Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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and Grandfatlier ' s Spectacles, I exclaim, Ah, what changes cannot time work? And now a magnificently furnished room is hurried before my wandering gaze. Every- thing betokens wealth and joy. The central figure in that rootn is a woman, sitiing, with bowed head and clasped hands. She is dream- ing, I know not of what, I)ut as she slowly raises her head, a smile passes over her face and I see once more the Francis of my school days. Quickly tiiere appears an humble little cottage, situated among the mountains of West Virginia. Sweet strains of music are wafted, by the gentle breeze, to my ear, and in that happy home I see Lilian crowned queen and ruling all with a sceptre of love. Once more the curtain falls and as it rises, a small school house appears, humming witli the busy noi.se of three score merry girls and boys. But now the teacher conies forward. Her tall and slender form little resembles that of the Sadie of long ago, and, too, her hair is sprinkled with strands of gray, but the eyes are unmis- takable and perchance these changes are due to the delightful task of rearing the tender mind, of teaching the young idea to shoot. But I cannot gaze upon the picture longer for another is thrust before nie. In a northern citv, an immense music hall is crowded to its utmost capacity. The ]ier- fornier of the evening steps forward, but I do not know her ( I am in a strange place and by chance alone in that hall ). I hear the name Nina passed from lip to lip, I can not catch the other name, finally it reaches me. ' I ' lie Nina of my class of Nineteen Hundred! I listen in rapture to the notes she produces, but the cm tain falls ! My dream is ended ! Half conscious I hear voices sweetly saying, Be it ever so humble, and as the sound approaches nearer, I join, There is no place like home, and then the realities of the present dawn upon me. In a few days we part, our school days are over and we leave our Alma Mater, perhaps forever. I can not pen the feeling that seizes upon my soul at such thoughts. Doubtless the majority, if not all, of those who read this little sketch from a school girl ' s pen, have ex- perienced such feelings — those of raptuke at the thought of home and those of sorrow at the thought of parting, and as thev read, these feelings will be re-called more vividly than I can hope to make them. And so, with a hearty God-speed to the class of nineteen hun- dred, and a long life to our dear old school, I await the changes of time to fulfil my proph- ecv.

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Prophecy. The sun was slowly sinking below the western horizon, on a bright afternoon in the latter part of May. I sat beneath one of those majestic linden trees whose branches sliade the ten aces of onr school ground. A book was l.ving in my lap — open — but I could not read. My thoughts wandered from subject to subject, dwelling first upon the fond recollec- tion of my school days, which were almost at an end, nnd then I was burlding air castles for the future which seemed so bright before me. At length I fell asleep, but even in my dreams my cla.ssmates were before nie. The great veil of the mysterious and unexplored future was lifted before my wandering eyes. Time had hastened oinvnrd in its ever advancing flight ten long years and I saw the FUTURE of my classmates. As the scene meets my eye, I cry, Where is now the merry party, I remember long ago ? and as if in answer to my eager question, there appears in the distant background, at first dimly outlined and then growing more distinct, these words. They ha -e ' jll dispersed and wandered, far awa -, far away. At:d. oh, how our paths have diverged and rediverged, since as a band of happ ' school girls we dwell beneath the strong, protecting walls of oui ' Alma Mater, Of all in onr class, one alone still lives — a life of single blessedness — in the town wlieie the old Hchool stands, while the o Z fr Mary, having studied in a medical school, is now caring for the sick in a New York hospital. In a moment the scene changes, I am borne to a little town in Southern Mississippi. A fair haired woman, of about thirty years is leaning over a gate, looking wistfully down a path, which leads from it. I can see only her profile and as I gaze upon the picture, a fine looking man rides up. As he jumps from his horse and as he imprints a kiss upon her forehead, I hear the word Sharp escape from his lips. I startle at the name of my old chum and fellow in mischief, as I prepare to speak the scene fades from my view and I am borne to a far off land. In a monastery, among a group of sisters, engaged in singing, I see two faces which catch and hold my attention. I trace in those faces, tiiough changed by time, a resemblance to those of the Kninia and Mary of years ago and as the singing ceases, their thoughts, too, seem to wander back to their school days and as they talk of days gone by and changes since those days, I learn that Besse is winning fame upon the stage — rivaled only by Patti. Scarcely had my mind grasped one ot those strange scenes before another was thrust before me In a large western city, I see Permele deli ' ering an address upon Woman ' s Right, ai:d as my thoughts fiy back to the time when she labored so faithful iy o ' er, The boy stood on the burning deck,

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I. Small in stature, But not in mind, Our fair-haired graduate Loved by all kind. 11. Fair as a star, when onlj- one Is shining in the skies, Her special talent we all know, In elocution lies. III. Her voice is heard in the morning, Her music the last thing at night. The sweetest, all of them we will miss. When she has taken flight. IV. Always fond of boggs and swamps. Ever ready for studies and romps; Sharp, as sharp as sharp can be, Liked by you and loved by me. V. Over the keys, not over the rails. Faster and faster flies the car, Never a wrong note, always a right one. For music she ' s noted near and far. VI. In perseverance, patience studiousness. This one star should be given. For kindness, goodness, unseltishness. Alone she has not striven. vn. A face like a morning glory; Eyes of the deepest blue, A voice like a bird ' s in sweetne.ss. Which charmeth more than a few. VIII. Indifferently and slow she walks. Indifferently and slow she talks. Lazy we oftimes think her to be, But when she recites we know differently. IX. With eyes that shine with brightness And now with never a frown, Like the touch of a feather in lightness, She runs the scales up and down. X. She ' s such a little tiny tot. That on her singing days Her papa comes along with her And in the carriage stays ; But if she ' s little, she can sing And play to beat the band, And with a nature as sweet as her voice She ' ll have suitors, galore, for her hand. XI. Her music ' s as sweet as the breezes in June, She can play all her pieces and play them in tune. Each Saturday morning she comes up to school , But then speaks to no one, as ' tis ' gainst the rule. XII. Maiden with the violet eves In whose orbs the laughter lies. Thou whose locks outshine the sun. Golden tresses wreathed in one ; May you walk with happy feet Where the brightest pathvvavs meet.