18 WEBER LITERARY JOURNAL How the moon beams love to play, Dear Old Slough! On the softness of your waves Diamonds strew! See them kiss your watery crest, First they frolic o'er your breast Then they sink to peaceful rest, Dear Old Slough! On thy verdant, sloping banks, Dear Old Slough! Lie the memories of the pranks I used to do. Where yon shady, drooping tree, Drops a courtesy to thee, Many times I've dived in glee, Dear Old Slough! Where the great bridge arches o'er, Dear Old Slough! Many times with happy youth I've floated there. When the summer's sun was high, I have found relief to lie On thy billows, face to sky, Dear Old Slough! Years may change your gurgling course, Dear Old Slough! But time can't steal the memories Born with you. You shall live within my dream, In fancy now I pen my theme Dear Old Slough! WEBER LITERARY JOURNAL 19 Outside the Walls By Hafiz. JUAN TIJARA was to be freed. The letter of liberation was even now fluttering in the breeze from its insecure position on the village bulletin board. The tiny population of the little mining town of Hermosa, from the stalwart and greasy bar-tender, to the old, half-witted Juarez, waited by the huge wooden gates that surrounded the prison. Juan had been accused of financially aiding the revolutionists, and had been imprisoned by General Rodriguez a man only too well known for his expeditious and sufficient means of ridding the country of such suspects. It was true that Juan, living alone in his rude adobe hut, could never have raised one peso to help the rebel cause had he so wished, for always his meager earnings had been given to the needy and the helpless of the village. It was true, too, that all these people who were many times indebted to him, had appealed to the General, and then had repaired to the bar to discuss the futility of such action with the stone-hearted Rodriguez. But even the next morning his dictate of freedom had appeared upon the bulletin-board, and as a consequence, sullen oaths were turned to smiles, and an occasional toast was given to his hated person. And now, just before the sun arose, all Juan's friends had come to greet him, to rejoice with him in his liberty. The dawn gradually grew more bright, and the sun, as yet below the horizon, painted the far-off mountain tops a delicate pink. The crowd outside the gates conversed in whispers, and watched the eastern horizon for the first sight of the sun. A tiny spot raised itself from out of the desert, and as one, the people turned expectantly toward the gates. The silence was broken by a rasping sound inside the walls, as of iron on iron, and the multitude knew that Juan was leaving his cell. The stone of the court echoed approaching footsteps, which, all at once, ceased. A low muttering was heard, and from the expressions upon the faces of his friends, one suspected that Juan's voice was recognized. They were conversing slowly; it seemed to the religious gathering, almost like a chant. The footsteps again began their monotonous tramp across the huge court, and again they stopped, this time nearer the gate. The muttering was more audible now, but even though the crowd leaned forward as if to hear more