Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

Page 29 text:

The youngest critic is not yet dead, Nor the oldest colors faded, For art can never be complete Till Hill ' s last sketch is shaded. With a skillful little brush Bessie strokes the willing paper Till the very corners blush. A student rare, in all her ways, Throughout the span of schoolgirl days For Annie knows that study pays. A faithful worker truly. Her temper ' s not unruly , For her disposition ' s sunny, so they say. In ways so glad and cheery. She lives to make us merry. For she can ' t help being funny every day. Gabriella, Gabriella, On thy work thy fame depends. Days are flying, time is dying, On to-day the school life ends !

Page 31 text:

Qllafiifi rnpli rg. T was many years after the day of our graduation. Since then I had experienced the cares and pleasures of half a lifetime, and had all but forgotten the months spent within the walls of our dear old Alma Mater, where by chance I went one night to hear a famous singer who had moved multitudes by her power. Not until she began her song did I fully recognize her, and then my thoughts flew back to the nights when Marie sang at school and when we nine stood on the rostrum together at M. B. S., our diplomas in our hands, life lying fair and beautiful before us. In the dream vista I saw again the old Grey Man of the North as he he had appeared to me in the gathering twilight of my last day at school, when he muttered strange words concerning the future that stretched out before each of us. What had happened to each since then ? What glory or happi- ness had crowned those lives? Where were they? and did they remember? A sudden longing for them took possession of me and my resolve was fixed to find them or to hear from them. The next morning I saw Marie and heard from her own lips the story of her life ; it had been truly rich and full of opportunities. For years she had worked and studied and striven till cities and nations vied with one another in doing her homage. And not praise alone had her gifts brought forth ; men had been drawn out of the very depths by the power of her music and the flood-gates of beauty and tenderness had been opened. O Wise Man of the