Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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The Mary Bald-win Seminary. 27 Bow Thy meek head to mortal pain. Then take, O God, Thy power and reign. Virginia Hullihen, Staunton, Va. CHARACTER SKETCHES. AUXT POLLV. F ' ar back in the mountains of East Tennessee lives an old woman known to all her friends as Old Aunt Polly. Her house is a tiny three-roomed affair of logs and mud with a stove-pipe chimney. In this little hut she lives with her ten children, yet no traveler, wearied by climbing those wild thinly-settled hills, has ever been refused shelter there. Aunt Polly ' s heart is as large as her house is small. When very young she married a man known to the mountaineers as Moonshine Bill. In appearance he was a tj ' pical moonshiner, but he possessed none of the mean, igno- ble traits that characterise the.se people. Polly, as she was then called, worshipped the great, tall, handsome man, and he in his turn thought no one could equal his Polly. They went to live in the little three-roomed cabin where Bill thought they would be out of the reach of the sheriff and his officers. The rude mountaineers cannot understand the law. Beyond theft and murder they know no wrong. Peace and content- ment are their highest aims, and the executors of the law they consider a bloodthirsty crew who come to steal away their on- ly means of support. For a long time Bill and Poll}- lived a simple, peaceful life. One day about sunset the family were seated at their evening meal. Bill was gazing proudly upon Lengthy Jim, his firstborn, and Polly was beaming upon rosy-cheeked, little Ann with a smile that bespoke perfect contentment. The ten children were eatini: their coarse brown bread and were chat-

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26 The Annual of and the well known h3 ' mn, embodying the doctrine of the Trinit.v, Holy ! Holy ! Holy ! Lord God almighty. In the latter part of his life, moved by a zealous love of missionary work, he accepted the bishopric of Calcutta, where he spent all the remaining years of his life, laboring amidst great hardships until his death. He has breathed the very spirit of his work into the old familiar missionary hymn, ■ ' From Greenland ' s icy mountains. Philips Brooks, the well known and widely loved bishop of Massachusetts, whose death occurred but recently, made an invaluable addition to our Hymnal in his Christmas hymn, so beautiful in diction and poetic conception, O, Little town of Bethlehem. The following hymn by Milman, an English divine of great eminence, is perhaps the most perfect in form of compo- sition, in grandeur and beauty of sentiment of all in our Hymnal : Ride on ! ride on in majesty ! Hark ! all the tribes hosanna cry ; O Savior meek, pursue Thy road With palms and scattered garments strowed. Ride on ! ride on in majesty ! In lowly pomp ride on to die ; O Christ, thy triumphs now begin O ' er captive death and conquered sin. Ride on ! ride on in majesty ! The angel armies of the skies Look down with sad and wondering e3 ' e.s To see the approaching sacrifice. Ride on ! ride on in majesty ! Thy last and fiercest strife is nigh ; The Father on his sapphire throne Expects his own anointed son Ride on ! ride on in majesty ! In lowly pomp ride on to die ;

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28 The Afuiual of teriiig happily. At Bill ' s feet lay faithful old Jip, but the dog did not seem to share in the general feeling of safety. Every now and then he would raise his big brown head and prick his ears unea.sily. Wonder wha ' s the matter with Jip, Pa, remarked Lengthy Jim, he do ' n seem like his self. The boy ' s question was answered only too soon. With- out warning five armed men dashed into the rooms — the dread- ed sheriff and his officers. The frightened wife and children re- treated but Bill fought with his fist like a madman, and the strong mountaineer was no ill match for his opponents. The women of Bald Knob, accustomed as they are to all kinds of out door labor, are as strong and as brave as the men. Polly rushed to the aid of her husband, and, seizing the old gun that hung on the wall, fired. Instantly the leader fell. Rapid shots follow- ed. The cunses of the men and the cries of the terrified chil- dren could be heard above the din. The battle did not con- tinue long. When the sun had set, brave, great-hearted Bill lay across the floor-- dead. From that day Aunt Polly ' s hair was snowy white, but her spirit and courage never deserted her. For years she sup- ported herself and younger children by fishing. It is wonder- ful how little these people can live on. Every day the white- haired, bent old woman might be seen .sitting far out on a pro- jecting rock over the river, her bare feet hanging down into the water, and her ejes fastened on the end of the pole which •she was holding. She was an expert in the art of angling, and the beautiful .speckled trout from the Nola Chucky always brought excellent prices. I shall never forget the first time I met Aunt Polly. Papa and I were fishing up in those regions, and stopped at the little log hut to get out of the rain. The The old woman almost embraced us in her effort to extend a hospitable greeting, and, after we were seated, hustled about continually, trying to add to our comfort. She was certainly an interesting object Her white hair was parted neatly and tied with a red string into a funny little knot at the back of her head. The short, narrow calico dress was gathered at the the neck and waist with white strings. The hem of the skirt reached only a few inches below Aunt Polly ' s knees, display-