Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

Page 17 text:

The Mary Daldivin Seminary. 1 1 home. I have never counted the houses in the village, but they are not as numerous as the sands of the seashore, nor yet as the children in one of the families there. The people live in roomy, rambling old houses, built far above the ground, for sometimes there comes a great overflow. They then build boats and live in a very romantic way, such as would make even the wildest .sentimentalist happy. The -vilagers are not behind the times, for they talk poli- tics in a very wise way and with a mouth very full of tobacco: though they do not feel sure whether that congressman will do or not, ' they don ' t like his looks, cai.se he dresses mos ' like aristocracy, wears a buttonhole bouquet and his children, too, are mos ' uncommon clean. ' If you want to have a pleasant nightmare, all you have to do is to recollect a .stump-speech on Free silver, delivered by one of those villagers. You are con- vinced that history has made a mistake; that Jeff Davis lives, breathes and is the father of his country; that George Washing- ton has never existed except in picture-form; that Confederate money yet buys candy at three dollars a stick, dolls at one hundred dollars apiece and homespun at ten dollars a yard. ' Tis true they are not certain where their capital is, and each one thinks he sends a congressman of his own. This latter, however, he refuses to do unless the congressman will give him five dollars for his church. They are not an irreligious people. There is no Baptist church in their town, but ju.st a few miles away they can drive to a good old-fashioned hard-shell Baptist church. I once went there to church. First, in came an old woman, followed by a crowd of eager-eyed, Sunday-faced children. A boy about seven years old brought in the baby; another a little younger carried the pallet. Then other families arrived and before the sermon began, the aisles were lined on both sides with pallets, and all the babies were sleeping cosily. As the sermon pro- ceeded, the preacher grew enthusiastic and talked rather loud- ly. The boy I had first observed sprang to his feet, and shaking both his fists at him screamed out, Stop that hollerin ' , man, you goin ' to wake dis ' her ' chile and, sure you do. you ' ll

Page 16 text:

lO The Annual of When Uncle Fount was younger, he often had his house open for boys from the country, who wished to go to school in town. One of these boys, now a lawj er, told me that his grandmother sent him to the old man with but one instruction, which was that he should be taken to the Methodist church every Sunday. When that day arrived, Uncle Fount would take his hand in his and in his snatchy way say, John, your grandma says you must go to church, come on, come on, your grandma says so. Once fairly settled at church John ' s pleas- ure began; for the old soul closed his eyes at the finst note of the doxology and did not move again until the benediction. As soon as John saw the old gentleman ' s eyes close, out came his marbles and he enjoyed the sermon in his own way. The minister stepped up to Uncle Fount after the sermon one day and shaking his hand said, Uncle, do you suppose that you could help us in the next subscription ? We look upon you as a pillar of the church. No, sir, not a pillar, only a sleeper, sir, only a sleeper. The village folk say that he has great power in quoting the Scriptures. He stopped once before a crowd of boys play- ing marbles and looking kindly at them said, Boys, don ' t you know that it is wrong to play marbles? No, sir, who told you that ? said one of the young imps. Why, said Uncle Fount, the Scriptures say ' Marvel ye not. ' The dear old man loves to attend funerals. If there are several at the same time, he .sends his clerks, that he may be represented at all of them. In the time of the yellow-fever epidemic, he one day rushed clattering into a lawyer ' s office, his eyes full of tears, .saying, John, you used to be a good boy, won ' t you go to a funeral for me today ? I can ' t be every- where at once, I have sent all my clerks. Do come now, come on, come on John; for, he said I have been represented at every funeral in town for fifty years. ' ' n. Have you ever been to Mississippi ? There is a town in that state called Paradi.se, ju.st twenty-five miles from my

Page 18 text:

12 The Antiual of see what ' s good for you ! ' ' After this interruption the sermon went on more quietly until some of the old women began to be happy. First one and then another joined in, until the whole congregation was shouting. This put an end to the sermon and they went out to spread their feast. It was indeed a feast. The women know how to cook. They are considered the chicken-pie bakers of the South. If you want to enjoy yourself, go to one of their neigh- borhood picnics. There you can often see an old fellow toiling up the road, barefoot, with a huge leg of mutton or a whole barbecued hog on his shoulder, while others bring many more delicious eatables. The girls and women are always ar rayed in gowns of yellow, red, or royal purple, their favorite colors. These dresses are full and short so that they can move with ease. The dancing is one of the most delightful features of the day. The stately minuet is hardly the leading dance, for the music is so fast that the youths and maidens fairly fly. Sharp Williams, Yazoo Cit3 Miss. FROM LOUISIANA. I. L,aw Miss Mary, yer can ' t git dat chile ter sleep. Gib ' im ter me, I ' se got his pa quiet many er time an ' I knows how ter do hit. Dar ain ' t many folks wut understans de chilluns ob dis family. Jes ' like ' is pa, mighty fractious when he wants ter be. Hush, pretty, hush, les ' you an yo ' mammy sit heah in dis rockin cheer. See, he done stop a ' ready. Now go sleep while I sing ter yer, honey. ' De morn am heah, an de sun shine cleah. An de clover so sweet an ' white, De ole rade cow, I heerd her low Dat de flavor hit am jes right.