The solemnity of night pervaded every thing. The warblings of the feathered tribe had ceased. The antelope and deer rested on the hills; no sound of laughing, noisy children, as in a settled country; no tramping of busy feet, or hurrying to and fro. All is silent. Nature, like man, has put aside the labors of the day, and is enjoying rest and peace. Yonder, as a tiny spark, as a distant star, might be seen from the road a little camp-fire in the darkness spread over the earth. Every eye in our little company is closed, every hand still, as we lay in our snugly-covered wagons, awaiting the dawn of another day. And the Eye that never sleeps watched over us in our lonely camp, and cared for the slumbering travelers. Mr. Wakefield, with whom we became acquainted after he came to settle at Geneva, proved a most agreeable companion. Affable and courteous, unselfish, and a gentleman, we remember him with profound respect. A fine bridge crosses the Kansas River. A half-hour’s ride through the dense heavy timber, over a jet-black soil of incalculable richness, brought us to this bridge, which we crossed. We then beheld the lovely valley of the prairies, intersecting the deep green of graceful slopes, where waves tall prairie grass, among which the wild flowers grow. Over hundreds of acres these blossoms are scattered, yellow, purple, white, and blue, making the earth look like a rich carpet of variegated colors; those blooming in spring are of tender, modest hue, in later summer and early autumn clothed in gorgeous splendor. Solomon’s gold and purple could not outrival them. Nature seemingly reveled in beauty, for beauty’s sake alone, for none but the simple children of the forest to view her in state. Slowly the myriad years come and go upon her solitary places. Tender spring-time and glorious summer drop down their gifts from overflowing coffers, while the steps of bounding deer or the notes of singing birds break upon the lonely air. The sky is of wonderful clearness and transparency. Narrow belts and fringes of forest mark the way of winding streams. In the distance rise conical mounds, wrapped in the soft veil of dim and dreamy haze. Upon the beaten road are emigrants wending their way, their household goods packed in long covered wagons, drawn by oxen, mules, or horses; speculators working their way to some new town with women and children; and we meet with half-breed girls, with heavy eye-lashes and sun-burnt cheeks, jogging along on horseback. I was surprised to see so many women among the emigrants, and to see how easily they adapted themselves to the hardships experienced in a journey across the plains. As a rule, the emigrants travel without tents, sleeping in and under wagons, without removing their clothing. Cooking among emigrants to the far West is a very primitive operation, a frying-pan and perhaps a Dutch oven comprising the major part of the kitchen furniture.