d mochr'
 Half singing, half whistling, he started through Georgia 60, 900 strong. But sud- den order to halt came from his immediate superior in tho sewing room before the ad- yancing column had passed beyond the confines of Atlanta.
 "Are you doing as your teacher in- structed you to do2" asked his mother, leaning we'll over the stairs, with view to making the young man think she was nearer than the fact warranted.
 Not 'xactly. l was jess trying some thing new. Say, mommer, did all of the 50, 900 soldiers sing all the time they wuz a-marching through Georgian
 II do not know, my child" replied the mother, pleased at the interest he seemed to be taking in his country's history. Ask your grandpa He was a soldier with tbem."
 ''One of tho 60, 800 strong, mommerP' 60, ooo.''
 "I don't believe they did. know they didn't all sing"
 "How could you know it9 Little boys assume to know too much"
 Fakes don't go with me. I've heard the deacon try to sing lots of times, and, say, he can't warble Il little bitp'
 This Is no time to discuss that sub- jeot," said the mother, stepping down to tho turn on the stairs and seeking to re move a finger mark from the wall paper with her handkerchief. "And, moreover, Rand, you should be more respectful whom speaking about your grandpa, and partic ularly with reference to his war record. ] am sure he served his country faithfully. for he has his army blanket yet and all the clippings telling how he was drafted as volunteer.
 "I know that old blanket. It had 'U. S. in the middle and moths on two ends but grandpop was too fly to sing when he was down near the enemy. He wouldn't be alive now If he'd a-done 1t. The deacon a-singing and the Johnny Rebs around. They wouldn't "a done a thing to hini Waouwl'
 ''Randp
 "Yes'm. Now don't bother me. I've got to practice-C, c, c, K, El How do you s'pose I'll learn to play if you bother me all the time?'
 That's something like it. Now let mother see how we'll her little boy can run his scales.'
 Having somewhat enlarged the discolor- ation on the wall paper, she returned to her room. For five minutes all was silent In the back parlor, save for the low whin- ing sound which in the floor above seemed like the moaning of the wind in the tele- phone wires. AS a matter of fact, the whir was portentous. A series of short,