Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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THE PIERIAN LITERARY SOCIETY

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 What acid ? ” Aw, the acid that split on the table. Now you know everything, come on an' give me another good whippin'. Why. Jimmy,” Mrs. Thomas said, almost in tears, come to your mamma. I won’t whip you.” And when his father returned home that night, he laughed heartily at the cat tale. Isn't that just like a real boy?” he managed to say between gasps. Jimmy, what chemical process was going on when the cat turned the acid over on the table?” Oh. that was the dehydrating effect of sulfuric acid,” Jimmy proudly and promptly replied. Father, talking to mother in secret that night, said: I’m glad to get rid of that old rag, aren't you? And that table top needed a new finish anyhow.” Mother shamefacedly answered, Yes.” Just the other day Jimmy's mother asked him what he wanted for Christmas. Jimmy beamed. A 'Chemustry' outfit, mother.” EVERETT POOLE. 22. MINOR CHORDS How could the swell and the sway and the anguish-sweet wonder of music Carry its witchery poignant, except for the minor chords’ crooning? Would the array of the pines in their star-seeking majesty regal Hold half its glory-form proud but for each of the needles’ green slimness? Might the ear brave, in its nakedness cruel, the silence of night-time. But for the gracious, wee noises of creatures that hide in the grasses? Should the abiding great joys, in their spirit-upheaving. Be just as keen and as ardent without the small courtesies’ sweetness? RUSSELL SMITH. Payc Fourteen

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IN OLD PLANTATION DAYS The soft breath of a marsh in midsummer fanned our cheeks, as we, Bavard and I, sat out under the immense old umbrella tree down in the lawn. It was moist, warm, heavy breath; and it lulled us and quieted us until we sunk under its spell and dreamed—each in our fanbacked wicker. At length the silence seemed to bear Bavard down; he sank deeper and deeper, his head lower. He slept. Almost at the call of the locusts on the cypress trees down the swamp, the mellowest of harvest moons swung up. Its laving warmth, sifting down through the broad leaves of the oaks, bathed us in a glorious silvery flood. The sere old head in the chair across from me glowed under the touch of the rays, but it did not move. I looked about me on the glade, letting my eyes rest here and there; on the little copse of scrub-oaks where in the winter we shot the patridges. further on down the slove to the level where Elsie and her chums from college played croquet, and farther still to the glistening stream of the river, whose shadowy bluffs told many a story of steamer landings. Further away on the left I heard a slave singing, and still another picking the bass string of a banjo. I listened to the lone voice, a wavering falsetto wafted by that lnd;an summer breath which had so strangely soothed us. Its wailing notes— Massa's in de Cold. Cold Ground''—lulled me to sleep. Bavard must have been awake some time before I woke, for he had mixed a new julep. Its crisp, sparkling taste brightened him and he seemed in the mood to talk. Xerxes, my boy. I have just dreamed an old tale 1 have wanted you to set down in your book, oh! so long. It is a pitiful tale, Xerxes; short—but true. I leaned forward. He spoke in a low voice: On your father’s plantation I have raised nearly everything. I once boasted of this to a trader from the ’Elizabeth Anne.’ but he swore that there was one thing I could never raise—Carolina rice. Well, sir. 1 swore I could. And I have tried ever since, in a small patch of twenty acres right on the river. I’ve had a special lot of slaves to tend it. have given it the best of watching, but. sir. to this day none of us on this plantation have ever eaten any home-grown rice. The spring rains came too soon, and the winter rains too late. When the stalks were about to bear, the drought came and burned them to sedge. Still I tried. I had special quarters for the slaves tending the crop, down at the lower end of the field. They were mostly 'Creole Niggers' who had seen Carolina rice grown, so I gave them special privileges. They had their own little church and I sent my smartest houseboy down to teach their pickanninies to write. They were a bit apart from the rest of us but they got the best of attention. Vatjc Sixteen