Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

Summary

Portrait of Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle A Woman Rice Planter

True it is that no longer are these people well-to-do neighbors going to visit each other, rowed by an ebony crew in uniform that chants plantation songs in rhythm to the strokes of its oars—those neighbors are most of them lying in the graveyard of St. Michael's, Charleston, or in the lovely enclosures surrounding the little silent country churches upon which one sometimes emerges during a long ride through the woods. They who go in the boats to-day are apt to be less prosperous, whatever their color, and when they are black they may very likely be poachers who do not sing.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle A Woman Rice Planter

The evening is beautiful; the sun, just sinking in a hazy, mellow light, is a fiery dark red, the air is fresh from the sea, only three miles to the east, the rice-field banks are gay with flowers, white and blue violets, blackberry blossoms, wistaria, and the lovely blue jessamine, which is as sweet as an orange blossom. Near the bridge two negro women are fishing, with great strings of fish beside them.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle A Woman Rice Planter

There is a mystery of hope over everything, the rest of the ideal, and as I sat on a cedar trunk to-day and looked out into the drowsy blue of the atmosphere I felt a sense of gratitude to the Great Maker and Giver of all this beauty—thankful for my blessings; the great blessing of space and freedom and closeness to nature—yes, and thankful for my limitations, my sorrows, my privations. Thankful that He has thought me worthy to suffer and has taught me to be strong. He is beauty and power and love illimitable and infinite.
Source: Gutenberg

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