The Sunday Oregonian., July 11, 1909, SECTION SIX, Page 5, Image 59

-VERSITY
ny5r FONDLY IN MEMORY OF
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BT FRANK JENKINS.
ASK any old graduate of Oregon
what particular phase of hlH uni
versity life lingers moat fondly
In his memory, and the chance, are ten
to one that he will answer: "The mill
race." Ask any dark-eyed co-ed what
one thing she would have remain un
changed, if all the rest of Eugene City
and the varsity were to be altered, and
I'll wager that she would reply: "The
mill-race." Ask any freshman what
thing It was that removed the raw
edges and made of him a really and
truly college man, and he will say
without hesitation: "The mill-race." If
he doesn't, some sophomore will say It
for him. The sophomores know. They
do the ducking.
Nor Is the mill-raoe exclusively a
varsity jewel. We of Eugene love it.
and write our friends slowing letters
about it, and take pictures of it
good, had and indifferent whenever
we have the oportunlty. Every city
has some particular and distinctive ob
ject of pride. In Chicago they take
you by carlines whose ways are devi
ous ana run of Jolts, to th
and bid you gaze and hold your breath
you uo the latter instinctively, by the
nose that here thev utilizn vfV ...
of the hag but the squeal, and haven't
given up hopes of it; In Salt Lake City
they take you to the Lion house, and
tell you to behold the proof that man
can be happy though married, else why
should he have married so much; In
Emporia. Kansas, they softly lead the
way down In front of the Gazette of
ru-e, and. with finger on lip, point to
me great: William Allen White, mean
while cautioning you to maintain i
deep and gumshod silence lest you dls
turo an editorial on "our town. Here
in Eugene we lead the stranger within
our gates to t-e mill-race, strike
melodramatic attlture and murmur
Mae sunt mea ornamenta," or words
xo mat errect.
The mill-race Is more than a mere
silvery stream, wandering between
aider-bordered banks to its ultimate
mission in the turbines. It Is an Insti
tution. Its silvery thread Is interwoven
with the warp and woof of the varsity's
3ly or, perhaps better, nightly life.
in wnat the folks at home term "the
social side." It hols a place head and
Shoulders above the Junior nrnm ih.
sophomore hop and the freshman glee.
ios company, and three's none," you
know, and a canoe Is structurally de
signed for ''company."
' In the beginning the city and uni
versity were beneficently placed at the
lower end of the race, so that pleasure
bent canoeists could paddle their feath
ery craft to the head, and then ship
their paddles and float softly and
languorously back, dutifully obeying
tne ancleut adage: "Business before
pleasure." Leaving'the boithnn
the lower end, one paddles through the
nest residence part of the town. The
lawns run down to the water and at
many of the places boathouses ana
arbors have been built at the water's
edge. Here and there bog hedges rise
trimly, and from many lawns roses
drop their petals in the stream. Only
vegetables and strawberry beds are
noticeable by their absence.. In the
words of an estimable old man I once
knew In a college town: "The only
reason them college fellers don't steal
the moon Is that it ain't good to eat;
If It was. they'd find a way to' get
to It U right, all right."
Opposite the university are located the
headgates, narrow openings that are shut
In time of high water, to turn the cur
rent back into the river. To the amateur
canoeist the annoying squeeze play prac
ticed by mythical Scylla and Charibdls
was mild and playful compared to the
neadgatea. There were no ladies on the
Argo, before whom Jason and his com
panions wished to display their skill
with the paddle, and if you've ever sat
opposite a fair and sophisticated canoe
ist and tackled a nasty bit of water,
you know what that means. You
p roach the narrow opening through a
bewildering succession of bridge piers
and aim stout-heartedly at the center of
the ridge of water that Is flowing
through it.
"Oh, no," your fair compsnlon warns
vnu. "tam must ort In frnm tk. I.m i j
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PARTICULAR PHASE OF
LIFE THAT
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get tipped on the wall If
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you hit it
You pull violently "haw" on the pad
dle, forgetting that a canoe steers as
lightly as a Summer breee., bump into
the planking a foot to the left of the
opening and go drifting ignomlnlously
back through the piers. Down in the
still water you come to rights, and ad
vance to the attack with determination
In your eye. This time you strike the
opening at the left side, pull mightily on
the paddle, the blade flies from the
water at the end of the stroke and you
well nigh drop it, bump your head on
the low boards above, careen the boat to
the last limit and slide through some
way. While you are collecting your wits
your companion murmurs: "Really.
