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- N ONE mile from my father’s home in
Summer county, around in a valley
tributary to the main valley in which
we lived, was a combination house, a
LMI ) meeting house and a school house in
bsi-Mr one. It was there, as far back as 1854 —
how long prior to that date this house
was built I do not know —when it was
__ I removed or torn down, I know not, but
now there stands on thia site a meeting house and
near by a school house. The combination house
was built of logs, beech logs. There was one door
in front of the pulpit and back of the pulpit was
a window —the only one in the house. As a church
there was a man’s side and also a woman’s side.
So, too, the boys sat on one side and the girls on
the other, when the building was in use as a school
house. In the aisle which led from the pulpit to
the door was room for a stove, which we used in
warming the house in cold weather. We had no
desks—the only furniture being rude benches with
out backs. This house was called Slater’s Chapel
Mr. Slater, or Dr. Slater, I do not know which —
it is immaterial —was once pastor of McKendree’s
church (Methodist) of Nashville, Tenn. I think it
was during his ministry that the chapel was built.
I know that Slater’s Chapel was named for the
Nashville pastor. The chapel was the outgrowth
or the mission enterprise of the Methodist Church.
There was a school at Slater’s Chapel several years
during my boyhood, that is, there was a school there
five months —fall and winter —in each year. I at
tended this school several terms.
I will say here that we declaimed on Fridays
and we used the pulpit as a platform. This pulpit
was old style, the preacher was hidden from view
except his head and very little of his chest. And
then the pulpit -was very high. I made many a
speech from that pulpit. Let it be understood here
and now that this writer has had high training.
The teachers: Norris, Montgomery, Elam, Gal
breath. I remember them every one. They impressed
me. The fact is they impressed all of us several times
and “some more.” The boys and girls, as well as
the teachers, with few exceptions, “have gone the way
of all the earth.”
Between our house and the school house about
"The Limit of the Line. n
the long-drawn breath, the magnetic hands that
would clinch in spite of her, announced the on
coming psychic battle.
To-night she would break the unnamed woman’s
hold over Gregory Ford, or snap her own life-chord,
in the attempt. The will of a grand race was
her’s, but victory over a soul like Gregory Ford’s
cost, cost, it might be life itself. One slip, one falt
er on the firing line, and he would be lost to her —
forever.
At the fateful word, she shuddered, and fought
back, grandly, the voices of Doubt, the unseen spirits,
perhaps, headed by Azazel, the tall cherub who bore
Satan’s banner, who must battle over ’gainst God and
Love.
Passion whispered to her, and the white hands
were raised against the summons. While every
nerve might be on fire, every artery quiver, w r ith
the full tide of her great love; while her wounded
heart might hammer its way thru the white walls
of her breast, while her throat might contract to
sudden and inexplicable huskiness, and her knees
tremble so that they would not bear her weight . . .
she was there to rule herself.
She knew now the agony of Josephine for Napol
eon, of Cleopatra for Mark Antony.
“I have read,” she mused, “that love may begin, in
the wrecking of a fan, by two young people, in a
green and gold conservatory. So it may?”
She held her Parisian model out to the electric
glow, and, with a sudden legerdermain movement of
the ivory wrist, it sprang open, a wreath of hand
painted violets woven across the white samite.
“My fan is safe enough from annihiliation, I be-
MEMORIES OF SCHOOL DA FS
Sy H. R. SERNARD.
The Golden Age for September 16, 1909.
a quarter of a mile from the school house, liyed the
family of our nearest neighbor in, what seemed to
me as a boy, the most beautiful home I ever saw.
This neighbor, Major A. J. Blakemore, I remember
as a grand man. His wife was my mother’s best
friend and one of the sweetest and most amiable
women I ever knew. When, as I knew her she
wore a smile that would not come off. And there
were the children: Sallie and Polk, Andrew and Hat
tie. They were among my schoolmates. Os Sallie and
Polk, both living now in the Better Land, I could
write a volume. I never tire of thinking of them,
especially of Sallie, who was about my age.
I studied in all Sallie’s classes, whether I had
any business in them or not. We used to have
head and foot in the classes, and if I was below
her —and I always was, for nobody had a right to be
above her, never —and she missed a word, I never
turned her down. If I spelled the word I declined
to go up. If I did not spell the word and some
one else did, that party went up, but did not take
a place between us, no sir! I was a schemer in
standing next to Sallie.
On my way from the Convention at Louisville
I stopped at Goodlettsville, the dearest little town
to me on earth, and saw my friends. I visited the
grave of my schoolmate, and plucked therefrom some
evergreen which I keep in my desk and sometimes
look upon, witn the fondest memory. The memory
of childhood’s schoolmate —playmates, companions—
this is beyond all value. I will not say good-bye,
Sallie, nor good-night, no, but good-morning, Sallie.
It is morning with you now. It will be with us
all later on.
But to the school: Mr. Norris claims attention
first. It was understood that ne was from Georgia,
and that he could teach Algebra. Not one of us
had ever seen a copy of a text book of that name.
Algebra! What was it? We did not know, but
we had an idea that it was wonderful and that Mr.
