Chowan College - Chowanoka Yearbook (Murfreesboro, NC)

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A granil tennis tournament is just over. Automobiles ami carriages throng the street, flags and pennants wave in honor of Bert Peele, who with that won- derful left hantl of hers has won the golden eiip. So, Rosa Futrell after these many years still pines her life away, and sighs for the return of Ruth dear. Strange how affections last. Hilda Johnson, now teaching voice in l aylor University, longs more and more each day for Rose Davis. But alas! This can not be, for Rose holds the Chair of Mathematics in the University of Texas, a position she has long aspired to. And especially since she has the chance of taking the M.R.S. degree there. Ola Morehead is a confirmed old maid, but is still living in hopes that Grady ' s heart is not entirely adamantine. Myrtle Eley is teaching Latin at dear old Chowan. The ties which i)ind her there are so strong she cannot break tliem, and the strongest tie is the subject she is teaching. Mabel Jenkins is seen busily engaged in her for she is still inter- ested in ' Bees ' and finds it a most fascinating occupation. Janie Futrell, poor child, though she has not reached the heights she aspired, has found a noble occupation. She is keeping house for a old maids. What is all this? Behold Edna Parker heads a Ynmd of suffragettes tri- umphantly through the streets of New York. Everything gives way before them as before the Roman phalanx. The Prophetess ceased speaking, What became of me? I cried. But she had vanished as mysteriously as she had come. As improbable as all these predictions may seem, dear friends, I warn ()U that Cassandra ' s prophecies always proved to come true. to which bunch ot

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Junior Prophecy When I was informed of the startling news that I was Prophetess of the Junior Class it took me some time to recover from the shock. However, I soon found that it would not do to take it in this way, since it was a very serious ques- tion, and must be taken seriously. In sheer desperation I threw myself on the window seat and thought, thought frantically, despairingly, ' til exhausted. With my head between my hands, I sat gazing down the vi.sta of Doric columns which shone white in the moonlight, until I almost could have believed myself in ancient (Sreece, especially when a form like that of a goddess glided towards me. Damsel, why in such dec]) thought? a voice said. Perhaps I may help you. I perceived that it was ninic itli( ' r than the nuich (le]ireciated Ca.ssandra, Pro]ihete,ss of the Greeks, who in her own day was destined never to be believed, hut whose words were true nevertheless. I felt apologetic for my long pause and answeretl l)reathlessly, Could you? Ah, please be so good as to tell me what the future holds in store for my illustrious classmates; or, rather, what they hold in store for the world. But you will not believe me, she said. We will, I replied. Just a hint of the future, I beg of you. Shall I give you a glimpse of them ten years hence? she asked. Just the idea, I replied. Mary Alston, she began, I see as director of music in one of the world ' s greatest institutions of learning, a place not so far distant. Ruth Lassiter I see, in the laud of elegant manners, pursuing her loved study of the French language. Ah! I see a multitude of chai-nied listeners. They clieer and throw flowers to Annie Sue Winborne, the gentle and learned pianist. In a magnificent art gallery in New York, behold a grand ]iainting, signed Nancy Benthall. Admiring ones gaze long, move on slowly, and return to look again. Two old men. Chase, methinks, and Sargent, talk excitedly. ' Without a doubt, ' I hear them say, ' women are coming to the front in the world, and Southern women too. ' Bruce Taylor — l)y ( ' upid ' s darts no longer Bruce Taylor — graces a beauti- ful city home. Each day witii a jjleasant smile she welcomes Dr. R. at the door.

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Junior Class Poem As you ' re looking thru the pages Of this famous dear old book, You ' ll see the girls of every kind With just a pleasant look. But we know that you will say When all of them you ' ve seen That we ' re the Pride of dear Chowan — The class of old ' 14. At first we dwelt in Newish land, Had all the wit was going, We liked it to lie understood That we knew all worth knowing As Sophs we hazed and blacked the Newish ' Put oil in every well, We slept ' til eight on April first — Hitl the cla]i]ier from the bell. But now we ' re Juniors brave and bold — Surpass the Senior bore, For in tlieir own green eyes they think They are the pebbles on the shore. But Juniors, Juniors! Rah, Rah, Rah! If you would like to see the stuff Take a good square look at us. For we are it and that ' s no l)luff. The nicest class you have ever seen Is the class of old ' 14.