Tommy, you did it beautifully." That
settles it for you. And after having
listened to you assure mother that you
"understood a canoe alright. Oh, sure.
It's easy!" Your frat pin is as good as
gone. '
Above the headgates you enter the
lagoon,. a broad, still backwater bordered
with cattails and drooping willows, and
filled with the musical roar of the water
pouring over the overflow. Running up
the dam between the race and the river
is a little winding, overhung path, known
as Lover's Lane. Surely Cupid never
chose a better haunt. Drooping alders
mingle their branches overhead and the
water softly laps the rocks on either
side. Paths lead away to little sheltered
nooks overlooking the river and further
down are picnic grounds, laid out by the
faultless hand of Mother Nature. It is
an ideal spot to study, to loaf or just to
go and see.
The next point of interest is the Alders'
Hre the race circles a little plot of
green pasture, studded with sweetbrlar
bushes that load the air with their nleaa-
ant. spicy odor. Around the outer edge
of the circle, tall white alders rise straight
from the water, their smooth. whit hart
covered with. the coupled initials of year
aner year or students. Above the sweet
briar and across the street, the Ivy
covered unlversltv hi;iriir,r. -I
here and there bits of smooth, 'green
campus peep through.
ceyono tne Alders, the canoeist enters
narrow stretch of viiar .nmni.t.i.
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overhung with alders and maples on one
oiuo, aim vua oa peacn xrees on the
other. Here and there rustic bridges span
the stream, and small boys fish from
them as earnestly and Balnstjakine-iv s
If thev ultimately nneoteH t nh
something. Allhnnrh n Bmall VA
i Viovoauiii j tLuru iur Tne mux race
THE STOPAT OREGOyiAJf. POBTLAXD, JTJI.T 11. 1909.
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continue to dangle enticingly in the
water, and the true AV'altonian epirit
waxes and flourishes. Witness: Last Sum
mer, I was paddling idly up the race,
and I passed two small boys sitting on
a bridge. One of them was idly engaged
in dropping pebblea in the water, and
watching the circles widen and bob his
brother's cork. His brother was fishing
with earnest attention to business. Feel
ing friendly with the world, I accosted
the fisherman.
"How many?" . I ask'ed.
"Two," he responded, holding two
fingers proudly up.
His Small brother rla nne nuar at him
with sad reproach In his eyes.
"One. Elmer." he corrected. "And It
was a mud .turtle, you know."
I averted mV even ntld )illrrs1 nn T
too, had answered questions when I was
n.-siui.R. una i understood tne situation.
I shrewdly suspected that Little Brother
caught Something mnrA e1Hnir than a
mud turtle.
Another loo yards further un nie'h
bank that would hold the attention of
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it Is cevered ?Ith a swelling growth of
syrlnga. wild rose and Indian arrow
wood, and Is a mass of bloom and fra
grance throughout the Spring and Sum
mer. Surmounting this bank Is one of
the most romantic looking old barns I
have ever seen, viewed as It Is across the
water, and surrounded by moss and mistletoe-covered
oaks. Poems and stories
could be written about that barn, and yet
not do It justice.
Hiding under the banks, overhung
with gauzy green and gold curtains of
vine maple, are what? are, known in
student parlance as "spoonholders"
little nature-parlors Into which a canoe
can glide, and sheltered from observa
tion from without, can watch. the pass
ing show of water craft- It is a mat
ter of varsity scandal "-scandal," mind
you. Is varsity for small talk, personal
news, society conversation that Dan
Cupid Is highly partial to these leafy
bowers, and that he keeps office there
at most any hour of day. Reclining at
ease in a canoe, and dangling one's
hand gent.lv in the n-a tor la
an attitude which Dan regards very
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it may, it is a favorite diversion of
prying-minded students to float gently
and noiselessly down the silent waters
with their ears attuned to what they
may hear. Personally, I will only say
that I know by test that at least nine
tenths of the enthusiastic canoeists can
repeat without a break that noble and
time-honored quatrain beginning:
A loaf of bread beneath the bough,
A Jut of wine, a book of verse, and Thou.
