None So Blind

From the heart of the jungle comes a savage cry of victory. This is Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle. From the black core of dark Africa, land of enchantment, mystery and violence, comes one of the most colorful figures of all time.

Transcribed from the immortal pan of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Tarzan, the bronzed white son of the jungle. And now in the very words of Mr. Burroughs, the story of None self-line. The floor of the concert hall was a bed of petals from a thousand jungle roses.

The ceiling was the star at Equatorial Heaven, and the walls were of living fern that grew even higher than the seven foot tall warriors of the Shilok tribe. The Shilok's wore two huge cones of matted hair on top of their heads, and members of other cabbalahs could be identified by egret headdresses, brass anklets, decorative bones that pierce the nose, saucer-like lips, and other tribal

marks and ornaments. But every member of this strange audience had one thing in common, the rapt attention with which they watched every movement of the violinist bold, to crank in each exquisite note of his closing number, not even in Carnegie Hall for the conservatoire de misequé.

Your hand but me here, given a more inspiring. Thank you very much. My friend, Baniyengar. Baniyengar. How is that? I know only a few words in your language, but a performer can always recognize the request for an encore.

I regret it. Baniy! If only someone here who could translate for me, I could express it. Maybe I can hear a certain word. Huh? Well, I'd certainly appreciate it. Your admirers here speak as many different dialects as there are leaves on a bear-bob tree, but perhaps I can make a portion of them understand your thoughts.