616 IOWA DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE 



John Crowley and Tom Struthers, his three cronies. His story went 

 like this: "Last Monday morning I was out of meat, and I went home 

 and got my rifle and went up on the hill in the clearing where the deer 

 came, and I got down on. my knees and said, 'Oh, God, send me meat I' 

 and I had hardly got up from my knees when three, deer came into the 

 clearing. I pulled up with my rifle and got one of them, and I was just 

 about to shoot another one when the Lord said, 'John Spencer, are you 

 a hog?' I said, 'No, Lord,' and He says, 'You prayed for meat and you 

 got meat; be satisfied with one deer!' " and he added, "but if it had been 

 John Landis or John Crowley or Tom Struthers, he would have taken all 

 three of them." (Laughter.) 



And so these were my associates in boyhood down around the farm. 

 I spoke about getting in the hay. I was driving down town in the auto- 

 mobile one day, going down Grand avenue, with all the roar of traffic, 

 when my car bumped into a load of hay. For a moment, under the in- 

 fluence of that sweet-smelling hay, I wasn't there at all; I was back on 

 the farm with old Lon Diggs and old Father Marr. A whiff of that hay 

 had made me forget myself and my surroundings — there's no odor quite 

 like it — and I was so full of thoughts of bygone days that when I got 

 to the office I sat down and wrote it up, and for a moment I will take 

 you into my confidence. 



A LOAD OF HAY. 



Hard-paved streets and hurrying feet, 



Where it's oft but a nod though old friends meet, 



Rattle of cart and shriek of horn. 



Laughing Young, and Age forlorn. 



Bound for the office I speed away, 



When my auto brushes — a load of hay! 



Chauffeur curses, I scarcely hear. 



For things I loved as a boy seem near — 



Scent of meadows at early morn, 



Miles of waving fields of corn, 



Lowing cattle and colts at play — 



Far have I drifted another way! 



Hark, the bell as it calls the noon! 



Boys at their chores, hear them whistle a tune? 



Barn doors creaking on rusty locks, 



Rattle of corn in the old feed box, . 



Answering nicker of toss of hay — 



Old, sweet sounds of a far-off day! 



There, my driver stops with a jerk, 

 Then far aloft to the scene of my work; 

 But all day long 'midst the city's roar 

 My heart is the heart of a boy once more. 

 My feet in old-time fields astray, 

 Lured — by the scent from a load of hay! 



(Applause.) 



