Kansas University Weekly.
49
LITERARY.
Ad Urbem Montis Oreadis.
Here they were within sight of the city . Now you must note that the city stood upon a mighty hill; but the pilgrims went up that hill with ease. —Pilgrim's Progress.
The children of the city wandered far,
And scanned old faces and beheld old scenes,
Searched long, athirst. Republic's sandy bed,
Saw sunset gold 'thwart' Sedgwick's reed-green lakes.
And scaled bold bluffs above Spring River's rush
To reap with eye the yellow miles beyond,
Yet ever backward turned unrestful eyes
From gazing on mirage, and field, and wood,
Into the North; and lo! the city shone
With wondrous brightness; and they turned and
came.
Was it not written in the olden time,
Was it not written in the olden time,
A city on a hill can not be hid?
ROBERT W. NEAL.
ROBERT W. NEAL
An Incident of the Hay Field.
It was Saturday and Jameson, the boss of the hay-making gang was desirous of getting all the alfalfa in stack by evening so that there would be none left to lie in the field during Sunday and run the risk of being injured by rain. For that reason Jameson was more particular than usual in keeping his men busy at work.
Most of the "hands" were good workers and did not cause the boss much trouble, but John Day tried Jameson's patience to the utmost. John was a fat, clumsy, overgrown boy and thus far had proved to be no exception to the rule that "large bodies move slowly." He disliked work in general and hay making beneath the hot sweltering sun in particular, and permitted this repugnance to manifest itself in many ways, even though he had one of the easiest positions on the field; for Jameson, bearing in mind that a go-devil with which the hay was conveyed to the stacker, ran easier over the rough field if occupied by a heavy person, had given one of these machines in his charge. Jameson himself drove the other go-devil and invariably took two loads, and sometimes three to the stacker while Day was taking but one.
Several times during the forenoon Jameson's wrath broke out and he gave Day a number of severe scoldings. This however had little effect
on him. At noon, when Jameson saw that it would require rapid work to complete the stacking that evening he informed Day in very plain terms that if he did not do better he should quit the work and the gang. Day was temporarily aroused to greater activity but he soon relapsed into his former indolence.
A neighbor's son rode up to engage Jameson for some future haying. Ascertaining that the young man was in no hurry to return he secured him to help in the field the remainder of the afternoon and discharged the unfortunate Day.
Day did not take his dismissal much to heart but lay down in the shade of the stack to wait to ride home with the men in the evening.
The work progressed more rapidly and in time the last go-devil load of hay was run on the stacker and dumped in place. Everybody began unhitching their teams from the haying machinery.
A scream of pain and fright startled them; the horses hitched to the stacker were plunging forward dragging at their heels entangled in the double-trees Jameson's own son, who had started to unhook the traces.
Then a remarkable thing occured. John Day, the slowest and most awkward-appearing man of the the gang, shot out from the shadow of the stack and seized the horses before the other members of the gang had realized what was happening. Had the horses gone ten feet farther the stacker rope would have been drawn taut and the boy's limbs would have been crushed if indeed, he had escaped being killed outright.
Day did not appear to think he had done anything extraordinary and was surprised and embarrassed by the expressions of praise and admiration for his action; Jameson alone said nothing until all had started homeward.
As Day was riding away in one of the wagons Jameson shouted, "I'll expect you back with the gang Monday. H.W.M.