16 WEBER LITERARY JOURNAL water's edge. After resting, I wade into the water for cresses to enrich my lunch. Dick gets half the bread and butter, and I satisfy my appetite with the other half, the apple and the cresses. And then! 0 feminine delight! There are no dishes to wash! I may recline upon our mossy rock and read my Scott unmolested by household cares. Dick naps, and I feel myself slipping gently into a reverie. The pond is bordered by a yellow band of cowslips. Inspired by the breeze, they nod to their own reflection. Scarlet and blue dragon flies scintillate through a mystic, ancient dance, a dance the dragon flies have danced for ages. Each thing is pictured in the polished water, so perfectly and beautifully that I lose all consciousness of myself regarding it, and my spirit dances with the dragon flies along the pond. When I open my dream-closed eyes, my chum is gone; but presently the sound of sharp barks from the bushy hillside directs me where Dick is feverishly digging out a squirrel. Now thoroughly awake, I rush back to the Spring and there gather a mass of foxglove and golden-rod to decorate a rustic boat, which is anchored near our nook. My chum is by my side again, we embark, push off and drift lazily about. But suddenly Dick is much excited by the maneuvers of a disturbed muskrat, and needs my hand upon his collar to restrain him. But just as I have succeeded in persuading him to lie quietly in the boat, a family of mallards sail majestically across the water. A whine happily warns me that I must drop the paddle to prevent my chum from going overboard, but once the ducks have found refuge, I let him go. The stillness is broken and all life is awakened. Our perfect day is nearly gone. We leave the mountain lake and climb the hillside to see the sun retire behind the purpled mountains. And Dick, my dear chum, my perfect day would be incomplete without you! WEBER LITERARY JOURNAL 17 Dear Old Slough By Maud Jones. Oh how memory lingers, Dear Old Slough! What a world of magic changes Your rushing tide can do. How you ripple down the lea, Off to find the sleeping sea; And you'll ne'er come back to me, Dear Old Slough! Many happy days I've passed, Dear Old Slough! Wandering off into my dreams, Just with you. Many days upon your side, I have watched your tearing tide, Sometimes narrow, sometimes wide, Dear Old Slough! Your leaping waters are so clear, Dear Old Slough! I can see the baby fishes Gliding there. And the tiny pebbles, too, Gleaming green and pink and blue, Boasting every shape and hue, Dear Old Slough! Oft into the murky night, Dear Old Slough! I have wandered thru the blackness Just for you. Watched your graceful depths unfold; Silver ripples turned to gold, Buried 'ere a moment old, Dear Old Slough!