Athens State College - Columns Yearbook (Athens, AL)

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The room gave place to an outdoor scene. Two women, dressed in a very peculiar fashion, holding small instruments of some kind, were seen. Presently I distinguished a larg - e affair in the background, which looked like either a balloon or an air ship ; but it was neither. These two were Sallie and Nora, and this was a ship of their own invention, in which they had successfully navigated the ether. They were just then leaving for a trip to Mars. As the canvas became dark, then slowly gleamed again with its strange power, I turned and fled, because I knew what was about to be shown was my own future, and I dared not remain. CLASS PROPHET. Page 21

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than themselves — some with the most woeful countenances, some gay and joyful. Then I began to find among the number little gnome men, with features like the people I had known up in the world of to-day, only the true character of the persons was even more plainly stamped upon their faces here than in the other world. These strange little creatures were each keeping the records of his double, who lived and acted in reality what these little men were simply writing ' as it happened there. I observed one little gnome who could scarcely write for the big tears which followed one another helter-skelter down its cheeks. I knew that what it was writing of the present day must be far from agreeable; and when it looked up, I saw that the brown eyes so bedewed were Ola ' s, and 1 understood. Thus it is that the past is so closely linked with the future, for we passed from this into a light so faint that at first I could distinguish nothing; but when my eyes became more accustomed to the light, I saw a strange-looking apparatus near me, and, in front of this, a large, white piece of canvas-looking material. Gradually the canvas seemed to melt into the softest light imaginable: then one by one objects became visible, and I was filled with the mysterious feeling of awe, because I knew that I was about to see that which no other living person had seen or ever would see. I could now clearly see a room furnished as an office. At the desk sat Madge, the president of the largest woman ' s college in the South. Near her sat Ola, her dean, and Opie, her secretary. As I looked, the office door opened, and a lady with a young girl entered. It was Myrtle, who was bringing her daughter to Madge ' s school. Everything faded ; and when I could see distinctly again, there was a prim, sedate lady of middle age — in other words, an old maid — be- fore me. She was endeavoring to instruct a small boy, who seemed to be confident he knew quite as much as his instructor. Before I could recognize his teacher, his mother came into the room. There was no doubt here. It was the Lillie I know now, with scarcely a change. The other I saw at last was Kate. The room was furnished elegantly. Lillie was wealthy, and had not forgotten her classmates; for before the picture faded, another entered the room — Lucy — who was Lillie ' s companion and social secretary. These disappeared, and there arose before me a large room. Near a window, carefully correcting manu- script, sat Isola. She was completing her fifth book in seven years — the Walter Scott of the twentieth century. Page 20

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Poem Tn childhood ' s bright awakening, In young life ' s rosy morn, She neither thought nor questioned To what would lead this dawn. Her dreams were of the present. She had no worlds to win; She had no mystic fancies Of the life she must begin. In girlhood ' s sunny noontide, The glory of her youth. She wondered, thought, and questioned The path which led to truth. She dreamed of life ' s bright future; She thought of worlds to win; She trod in youthful fancy Paths yet untrod by men. In womanhood ' s rich sunset. The climax of her power. Hushed was wonder, thought, and question. The bud was now in flower; No dream of brilliant future. Her path was almost trod. She sought for truth, and found it In duty to man and God. I n age ' s lengthening twilight, Life ' s day is almost spent; She sits in silent retrospection, A form white-haired and bent. Xo heralds sing her praises, Crownless her silvered hair; But the angel choir awaits her In the bright home over there. MADGE JACKSON. Page 22