Our course from Ann Arbour was towards Ore Creek. The country through which we passed was somewhat undulating, and upon the whole a very fine agricultural district. No where in the west have I seen better crops. The yellow golden wheat, the bearded and densely standing barley, the luxuriant oats, and stout corn, as they were spread out before the eye in vast fields rapidly succeeding each other, and gently waving in the summer breeze, presented a scene full of interest, and bore indisputable testimony in relation to the excellence and fertility of the soil. The point to which we were directing our course was _North Green Oak_. We had already travelled some thirty miles, and were now within the limits of this town. Night was coming on, and we were yet some four miles from the place which I wished to reach. As it would be dark before our arrival, and the road was rough, and it was uncertain whether we could all be accommodated for the night at the place to which I was directing my course, it was decided as a matter of prudence, that Mr. and Mrs. R----, who had kindly accompanied me in their carriage, should remain at the log inn which we had already reached, and whose quaint sign was "CALL AND C," while the driver, mounting one horse, and myself the other, should go on to find the house of my friend. I scarcely need say that we had now reached a very new country. It was with difficulty that we could muster a saddle in the neighbourhood; but at length one was found, and we set out, bidding adieu to our friends for the night. During the first two miles our path lay chiefly through the forest: we however passed in that distance three houses; at the last house, which was on the borders of a lake, we stopped to enquire for the residence of my friend. We were told he lived almost two miles on the other side of the lake, that there was no road save the track of a wagon, and that as our path was a blind one, it was very uncertain whether we should find the way. We tried to get some one to go with us as our guide, but there was no one at home but women and children. It was already dark, our path was through the thick woods, and as the last rays of twilight were fast fading away, we had no time to lose. We rode rapidly on, and were soon buried in the dense forest. We had not proceeded more than a mile before we lost every trace of our path, but after riding around awhile among the bushes we again struck upon the track, and were able to advance a little further. Soon, however, in consequence of the increasing darkness, we were again at fault, and knew not which way to proceed. We dismounted, and having searched for awhile on our hands and knees, succeeded in discovering the track of a wagon wheel, which we followed till it led us into a small oak opening. We had gone but a few paces, however, on our way, before the path, which had now become more distinct, diverged into two branches, the one leading into the dense