Bellona Times
speaker
1,919 appearances
1 recordings
1 series
first heard Aug 2026
last heard 1 Aug
Bellona Times’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
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recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 1 in all, peaking in Aug 2026 with 1.
Appearances
I think she must have derived a fair income from her work.
I know, too, that at least once each month she received a letter.
I used to watch for the postman, get the letter, and run to her with it.
Whether she was busy or not, she would take it and instantly thrust it into her bosom.
I never saw her read one of them.
I knew later that these letters contained money, and what was to her more than money.
As busy as she generally was, she, however, found time to teach me my letters and figures and how to spell a number of easy words.
Always on Sunday evenings she opened the little square piano and picked out hymns.
I can recall now that whenever she played hymns from the book, her tempos were always decidedly largo.
sometimes on other evenings when she was not sewing she would play simple accompaniments to some old southern songs which she sang in these songs she was freer because she played them by ear those evenings on which she opened the little piano were the happiest hours of my childhood
Whenever she started toward the instrument, I used to follow her with all the interest and irrepressible joy that a pampered pet dog shows when a package is opened in which he knows there is a sweet bit for him.
I used to stand by her side, and often interrupt and annoy her by chiming in with strange harmonies which I found either on the high keys of the treble or low keys of the bass.
I remember that I had a particular fondness for the black keys.
Always on such evenings, when the music was over, my mother would sit with me in her arms, often, for a very long time.
She would hold me close, softly crooning some old melody without words, all the while gently stroking her face against my head.
Many and many a night I thus fell asleep.
I can see her now, her great dark eyes looking into the fire.
To where?
No one knew but she.
The memory of that picture has more than once kept me from straying too far from the place of purity and safety in which her arms held me.
Showing 221–240 of 1,919 · page 12 of 96
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