off for fuel. A few small swamp dogwood bushes supplied us with fuel and we found fuel scarcer at no place on the road than at this point. The weather since the thirteenth of May had been fine. I have never witnessed a scene more beautiful than this. Elm Grove stands in a wide, gently undulating- prairie. The moon shed her silvery light upon the white sheets of sixty wagons; a thousand herd of cattle grazed upon the surrounding plain; fifty camp fires sent up their brilliant flames, and the sound of the sweet violin was heard in the tents. All was stir and excitement —
"The scene was more beautiful far to my eye,
Than if day in its pride had arrayed it;
The land breeze blew mild, and the azure arched sky
Looked pure as the Spirit that made it."
At the rendezvous, as well as elsewhere, we were greatly amused by the drolleries of many a curious wag. Among the rest was J. M. Ware, a most pleasant fellow, droll, original, like no one else, who had seen some of the world, and whose mimicry, dry wit, graphic descriptions, and comic songs, afforded us infinite amusement. Many of our friends, who came to visit us at the rendezvous, will never forget the pleasant evenings they spent, while witnessing the exhibitions of this comical fellow. Ware was an old bachelor, with all the eccentricity usually belonging to that sweet class of fellows. The whole camp were constantly singing his songs, and telling his tales. Among the rest he sang—
"If I had a donkey that wouldn't go,
Do you think I'd wallup him? no! no! no!"
And also—
"A gay young crow was sitting on an oak."
I remember well his description of George Swartz, a Dutchman, in Kentucky, who turned out a preacher. Ware said he knew him well, and was present and heard George preach his first sermon. He said George gravely arose in the pulpit, and after gazing some time around him, in a loud and commanding voice he commenced: "Me tinks I hear my Savior say, 'Shorge, what you doin' up dar in dat bulpit?' Me say neber mind Shorge—he knows what he's 'bout—he's goin' breachin; brethren, let us bray. I tank de, O Lort Got, dat a few names of us have come up to worship in dy house, through the inclemency of de mud." I will just say that Ware is here, safe and sound, and I expect to hear him repeat many of his comicalities. A few such men, on a trip like this, can beguile many a lonesome hour, and soften the asperities of the way.
The following are the rules and regulations for the government of the Oregon Emigrating Company:
Resolved, Whereas we deem it necessary for the government of all societies, either civil or military, to adopt certain rules and regula-
