Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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26 The Augusta Seminary Annual. breeze, while many a mother trudges on slowly, bent under the doul)le weight of her baby and her basket. One by one they file into the courtyard aud pour the coft ' ee out upon tlie stone pave- ment to dry, then saunter carelessly off to their quarters to dream of f i-agrant coifee and steaming hominy ; and we homeward go, while the twilight shades are deepening and the moonbeams dance upon our path. Margaret Lane. Leaves from My Diary. JUlSrE 15th, 1892. — How good it is to be at home again after two long years at boarding school ! How different from the long row of class rooms, the towering heights of Sky-high, the black top of the Covered way, was the scene from my window this morning. A large garden divided into borders bright with flowers and shaded by tall oleanders lay before me. In the centre of it was a fountain reflecting in its silvery spray tlie golden sunshine, while a little bird sat on the side taking its morjiing shower-l)ath and sending forth praises to its maker in sweetest song. Scarcely had the little warbler ceased ' when the voices of happy children were heard, and Tom, who thinks himself quite a man in his new knickerbockers, entered the garden, followed by Elsie dragging her doll in a wheelbarrow. I ' se gohi ' to see if my beans hasn ' t come up yet, said the little fellow, going over to where a small mound of dirt was heaped. The beans, planted only the day before, had not come up, so he proceeded to dig them up to see what was de matter wif dose fings. Wliile he was excavating the beans, three-year-old Yiolet entered crying as if her heart would break; she hugged to her breast a little dead cliicken and sobbed, Dat howid old wooster bit his head wight off, and I isn ' t got any more ' ittle chickies. Never you mind, said brother Tom, leaving his beans to dry the little one ' s eyes, we ' ll bury him and beat the old rooster too,

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The Augusta Seminary Annual. 25 voices of cliildrcn. What a happy time tlie little ones are hav- ing! One little girl swings contentedly on the clustering vines, some of the children run in and out the narrow lanes playing hide and seek, while others pet the soft-eyed deer who follow at their call. But the sun is declining in the heavens and its rays gently slanting through the foliage of the trees only make the shadows which slip in and out between the dark, gnarled roots more weird and strange, and the nurses hurry home their charges ever and again glancing fearfully hack at the shades which seem to follow them. On the lake a gaily painted boat still skims swiftly over the cloud-tinted waves, while in its wake follow the swans iishing up the crumbs which the young girl throws to them. Stay ! we hear the sound of music and the quivering tones of the violin float out upon the air, and as we listen- to the music our thoughts go back to the purple hills and sunset scenes of our own native land, and the tears come to our eyes, until at last the low, sad notes of the wordless song die away in one long, tremulous sigh. Many a penny falls into the outstretched hand of the little musician, as we pass out the gates, and silence reigns once more in the de- serted park. We must hurry now or we shall get to the coffee plantation too late. Here we are, however, and we hasten out to the coffee fields. Far as the eye can reach stretch the long, straight rows of trees with their graceful branches growing outward in oval shape, while their crimson berries peep out from between the dark, glossy leaves. Skillfully the dusky slaves hi their picturesque garments and gay-colored turbans strip the trees of their scarlet treasures, while now and then one sees a hungry little fellow slyly take from the great l)asket a handful of the bei ries and devour them with broad smiles and twinkling eyes. All along the road leading to the house we see the slave women carrjnng on their well-poised heads the heavily laden baskets, while others pass them hurrying back, singing as they come a strange dirge-like song. The busy day draws to a close at last, and as the setting sun sinks beneath the horizon, casting its lingering, golden light on the scene, the weary laborers pick up their burdens and wend their way homeward. Some hasten on with eager thought of the hot meal awaiting them, others linger behind enjoying the cooling

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The Augusta Seminatn Annual. 27 The rest of the chikh ' en were called and the preparations for tlie funeral began. First a little hole was dug with Mammy ' s kitchen knife dexterously stolen by Master Tom, and then the linal resting place of the unfortunate chicken was lined with gray moss and rose leaves. The coffin, a large match box, was almost filled with pink oleanders and orange blossoms, and a little pile (»f j)opinax served for a pillow. To Violet was given the honoi- of placing the deceased, arrayed in Dolly ' s best dress, in the coffin. It was hard for the dear little thing to keep Ijack her tears while her pet was being covered with Howers, but the funeral was not over yet, so she listened with dignity while Tom conducted the serN-ice with his most serious air, and after joining in the mourn- ful dirge she burst into tears and ran in to Mannna, leaving the chicken to rest in peace, and the children to iinish their play. June IGth, 189-2. — I have just returned from a visit to Mammy and she gave me as warm a welcome as if I had never given her any trouble in my life. She has been a nnrse in tlie family ever since Man una was a baby, and one would think from the way she bosses us children that she owned the place. But now, as she tells me, sence folks is got sech newfangled idees ' boiit raisin chillun, she has resigned her position and retired to a cabin in the yard to enjoy a comfortable old age as a lady of leisure. I saw her this morning sitting on a low stool in front of her door enjoying the golden sunshine. She was bent low over her knitthig; her white woolly head was bound with a bandanna handkerchief, and the white kerchief round her neck was caught in at the Avaist b} a green gingham a])ron. By her side was her pet cat purring lazily, while the old w oman kept time with her bare foot to the words sung in a melancholy strain : I ' m gwine to rise, I ' m gwine to rise, Fm gwine to rise at de cummin day, I ' m gwine to rise. As I crossed the yard for my first visit I saw Violet stealthily approaching, and wondered what mischief she was planning. Vio- let ' s shout of glee and poor Mammy ' s indignant, I gwine tell Mars Jeems jes soon es he git in de gate ; you jes see if I don ' t! showed that Violet ' s grasshopper had been successfully applied. There was anger on one side and a promise on the othei-; in a