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On passing over the country from St. Josephs to the dividing ridge of the continent, along the emigrant route to Oregon, the traveler accustomd only to fertile districts, is greatly surprised at finding so great a portion of the continent an almost barren waste. From St. Josephs to the Platt river, a distance of 250 miles, is most of the way a country of soil and fertility.
On arriving at the Platt river, a beautifully flat country presents itself, where nature, it would seem, has but an easy task to burden the ground with excessive vegetation, but behold a country of extensive bottom lands, of feeble soil much of the way, and still more feeble at the distance, among the bluffs and rolling country.
Soon after our arrival at Platt, one day while sitting on its banks watching our cattle, I could but reflect on the situation of the country, the emigrant and his journey to Oregon, which I have here expressd in the following form.
One evening at twilight, whilst sitting to view,
On the banks of the Platt, to me ’twas quite new,