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UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA.
Vol. XXVI
LINCOLN, NKUKASKA, A1MUL 23, 1S07.
No.
FROn THE GERMAN OF innENSEE.
Here on the woody hillside,
The breezes die away;
Beneath the bending branches,
The child rests from her play.
Amidst the thy my perfume, '
She sits in fragrance rare;
The May ilies hum about her
And glisteu in the air.
The forest lies so silent,
She looks so wise of mieu;
The flickering sunshine glances
On her brown hair's golden sheen.
The cuckoo calls from the distance;
I fancy can be seen,
In her beautiful eyes so sunny,
The eyes of the forest queen.
Lou Hutchison.
The Day I Met My Bunkey.
The mountain forests hung dark over
the dirty little mining town that lay to
our north-west; and as we ran swiftly
on the down grade towards it from the
had lauds to the east of the valley, I
thought there could be no greater con
tort, than that between the miserable
grouping of unpainted buildings hiding
under the western walls of the canon,
and the winter majesty of the mountains.
ihe train slowed down, and the engine
stopped with a grunt as our car reached
the bride-colored shed which did service
aR a freight and passenger depot.
A stocky young fellow of about twenty
ve , wearing a shapeless blue woolen cap,
a shiny black leather coat somewhat
Pitched, canvass pantaloons, and ger
mau socks with artics, squared up to me
and said: I reckon you,re fche nQW ax(J
man that's ter join Wellington's locating
jJdy. ' I acknowledged that I was, and
my new friend crushed my hand in the
Knp ot lus square-cornered, hard fingers.
"My name's Tim Valentino," ho said.
"Have bin skinning mules for the party,
but am going to be back-chainman now
that you've come. A feller by name of
Pete Dugan Irish, I guess is coming
up from Kil's camp to-night to take my
place as teamster, and Mr. Wellington is
going to put me on the back-chain in the
morning."
"I ain't had no dinuer yet," he con
tinued, "and I reckon you ain't either;
fine place over t'the Keystone restaurant.
Charge you fifty cents for a square meal ;
but if you ask for a lunch you git the
same truck, all but the pie, and they only
charge two bits."
We lunched" at the Keystone on
some very good beefsteak and potatoes
and some fairly fresh coffee. Before I
was through, Tim had excused himself,
and as I stepped out he was sitting in a
heavy-spoked buck-board, loaded with
groceries and my war-sack and blankets.
As I came toward him, he turned the
sleepy looking red mules and cramped
the front wheels for nfe to climb in. "I
reckon we had better git a move on," he
said. " I think it'll snow before we git
to camp."
The mules started slowly and we rode
four miles before we came to any heavy
climbing. Tim was not talkative, though
he swore at the mules whenever one of
them shied at a black spot in the road.
Just after we had climbed our first hill,
Tirn stopped by the side of the road on
the edge of the canon, at the bottom of
which, three hundred feet below us, I
could see black water rushing between
the walls of snow.
A ragged whiskered hobo was beating
