Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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The Mary Baldwin Seminary. 19 down a block, and to your right you will see the Blockley Square Flats. Inquire there. By this time my grip or grip- ping friend had stepped back. I wondered if I must tip him, but decided that I might need my money, for I had broug;ht but little with me. I reach the Blockley Flats in .safety and inquire if Miss L lived there. Are you the young lady from Staunton ? he asked. I am. Well, Miss L has been suddenly called away. Her sister is sick. Is there anything I can do for you? My adventurous spirit comes forth with a bound. ' ' Yes, if you will keep my bag, I will spend the day in Boston. Is there a one o ' clock train for Providence ? Getting a favorable answer, and my bag safely stowed away, I saunter out, thinking first to find the Public Library. I had walked .scarcely ' five yards, when I saw a noble edifice with this inscription on the side : Public Library of the City of Boston, Built by the People and Dedicated to the Advance- ment of Learning, A. D. MDCCCLXXXVIII. l stop and look, for is not this building in itself a work of art ? Low, plain, massive, but beautiful, of the Renaissance style of architect- ure, it has been appropriately called the Parthenon of Amer ica. I pass quickly up the broad steps and stand in the low wide entrance hall. The floor of inlaid mosaic, and walls of Sienna marble are more beautiful than anything I have dream- ed. I go quickly through the hall to the corridor which en- closes a court in the center of which plays a fountain; but I must not stop, for does not the grand staircase attract every one ' s attention ? And tells him he is within a building none the less a palace for being the property of the people, and not of a king. The broad, easy steps of gray marble ascend half way, then turn and separate half to the right and half to the left, guarded at the dividing line by twp magnificent lions, couchant As I have already been in the corridor I will not turn to my right, but keep on up the staircase, where at the top is the famous painting by Puvis De Chavannes, represent- ing the ' ' Mu.ses Welcoming the Genius of Enlightenment. I shall not attempt to describe the numerous rooms, for each

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1 8 The Annual of ed clean off de place wid de carcass ! Yassuni, mid de car- cass, gravy and all ! Katherine Jones. Shrieveport, I a. HOW A MARY BALDWIN GIRL GOT TO HARVARD. Well equipped for an hour ' s ride, grip in hand, I leave Providence for Boston, with the admonition Don ' t get lost. If your friend is not at the station, wait a little while, she ma} be late, and above all, don ' t look at a strange man. As I sit in the car, I think what queer things brothers are. Of course Miss L will meet me, and why should it hurt for me to look at a strange man. Why, I think it would be much easier for him to check me and put me in the Baggage car. You would think I was going to an unexplored country, or at least that I was very childish, when I am reallj ' sixteen ! With such thoughts an hour soon passed, and I was star- tled from my re very by the deep voice of the Conductor, Can- ton Junction, next stop Boston ! My hat is quickly adjusted and I am ready to alight by the time the train has stopped. But where is Miss L ! no where can I find her. Well, I think to mj ' self, I ' ll just walk there; it ' s not very far from the station. So having inquired my way, I start out, wa k two blocks straight ahead, turn to my left for a block, then to my right. So far very good, but I ' ve run right into a wall. I have always heard that Boston was a queer place. I inquire of a policemon the way, and start again. There stands my hotel, but surely do you think Miss L. can live here in such style? I enter a spacious doorway, a porter instantly takes my bag, but thinking I must be mistaken, I hold on to the other end and ask in a meek voice, if Miss L lives here In- quire at the de.sk. The same question is asked again, in the meantime the porter and I are both manfully tugging at my grip. No such name here I believe the clerk felt sorry for me, for he scratched his head and said; Let me see, walk

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20 The Annual of seems to outvie the other in beauty and utilitj ' , but shall follow the crowd. Suddenlj I stand before what seems to me, a work too beautiful to be wrought by human hands — Abbey ' s Quest of the Holy Grail. Five different scenes, beginning with Galahad, an infant; and telling for itself, the story of that quest, so long delayed — but finally accomplished by Sir Gala- had, who robed in red is well worthy the praise: God make thee good as thou art beautiful. But I must not linger here, for my pen is too feeble and my thoughts too slow to describe that magnificent panorama that seems to float before my eyes even I ' ow. But still following the crowd, I find mj ' self on the third tioor in Sargent Hall. So much beaut} ' in so small a place causes me to utter an exclamation, but beauty too deep to be appreciated by one of my age. It has been said that next to the Bible, Milton ' s enumeration of the rebel Angels in Para- dise Lost is the best commentary on Mr. Sargent ' s paintings. ' ' Thammuz came next behind, Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured, The Syrian damsels to lament his fate In amorous ditties all a Summer ' s day, While smooth Adonis from his native heath, Ran purple to the sea, Supposed with blood of Thammuz yearly wounded. ' ' Filled with awe and almost inspired, I turn my back upon the paintings, and soon find myself in the open air. Now being very 3 ' oung, and only a girl — I think the next best place to see would be Harvard University ! While in the Public Librarj I counted my money, finding $5.43 and a ticket to Plymouth — to which place I had expected to go next morn- ing. I see a cabman. What will you charge to take me through the Har ard Grounds ? I can ' t mum, there ' s a man over there I think will do it. He steps across to talk with his friend, aVjout my queer looks, I supposed. Cabman No. 2 steps across. Would you like to go to Harvard ? Yes. Step in my cab, I ' ll take 3 ou for five dollars, cheap at that. Horrors, — only 43 cents left ! I don ' t think I shall go.