St Genevieves Academy - Le Flambeau Yearbook (Asheville, NC)

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GEORGIE FLYNN SWEENEY. Columbia, S. C. In soul sincere, In action faithful, and honor clear. Without a doubt, Georgiana 'is from Columbia, and joined us in our sec- ond year. Her good nature and Willing- ness to Work soon started her with a vim up the ladder to graduation. VIRGINIA RANDOLPH. Asheville, N. C. A girl to all the country dear, Noted for her beauty, far and near. Jinny has been a pupil at St. Gene- vieve's for a number of years, taking an active part in all social, athletic and dra- matic events. As President of the Junior Class she had a marked career.

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LILLIAN AVERY FELTHAUS. Asheville, N. C. Girls of few words are the best girls. A pupil of St. Genevieve's since her school career began. A good athlete, First basket ball team for two years. Though she talks little, she has a good sense of humor, and an accommodating disposition. . ANNE PENNY WILLIAMS. Charlotte, N. C. Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul. Anne enjoys life all right, and While she does, she also makes a good Presi- dent of the Entertainment Committee, as Well as a splendid basket ball captain and player. WL- -, ,.,, ,,,, .,h, , . o , A ,, ,,,...-Q i- J-1.. ..,.. ww-Q .... .. .,.... ..,a...,.,,w

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MN -. KWJY-YM -af-Xgfflfi Y I, I I I f ' , am. .M yfyf fffwf , , W H .. .ffl+ if m'ff?fWWWWkfI!Z7fWW7WW' -f'r4'f7ffWMZW?f I . Class Prophecy T was Commencement Day. Partly asleep, for I was very tired from re- cent excitements, I listened to the words of the renowned Jesuit priest who was giving us graduates a talk. He congrat- ulated us on the play we had given the night before- As You Like It -in which I had played the part of Jaques. He then said, As a subject of my talk to you I shall take the words of this queer old philosopher, 'All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances' How true are these words! All the world's a stage on which each must play his part. 'Tis a stage on which is enacted the drama Life, and which has an audience with many critics. But who is the audience ?' Rather, who are the audiences? For there are two, one the world-the other God. The critic of God is your conscience. It judges not in accordance with the judgment of the world. You must choose for whom you will act for you cannot adjust your act- ing to please both! Choose your au- dience and- Here the priest's voice dwindled to an indistinct mumbling. Looking up, I saw nothing but a great, white mist rolling back and forth. Where had I been? What was this? I rubbed my eyes, thinking it would go away, but no! As I gazed, the bottom seemed to be condensing and rolling up in one large volume. I saw behind the clouds a great stage, on the front of which was written in large letters the word Life and underneath, Manager, Fate. A On this immense stage strange lights were thrown, making queer shad- ows about the scenery, illuminating only part of what should have been revealed and bringing to light many parts which would have looked better in the shadow. How strangely the lights are man- aged, I thought, as I heard a voice say- ing, These are the lights thrown on by the world. As you see, they are mostly wrong. Just then I descried a tall, ma- jestic figure in deep black. It was he who had been talking, and it was to an old man also in deep black with a long beard, who carried a scythe, that he spoke. Roll up the curtain, Father Time, that we may see what parts the graduates of 1917 are playing on the stage of Life. The old man shambled across the stage, pulled a cord which hung to one side, and a curtain rolled up. A familiar scene was being enacted, a class room in which eight or nine pupils were draw- ing geometrical figures on blackboards. Cn a rostrum sat the teacher reading Kant's Philosophy of Life. Suddenly she put down the book, rapped peremp- torily on the desk and said in a precise voice, The five minutes are up! Cease immediately! The tone had a familiar ring, but of so dim memory that I could not recall it. She wore a stiff white shirtwaist, a high collar with a purple and red cravat. Her hair was twisted into a small knot. As I was regarding this interesting figure, one of the stu- dents turned round and said, Please correct mine, Miss Merrimonf' And so it was! Elizabeth Merrimon, our bright