It Is in Its upper reaches, however,
that the race rises to the really sublime
and magnificent. Here for a quarter of
a mile it runs parallel with the broad
Willamette, its waters separated from
those of the river only by a well-built
stone walL Riding at the edge of the
race, the canoeist can look down into
the waters of the river, swift and foam
tossed from the big rapids above which
the race waters are taken out. At
sunset, the view down the river is un
surpassed anywhere in the world for
color. The whole broad river is a liv
ing, cnanging canvas, upon which are
spread color lessons that only an old
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east opens up the wonderfully beautiful
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ered by many tourists the most beauti
ful river In America. Back from Its
banks sweep ridge upon ridge of fir
covered foothills, alluringly beautiful
through the magic haze that is one of
the lasting charms of Oregon, while
above and beyond, the white, pure Sis
ters stand silent watch.
The race ends at the Dollv Varden
Rapids, said to be the worst or the
best, whichever way you look at It on
the river. Here the Willamette makes
a sudden fall of 10 or 12 feet, and at
low water its entire current is confined
within a channel not more than 50
feet wide, through which it roars and
rages like a wild thing. In Its history
the Dolly Varden Rapids offers a very
striking evidence of the desire to con
quer aroused in the human mind by the
fiercer moods of nature. Two boys
have been drowned in the attempt to
shoot the rapids- in canoes, and several
others have had very narrow escapes.
Two mothers can never see the mighty
and inspiring beauty of the Dolly Var
den; to them It will always be black
and sinister, a thing of terror.
. .
Located just where the race leaves
the river Is a little Island, of all picnic
grounds the prince and peer. From
the first of May until the last of Octo
ber, there Is seldom an hour of the
day when there la not at least one
canoe beached on the shady banks of
the island, and a picnic In progress on
its higher ground. On the side next
the rapids, it breaks off in a sharp
bluff, and at the foot of this the white
waters roar and whirl, and In the tum
bled back water below the wonderful
reflected colors dance and flash. Some
times I think the spot could make a
poet of an Ice man.
The University of Oregon may well
look with friendly eyes upon the mill
race, for it is one of the staunch est
aids in the liberal education of the men
and women of the Institution In art,
because floating at evening upon Its
painted upper waters one Is in the
presence of the master of Titian and
Tintoretto: in music, because the rap
ids send forth an opera more sonorous
than was ever conceived by Wagner
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that hovers over its waters Is thrilling
with inspiration: yes. and in srchltec
ture, too. for the castles in air that
are builded above It are sightly and of
noble proportions.
Eugene. Or.. July 8.
"The Col. Done It."
Jefferson Review.
Colonel Hofer took a mighty mean ad
vantage when he prayed for rain. He
had probably heard that "the prayers of
the wicked availeth naught.;' so he waited
until there was a whole lot of hay down.
That never fails to bring rain, and now
Hofer will claim his prayers done it
Long head has the Colonel.
Little Boy B!eir.
The little toy pistol is covered with rust.
But waiting new victims It lies,
And the little toy cannon is thick with
dust
Since it injured our little boy's eyes;
Time was when the little toy pistol was
new.
And the cannon was passing fair;
Ah. that was when our Little, Boy Blew
Kicked them and left them there.
"Now don't let me 6ee you again," he
said,
At the end of that day of noise.
When we bore him off to the hospital bed
. 'Mong the rest of the injured poys;
And as he lay groaning the doctor,
strong.
Took charge of our Little Boy Blew;
O, the years are many, the years are
long,
But his face bears scars not a few.
Awaiting some other Boy Blew they
stand.
Each In the same old place
Tetanus germs they would put in his
hand.
And powder marks o'er Tils face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long
years through
On each Fourth of July, with its blare.
Why they are hated by Little Boy Blew
Sinre he kicked them and left them
there.
e-JDenver ' Republican,