Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

Page 32 text:

To Mr. H. L. Lang, to Mr. Arista Hoge, to Mr. H. D. Murray, and to Mr. Albert Shultz, who kindly offered prizes respedtively, for the best story, the best essay, the best poem, and the best drawing for the Bluestocking of 1903, the editors extend hearty thanks, also to the judges who made the decisions. The prize for the best story, The Son of Ahimiel, was awarded to Miss Mary Eppes Robertson ; for the best essay, The Children ' s Poet, to Miss Cornelia Morgan ; for the best poem, The Presence Invisible, to Miss Blanche Adair ; for the best drawing, the Poster frontispiece, to Miss Mary Virna Colby.

Page 31 text:

Her Portrait. Dear portrait, last sweet memory of her, The shining light, and queen of other days, — Thou ' rt faded now, and she has faded too, Has vanished from my love-enraptured gaze. Poor little portrait, do you think that you Could catch the glimmer of her beauty rare. And show the whiteness of her satin skin, Or burnished tinting of her golden hair ? O little rose, the happy life you led ! You lived and died within her perfumed hair. She was God ' s flower, and blooms again for him. Perhaps you, too, have been transplanted there. Marie Clarke Brunson.

Page 33 text:

The Son of Ahimiel. T was a cold gray morning in November and all the world lay bleak and bare before the dying of the year. In spite of the cheerless day, a great crowd had gathered at a certain American city to see the steamer Loyd as she prepared for her outward voyage. A confused hum of voices, happy and sad, rising now and then to a maddening din, greeted the ear, and finally as the ship swung from her moorings, the noise lessened, the last farewells were shouted, and the busy throng made ready to return to the life of the great city. There was one in the crowd who lingered long, very long, who watched until a figure on the vessel ' s deck could not be seen, until the ship had become a mere speck, and then with a weary sigh, he turned and wended his way back into the heart of the city. And the figure on the deck, that of a fragile girl with brown eyes and a sweet sad mouth, watched as she stood beside a tall dignified man, until the last bit of land faded from her sight, and in her heart reiterated again and again, It is useless. I shall never forget. As for the man by her side, he smiled as American shores were no more seen, and repeated as if in triumph, A year of travel, and all will be well. A poor man, a man of humble family ! Never ! Even now he pictured to himself his daughter as she graced the ancestral halls of some proud lord. Money will do all things. But if she won ' t forget, — he mused, — time enough to think of that; for she will, she shall. But he forgot at that instant, that long ago when he was poor and unknown, the girl ' s mother had remembered. It was again a dark, cold morning in early spring. The clouds low- ered over Judean hills, and the chill winds gave little promise of birds and flowrers. Helen de Laine shivered as she looked out upon the dreary day.