Norris was a “mighty smart man.” Nobody had
ever mentioned Algebra before —much less said he
could teach the thing, whatever it was.
Mr. Norris was chummy with us and we liked
him for that. He would engage with us in our
sports on the playground. Out of school, though
a middle aged man, he was a boy among the boys.
lieve, by him. But! O Diana! how cold this thr
oughbred cousin of mine is! Yes, great goddess of
the Ephesians! how grand.”
She closed the fan and let it swing, idly, by its
white satin ribbon.
“I wonder if he ever kissed that woman, I vow
it is horrible not to be able to guess her name, with
her eyes of talismanic brown. I’ll ask him if I
win him. Heavens! what beauty, almost immortal,
she must have been blessed with. And her name is
written among the stars of the"sky? So comforting,
to my curiosity—don’t you know.”
Ford strolled into the room.
“Good evening, Ethel.”
• Good evening, Gregg.”
“I trust that you are quite well, Princess.”
“Thank you. I wish that I could tell the conven
tional lie tonight, but I can not. I suffer!”
He turned round from the center table, in un
feigned surprise, laid down a small photograph of
Veronese’s Europa, that he had started to examine,
as he intended to have it enlarged and framed In
ebony and old gold, for Henry Brown’s art gallery.
“Um! You belong to the plebs to-night, Princess.
They are great on groans.”
She noted his white vest, and how well his black
evening coat fitted him across the shoulders, even
the spike tails seemed to have gotten a more human
shape for the season, and she was secretly glad.
Then, as the thought of her Uncle de Peyster’s great
evening coat, and his charming capers in it, a smile,
warm and human, arched her lips.
“You suffer —and yet you smile?” Ford asked, criti
cally turning Europa about, in his white hands, ad
miring Europa herself and her queenly attendants,
the .bit of Venetian sea-breeze, the cupid winging
He had quite a novel way of punishing us. Suppose
a boy did not know his lesson: He was more than
apt to have that particular boy recline at full length
on a bench, with his book under his head for a
pillow, close his eyes and “make out” that he was
asleep. He had him snore loud and long. This was
fun for the onlookers. Every boy that could make
a figure studied arithmetic and in the afternoon
session the arithmeticians “set out” —and ciphered—
that is, we were at liberty to leave the schoolroom
with our slates and Pike’s or Smiley’s arithmetics,
sit around any where on logs or on the roots of the
trees and “work sums.” The only object we had
in “working sums” was to “get the answer.” Such
a thing as understanding principles was not thought
of. Occasionally we learned a rule, but the main
thing was to “get the answer.” In other words,
the aim was to “deliver the goods.” No matter bow
it was done, the teacher was satisfied.
In those days we carried our dinner to school in
small baskets and tin buckets —these were our “din
ner pails.” One of the items on the list of eatables
was molasses —yes, a small bottle of molasses, was
never wanting.
I now sometimes eat at a first-class hotel —some-
times at a restaurant, where they charge fancy prices,
but never—no, never, do I find anything as palatable
as a cold biscuit, with a hole bored in it with your
thumb and filled with molasses, cs it was eaten on
the playground under the shade oi a beech tree at
old Slater’s Chapel. Fact! Talk about your
French cooks and professionals in the culinary de
partment —they are not in it.
“How dear to my heart are the scenes of my child
hood,
When fond recollection presents them to view,
The orchard—the meadow, the deep-tangled wild
wood,
And every loved spot my infancy knew.”
The cold, cold biscuit, the hard baked biscuit,
Which we ate with molases and yet kept well.
I had an experience at Slater’s Chapel, concerning
“Smith’s Grammar,” and also on experience con
cerning “God in Israel,” a relation of which I reserve
for the next time.
helter-skelter, in mid-air, above the gray waves.”
“All women suffer —and smile,” she retorted. “It’s
good form, I believe. What is that you have there?”
“Photo of Europa,” he said briefly. “Tell you what,
Ethel, Veronese was a bully all-round painter. He
shut off backgrounds, with pyramids or balconies, or
any kind of a Venetian building handy, you know.
It was considerate of him. And, he didn’t bother
himself with Nature, much, either. Showed good
taste on that point, also. Say, but this sea-beach is
well enough, and his trees have extra plumes to ’em.
Now look here, his landscapes were the landscapes
of cities, columns Corinthian, columns lonic, pyra
mids, balconies, stone steps, but Europa is a sea
beach. I don’t like this calf here, who represents
Jupiter, though he’s orthodox all right, and legend
ary.”
She came and looked over his shoulder.
“Seems to be two calves,” she suggested, “there
is a second, being led off to drink. You can lead
Jupiter to the sea, but you can’t make him drink!
Ah! ah!”
“That’s not Jupiter, going down through the trees,”
Ford remonstrated. ‘She is seated on Jupiter, though
those two handsome ladies-in-waiting are doing their
best to help her off.”
Miss Ford trailed o er to the window, vhero the
stars were so bright.
“I wish you’d talk about something else to-night.”
“What —pray?”
He was trying “Europa” at different angles to the
electric light, and he did not notice her sudden
start. Her shoulders moved, contemptuously, be
neath their sheath of white satin.
(Continued on Page 11.)
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