the "Land of Gold." And so I, with hundreds of others, started. Boys, middle aged, and old men, all dreaming of fortunes to be made, and ready to brave any danger and privation that might cross our path. Thousands came to Independence, which was known as the great outfitting depot, from North, East, and South, and by the first of March, the country around seemed to be full of people, and thousands more coming, all eager to buy wagons, oxen, mules and so forth, but were compelled to lie over till grass would grow, for only ten miles from there, they would launch out into the open sea of prairie, where as yet no mark of civilization had been made; but blessings in this poor mixed world never come without their counterpart. The cholera broke out in great violence some time in April, first among the strangers, and then the natives. This caused many to buy corn at a dollar per bushel to feed on the road, and before the first of May thousands were on the road.

The writer did not start until the 15th of May, with the little train of eight wagons, drawn by four yoke of oxen each with about thirty men and sixteen riding horses, with clothing for two years, and provision for at least one. Wives, mothers, sisters, brothers, fathers, friends and some sweethearts too, gathered around the little train one bright morning in May to take the parting hand, and invoke the Divine blessing. With some, too, it was the last time those warm hands ever came together, and lips said that strange sweet word farewell. When the word was given, and the train pulled out, eyes looking each way through the tears that ran like rain over many faces, we realized something of the dangers that lay along our pathway.

We found a road bigger and plainer than any we had ever traveled before, and marked every few miles with the little new made mounds, and the tent waiting for some one to breathe his last, and very soon too we realized we were in an enemy's land. The Indians seemed bewil

dered at the thought of so many "pale faces” all going in one direction,-"Westward,"-and whereto and what for, and when we made them understand, as best we could, our destination and mission, they wanted to know if the old ranch was broken up, and were there any more left, and such like inquiries; but like human nature everywhere, they soon indicated a desire to profit by it, either by trading or stealing, and it did not seem to make much difference which. Tobacco, sugar and whisky appeared to cover about all their wants. Bread and bacon they would not be bothered with. They cared but little for oxen or horses as they had an abundance of the fattest, fleetest and slickest little horses I had ever seen. As for cattle they had a world of buffalo which made the finest beef.

On the divide between the Blue and Platte rivers I have seen the earth almost black with them, and up the Platte to the Mountains, interspersed with droves of Antelope, and wolves by, the thousand. Truly nature had made rich provision for these rude sons of the Plains or "Desert," as we persisted in calling it, for to me it looked the very picture of a desert. The little short, curly, stunted grass, that felt like a velvet carpet under one's feet where thick enough, was so short even in June, and so dry and parched, that many turned their faces homeward, rather than risk their fate to the short grass and more savage Indians, which we were told inhabited the higher and more mountainous country. While the great crowd surged along, determined to drive their stock, as far as they could travel, and then take a few pounds of bread and their guns and walk through, killing their game from day to day, we soon learned that this stunted grass had a wonderful richness, and strength about it which we were all strangers to. Thin and short as it was, we found that our stock were absolutely improving on what we expected them to starve on. But what a desolate waste was the country lying between the Missouri River and Fort Kearney! I can never forget when I came in sight of the

old Fort. A few adobe buildings away in the distance on the banks of that treeless, bankless, wide stream. I had heard of the jumping off place, I thought that must be it, but when I reached the place I found wagon tracks still going westward, and so on till I reached the Pacific Ocean, and then sure enough, I had come to the jumping off place.

But what of Nebraska? I wish I could cause you, my friends, to see the picture as I saw it in "Forty Nine," and for fifteen or sixteen years afterwards, while freighting over this country, until I was almost as familiar with it as I am to-day with Nemaha County, and then as you push aside the veil, and look at it to-day, with its wonderful agricultural resources, with less waste land than any other state, with its millions of acres, where buffalo then roamed, now groaning beneath her crops of grain and grasses, orchards and farm houses, and beautiful towns, and teeming cities, fed by railroads running in all directions, and centering at these great centers of trade that seem in some strange way to have adjusted themselves in the matter of location.

I can never forget when I returned from California in 1851. My father asked, "What about the country between the Missouri River and Pacific Ocean?" I replied, "Oh, it's of no account!" "Well, what's wrong with it?" "Why, the soil is poor, sandy, and too dry to produce anything but this little, short grass, and when it does rain (as it did sometimes) in three hours afterwards you could not tell that it had rained at all. And after reaching a higher altitude, I saw it snow four inches deep, a short distance from Fort Laramie, and often ice would form in a water bucket, sitting out at night, all through the country now known as Wyoming, even in July and August." Father could not see through it any better than I could, but he was seventy years old. Since that I have learned that experience is worth a good deal to a man, even if he is not one of Solomon's first wife's children. Father was also a firm believer

in the idea that an infinite God has made the whole world, and every thing in it, and on it, and then last of all had made man in his own likeness and image,-made him just a little lower than the angels,—a creature of wonderful possibilities, after giving him absolute control over every thing, he then laid it all down at man's feet, and bade him go out, and subdue, and use the whole of it. Then he fell back on his Bible and said, "My son, I'll tell you; when God made the world, he said it was good and very good, -made no exceptions at all,-and I reason that all there is about it is, we don't know what it is good for. Oh we have to learn it."

The oldest of us need to go to school. We think it strange that Fremont said this was the "Great American Desert." It was at that time. Who could have thought then, or even for years after, that the Salt Creek flats, a place that freighters always avoided, where the grass was unfit for stock, and the water could not be drunk by man or beast, should be in so short a time converted into such a beautiful Capital City, with her 60,000 intelligent citizens, her great business blocks, her railroads, like great arteries to warm and feed the body, her lines of street cars, and last though not least by any means, environed all around with those grand institutions of learning, where I trust and believe the future greatness of hundreds of young minds will be trained well in the idea that the world was made for man.

Go out and subdue it! Learn it! Conquer it! and use it, not for thine own good, but for man's good, remembering ever the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man. Can you raise the veil and look forty-four years ahead, when Omaha is likely to have a million or more of people, and your own desert state ten millions of people. I know 'tis hard for poor man to read correctly the future, but, Mr. President, with the government we have, justly and fairly and equally administered, and with the climate and soil we have, and seeing

what has been accomplished in the last forty-four years, realizing that the lump of leaven is doing its work much more rapidly than ever before, and circumstances that we can't control will compel us to adjust ourselves to the situation, keeping well in mind that the Infinite God is our father, not forgetting to let Him be our father, who doeth all things well, and ever remembering that man is our brother, not servant, but brother in fact, all helping each other to unlock the infinite treasure house our father has filled so full of such rich goods to feast the eyes, and satisfy the soul, and make Earth, notwithstanding that it and everything in it and on it has the withering, blighting curse of sin resting heavily upon it, a very sweet place for man to live in. If you will allow it, what will it be, and how will it be, when our work of development and growth here is all done, and we cross over that river that divides the finite from the infinite, where we will know as we are known, and see as we are seen even face to face, not as here dimly, as through a darkened glass? Let him who can paint the picture here or hereafter do it. Howe, Nebr., January, 1894.

FREIGHTING IN 1866.

Part of a Letter Written from the Interior of the Territory of Nebraska to the East, January 28, 1866.1

From my far western abiding place (for 'tis not home, nor ever will be) I do most heartily send to you a loving greeting, right glad to know that I'm not blotted from your good book of friendship.

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Will give you, or attempt it-for nothing will just show, except the actual living here-some idea of life in these

1 Donor, C. F. Bentley of Grand Island.