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LIKE
many of the best of human experiences, college life
is best appreciated when the end draws nigh. The
young man risks life and limb and everything with a
smile on his lips. Life to him is a matter of
course, and he seldom considers the possibility of
losing it. The old man crosses the crowded street
with slow and careful step, and makes every moment
of his last years a matter of thought, for life has
become to him the most precious thing in the world
-- the only thing to which be would cling.
So it is that the Freshman, whom
we may consider as the stripling of the college
world, often makes light of daily incidents and
accidents that come back to him in after years with
more of their true meaning. Even through the
Sophomore, Junior, and a large part of the Senior
year, the attitude does not greatly differ. We live
this college life from day to day, and from check
to check, carelessly, thoughtlessly; too often
making mountains out of mole-hills and considering
boulders pebbles. But at this time in one's college
career he begins to achieve the view-point of the
aged man. By far the major portion of college life
has for him become college history, and he realizes
that tomorrow he will be one, and only one, of the
countless multitude that has stalked from the
Campus gates in years gone by, flush and full of
the spirit of youth and ambition, to vanish
completely in the humdrum chaos of the greater
life. He hangs upon these last days with longing
and lingering, for he has begun to realize that the
school time of life is past. He has, as it were,
been a novice learning to swim in a shallow and
gentle stream,
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where the water was tempered and the sand soft.
Splashing about, now swimming clumsily, now
floating indolently with the current, he has
traveled farther than he knew. The current has
grown more powerful, the water more deep, and in
the near distance already he hears the low rumble
of that great ocean to which his little stream is
one of a million tributaries. It is useless to try
to escape -- the current runs too swiftly. It is
vain to feel for the bottom -- the channel has
become too deep. It seems that he is drowning. He
gulps and gasps. Then there begins to run before
him in a sort of disordered parade, the phantom
phalanx of the deeds and misdeeds of his college
life.
His Freshman days, full of
registration tribulations, rushing, delinquency
cards, dances, initiations, calf-love affairs, and
examinations form the first company. Here he sees
himself drooping and weary at the end of a
seemingly endless line that moves with snail-like
precision into, and through the registrar's office.
He feels again the catch in the throat, that
accompanied his talk with the registrar, and the
kink in his pocketbook put there by Dales. He
remembers the pretty Sophomore co-ed who followed
him in line, and whispered directions to his
red-faced confusion. Then there is the occasion of
his first call at a sorority house. Never had his
feet been so large, his throat so small, and his
tongue so rigid, and how fervently he had sworn
"never again" at the end of that terrible
half-hour. Sophomore, Junior, and Senior years
follow in much the same manner, a strange and
unordered mixture. Kiss and kick, honor and defeat,
success and failure in all of the things that go to
make up that delicious com-
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