The herald and news. [volume] (Newberry S.C.) 1903-1937, 1908-09-01

Of is held him. w:i;!;iH= and tF"r.-
h::::::. with villa: ~tt.1,"l - D. :'a=e.
She stole M h*rmo:1ies. he cried
over end over. ''>he stole my A&rH"-
nieS.' and never ce:in diG he allow
her - cone "tor hi:' # si!e were
eyen> in the room he kne" somehow
and became re<tive and angry.
N the autumn Of 1861. To-? re"p-
reared at the North under the man
acement Of his old m"Ster'S f'2ll>.
quite impoverished by the war' and an
attempt was made to ''liber2tc hl:1
from what some mistaken "nd ovt :
jealous humanitarians called his ''en-
slsvenent. Happily. this failed.
The case showed for iteelf and Tors
was left with those who had cared
for him from his babv:,cnd h:;1 been
most kind to him. and knew, - none
others could, his real wants anl needs.
TIE notion that the BethuneS hod
cold mine in his nerfornar"es Wis
not true. THY made ct t::c ::"i=!:t ct
his popularity hardlv = 'r:1 more
than a living. and I S';''i'">n that ev-
entuallv thi Stalled them. They must
be all of them dead :,ow. How Tom
came to live in want at Hoboken,
irst bow he was se,'lrato.! fron his
old friends and how he dcHr?;ed OFT o.
public notice, I can nor S:". Hls
mother was alive as late a. :f> cH!ly
eighties: but 7 donbt if she. nr any
of the Bethune family survive.
The last time I s.,w E'i,l Eom vas
in London. away back in 1915 Gen.
Pinkney Howard and one "f ;I"' Beth
une boys had broush: lin OYER. It
had been then nearl: '':'fe wears
since I had been with him IN t-l1nt".
From the beginning Of CIR :':'l:l?""
Tom had been greatly i"'Ir"S~t'l tH"t.
with a MANNED hand 7 "r'Il i! ;
strike few chords and i:.2 an Octave
on the keyboard. To his :"".r. ha':-
hit mind it seemed q miracle. l'n:: y
Sunday afternoon ! c2n2 int tie lit-
t..c hall on or near L,'"eS!"E ,'tirA.
where Tom was to ;.prer'. lie Wa
b*ci: # the scenes S;>:?::ll':F "> GSn"l
hand over heel, and mumbline to him.
self. AS We came 1:n:n the stage
Gen. Howard said. '!.et a< soc wi:et;-
er he knows you..'' I ."'n him. lie
slowly uncoiled himself and listened.
I called him again. He stood irreSo-
lutte, then ran across the broads. Selz-
ed my hand, assured ains # Of the
withered stump and jovousl;:: called
nv name.
What was it, Memory? Yes. it was
memory without doubt: but what
else? Whence the hand power that en-
abled him to manipulate the keys, the
vocal power that enabled him to lini-
tate the voice?
When he was tot Of + or ) years
old he Strayed from the negro cabin
into the parlor Of the mansion and hid
himself whilst the children we're hay
inc a concert. When they had gone.
leaving the room, as chev supposed,
quite empty. they heard the piano
tinkle. They ran back, and there, to
their Amusement, sat the chubb" little
black monkey on the stool. banging
away for dear life, yet not without
sequence and rithm, trying to :epe i
what they had Just been >inSin" and
playing. From that time onward he
was the pet Of the family.
I can not trust m: self o W.T.: OF
him as | feel. It i rs / >one lIu$:y.
we'll loved mast;tf--'nu:e Bat affec-
tionate-closely associated with the
dead and gone-had been suddenly
recalled to be as suddenly taken away.
The wires that flash his death tighten
picture gallery for me Of the old,
familiar faces. What was he? Whence
came he? Was he the prince Of the
fairy tale held by the wicked en-
chantress; nor any beauty-not even
the heaven-born maid Of melody-to
release him? Blind, deformed and
olack-as black even as Erebus-
idiocy, the idiocy Of a mysterious, per-
petual frenzy, the sole companion of
his waking visions and his dreams
whence came he, and was he, and
wherefore? That there was soul
there, be sure, imprisoned, chained,
in that little black bosom, released at
last: gone to the angels, not to lml-
tate the seraph-songs of heaven. but
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